Page 18 of Craving Danger

I turn around and rush out of the living room, only to bump into a chest that might as well have been made from steel. As I bounce backward, my hand flies up to rub my bruised nose, and my eyes lock on Mr. Vitale’s narrowed gaze.

Shit.

“Sorry. I was just leaving.”

It’s only then I notice the two men on either side of Mr. Vitale, and forgetting that I was just caught snooping by my boss, my fear of men makes my body tremble.

At the best of times, I can handle dealing one-on-one with a man, but knowing there’s a whole group outside on the patio and three more right in front of me, I panic.

Before Mr. Vitale can comment on why I’m still in his house, I dart around them and run to the front door.

As the solid piece of wood closes behind me, I think I hear Mr. Vitale call my name, but there’s no way in hell I’m going back in there.

Chapter 7

Samantha

My breaths explode over my lips as I rush to the nearest subway, and on my way home, sweat beads on my forehead as I struggle not to have a panic attack.

My fingers grip my handbag tightly, and my shoulders are hunched as I do my best to avoid the other pedestrians on the sidewalk.

When I finally reach the safety of my apartment, I make sure all five locks are in place before sinking down on one of the couches.

I cover my face with trembling hands and try to focus on taking deeper breaths.

Feeling physically ill, my entire body is coated in a fine layer of sweat.

It’s been a while since I had a panic attack, and it opens the floodgates, making the memories escape from where I keep them locked up in the darkest part of my soul.

Unable to move a muscle or make a sound, I can’t even open my eyes. I think I’m lying on my bed.

I hear movement, then Todd’s voice as he croons, “I’m never letting you go. We’re meant to be together.”

Why is he here? I was clear when I broke things off with him.

When he tried to control every aspect of my life and demanded that I have no contact with my family, I knew things would only get worse.

Why can’t I move?

Why can’t I speak?

I feel the bed dip as he climbs on, and when he crawls over me, a wave of repulsion floods me.

No! I broke up with him. He has no right to be here.

His hands move over my body, and when he reaches my left side, a sharp pain slices through my skin.

Stop! Oh God. Stop!

The pain increases as he cuts into me, and a tear escapes my closed eyes.

“If you weren’t so stubborn, I wouldn’t be forced to brand you,” he whispers. “Don’t worry. I’m going to carve your name over my ribs, as well.”

I shake my head hard, and darting up off the couch, I rush to the kitchen, where I pour myself a glass of water. Swallowing the tepid liquid down, it takes all my strength to force the memories back to the deepest part of my soul, where I keep them locked up.

I’m in control of my body.

I can move.

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