Page 121 of Voracious

I glare at him. “Is that your version of an apology for letting people gang-rape me?”

“I was also a participant, or did you forget?”

When I just look at him, my heart breathing heavily in my chest, he laughs. “You were a little out of it by the time I got to you. I’ll remind you soon.”

I snarl. “You’re not getting anywhere near me.”

“But you need to be taught a lesson, baby.”

“I’m not your baby.”

“No, you’re justmine. Now shut up, I like this song,” he says as “Feel So Close” by Calvin Harris plays on the radio.

I close my eyes and beg for someone to crash into the car and put me out of my misery as he turns onto an interstate. Maybe I’ll chew off my tongue and choke on my own blood, hold my breath until I pass out, or make sure my next bridge jump is successful.

I flinch as he lands his palm on my legs. “Let go.” A demand – an order I spit out through my teeth. “Now.”

“Admit one thing to me,” he says, licking his lips. “Who was a better shag? Me or Jason McElroy?”

“I’d rather stub my toe than think about that. Plus, if you remember rightly, you drugged me and I was unaware you even touched me, never mind violated me yourself with your pathetic excuse of a dick.”

I dig my nails into his hand, making him swerve the car. I don’t let go as I break the skin, blood gathering around my fingertips. He tries to pull his hand away, but I dig deeper.

“You’re a sick rapist who killed my daughter, and if you think for a second I’ll ever forgive you and play into this fantasy life where we’re together, you’ve got another think coming. I am not attracted to you, and I never will be. I think you’re ugly, with a personality to match. I willneverlove you.”

For good measure, I punctuate the last five words by digging my nails in even deeper and throwing his hand off my knee.

He flexes his hand in front of his face. “You’ve made me mad,” is all he says.

“The truth hurts, you psychotic dickhead.”

I’m allowing my mouth and rage to take over. After all, what else can possibly go wrong?

Bloody crescents decorate his hand, and I feel a touch pleased with my handiwork as he sucks the droplets and stays extremely quiet. I wait for a punch or a slap, maybe my head smashing into the car window, but he indicates left and drives on as if he didn’t hear my words.

After a few minutes, I groan. “Can you cut these ropes?”

“No,” he says, not looking at me.

“They’re hurting me,” I say, raising my hands to show him the raw, tender skin. “And extremely unnecessary. Where the fuck am I going to go? You jammed the lock and stole my shoes.”

Chris shakes his head once, emotionless, as if he’s trying to zone out and imagine I’m not here. He leans his elbow on the door and rests the side of his head on his fist, the other hand tight on the steering wheel.

I huff and slouch back in my seat again.

35

STACEY

“Iforgive you,” he says an hour later as we drive along a road sandwiched between two forests.

I screw my face up with confusion. “For what?”

“Sleeping with Kade Mitchell. You can lie to me all you want, but I know he was your boyfriend. I saw the messages between you, and I got so fucking mad and acted out of spite.”

“Acted out of spite…”

He looks heartbroken, but I don’t care. I watch him until he sighs and elaborates. “When I found out you weren’t a virgin anymore, and who took your virginity, I fucked someone to see if it made me feel better, but it didn’t.”

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