Only this time. I didn’t wake up to Q’s arms around me and his kisses in my hair.
I woke up to a fate worse than death.
My instincts understood before my mind, dousing me in howling fear.
It’s happening again.
It was dark. Quiet. Serene. A lie. The worst kind of lie.
I’m not safe!
Heavy masculine breathing brushed my face as two large hands exploded through the shadows—reaching for me, going for my eyes.
No!
In an awful second, time screeched to a halt and two things happened. Two major things that showed just how much I’d changed from when they’d taken me in Mexico.
The first was I shut down.
I switched off.
All the passion and rage and spirit when I fought Leather Jacket was replaced with cold calculating numbness. For a moment all I wanted to do was give up. To let my heart cease its ragged beat and let the inevitable happen. After all, fighting didn’t work.
How many times must fate slap the same lesson in my face before I understood giving up was my only option?
Darkness even worse than night stole my eyesight. Something cool and slightly slimy was pressed over my face. The brush of strong hands on my ears made my skin crawl—the pressure of the blindfold sent my heart into a fulcrum, spinning faster than anything before.
Give in. Just give in.
I sent the message to my muscles: relax. Time for evil to win. But something stopped me from being a victim. Something deep, too deep to switch off.
And that was the second thing. Smashing away the weakness of prey, filling me with fire. Energy I no longer knew swirled from nowhere, seesawing my emotions between complete submission and rage so brittle and blizzard-cold, I no longer knew myself.
Fight. Kill. Or die trying.
My instincts catalogued everything. My attackers position, his breathing, the pressure of the blindfold on my eyes. His knees were on either side of my waist, the only weight came from his hands on my temples, holding the blindfold in place. The mattress dipped as he shifted.
I stayed prone and frozen, even while I sparked and conducted a battle inside. A battle of acceptance or murder.
My hands curled, calling forth the reckless survival I’d always tapped into. Half of me lamented—give in! Fate would never let me be free—I would never deserve Q. I couldn’t afford to keep paying these unpayable tolls. But the other half couldn’t give up. It wasn’t in my genetic code to allow something so precious to be stolen.
A never ending second ticked past where my heart whizzed faster and faster until my chest bled with fear. Neither of us moved. No needle was shoved into my arm; no curse was sworn in my ear. It was as if he waited. Paused to see what I would do.
A test then?
A test to see if I’d finally become the perfect possession to be traded. Had White Man won after all? Had he broken me by letting me believe in the falsity of safety?
The epitome of brokenness was no longer caring. No longer functioning. No longer willing to exist.
Am I broken?
The blunt question sliced through my brain—taunting me with the weakness of the word.
The ultimate question was did I want to die?
I don’t want to die.
Did I want to live?
I don’t want to live like this anymore.
I grew hotter. Madder.
They’d taken everything. They’d taken too much. And yet they’d come back for more.
It isn’t fair.
I filled with resentment. Furiousness.
What are you going to do about it?
The confusion inside grew hot, evaporating to steam, billowing faster and faster with anger.
I won’t. I won’t be broken.
I was stronger. I was a fighter. I would die being true to myself.
I was livid. I was rabid. I went insane.
My mouth opened; I screamed, “Not this time, you f**king ass**le.” The tense moment shattered, raining around us in shards as I switched.
The frozen victim became a crazed warrior. I wanted his blood.
The man grunted in shock; his hands grabbed chunks of my hair—keeping my head locked against the mattress.
The pain in my scalp was nothing. Did he think I cared about a little agony after everything I’d been through?
Jerking manically, I screamed again, tearing the follicles free from my scalp. The pain reminded me of something I’d forgotten. Something I should never have taken for granted.
I’m Tess Snow.
And I would survive or die. I was done just existing.
The grip on my hair fell away. Fumbling hands tried to tie the blindfold behind my head, but I would no longer make it easy for him.
My hands flew up, connecting with a bristle-covered jaw. The facial growth shot an image of Q into my head. Where was he?
My heart ruptured and tore and shattered into useless pieces. They’ve hurt him. They’d stolen him—that was why he wasn’t there to save me. The thought of never seeing Q again was the last of my undoing. I was free. Utterly free from everything but that moment.
“You hurt him!” My fingers curled, turning nails into weapons as I dragged them down his face. “I’ll make you pay.”
My assailant reared back but I moved with him, slicing, swiping, connecting with his face, neck, and throat. His arms came up, knocking my hands away, but he didn’t pounce or pummel me into unconsciousness.
I didn’t know why he hesitated, but it would cost him. Never again would I let them take me. I either won this or I died. Two options and I didn’t really care which one.
The man’s legs stayed pinned on either side of me, squeezing, trying to keep me from wiggling free, but he didn’t have what I had: the clarity of destiny.
My mind turned blank. The fear of what had happened to Q disappeared. All I focused on was killing.
With curled hands, I struck anywhere I could. His chest, his thighs, his jaw. Each strike was met with an angry growl but no retaliation.
His hands tried to capture my wrists, but my anger made me a flailing mess to catch. The world spun and spun as I sucked in too much air.
White-noise crackled, roaring in my ears, deafening me to everything but my strumming heartbeat.
The sheets wrapped around my legs as I kicked and squirmed. His weight kept me trapped, so I did the only thing I could—I launched upright and head-butted him.
Stars.
Shooting stars. Comets. Fireworks.
Bright light replaced the darkness of my blindfold as our skulls clacked together.
The man groaned, cursing low. He rolled off me, dropping off the bed.
The instant I was free, I ripped the blindfold off. Not that it helped in the dark. Instead of running, I attacked.
Throwing myself onto the floor, I latched onto his back, punching everywhere I could. The pain in my knuckles was vengeance.