Page 31 of Pretty Little Threats

Eric glares at me, hunched over and sucking in gulps of air as he fights through the pain.

Though I want to believe he’ll see reason—likehe did last time—there’s a terrible force pressing down on me and a low, hissing voice whispering through my mind, telling me that Eric won’t stop. Not tonight.

Flashes of what might happen take over my senses, sending acid through my veins, but I shake my head hard, rub my aching arm, and lift my chin. “I think you should go.”

Face scrunching in agony, he straightens, malice shimmering in his gaze like dark glitter. “That was a mistake, Rosalynn.” And then he storms toward me.

Every step he takes is a harsh reprimand against the tile floor.

The contrast between his approach and Dare’s is stark. Now that I see the intention glinting in Eric’s eyes—the pure hostility—I understand that the only danger I was ever in with Dare was succumbing to my feelings. There was never a real threat.

Bladder weakening, I step to the side, but he dashes around the counter faster than any man has a right to move. Fright electrifies my insides. A soft sound escapes me, and even though I spin and run, he’s much, much quicker, closing the distance in a matter of seconds and slamming me against a wall of cabinets. My face slaps against the wooden surface. Agony erupts, angry heat rushing to the injury, and the room tilts.

Fight back, Rose! Fight!

Struggling, bucking, writhing, I force him back before he can get his hands around my wrists and dash to the side, but my freedom is short lived.

Eric is on me once again, this time shoving me down onto the marble countertop. Bile burns in my throat.

“Eric, stop!”

He wrenches one arm behind my back.

“Please!” I try again.

“Shut up, Rosalynn!” he roars, cracking the back of his hand on my head.

Stars dance across my vision, and I think I whine, but it’s hard to hear with the blood roaring through my ears.

My other arm is roughly yanked back as well, joining the other as Eric pins them in place.

He’s going to rape me. That single thought nearly has me passing out, but I push through the terror no one should know to beg for mercy.

“Stop!” Thrashing, I try to get out of the hold, failing as my bare toes slip on the smooth marble tiles.

Eric shoves his hands under my top, his touch like thousands of spider legs crawling over my skin.

I don’t want it. I don’t like it. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

“Please stop!” Tears burn in my eyes.

He grabs the back of my leggings and wrenches them down my thighs.

My heartbeat slows until I’m suspended in the moments between who I was and who I will be once he’s done with me.

“Stop, stop, stop,” I beg. Moisture slicks down my cheeks, but I fight a sob.

His smooth palm coasts over my bare skin.

Bile rises as his knuckle brushes over me.

Heart pounding. Mind screaming.

No, no, no. NO.

I don’t want him to touch me.

I desperately want him to stop?—

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