Page 265 of Saving Her

He’s young. Probably my age. Mid-twenties, with a thirst for blood if the excitement in his eyes is any indication.

“You expect me to listen to you?” I spit. “You’re nothing. Nobody.” I saw at the ropes, making my hand cramp from exertion, until the restriction at my wrist begins to loosen. I push harder, cut faster, then scream again, this time in pain when the blade slices through skin.

The warmth of blood trickles over my palm as the asshole storms toward me to slap a meaty palm across my cheek. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

My head flings to the side, the impact blazing across my face, reawakening the throbbing injuries from earlier. The violent jerk of my shoulders frees my right wrist, the blade still tightly clutched in my palm.

I gasp. Not in pain.

It’s energy.Electricity.

I snatch for the ends of the rope, making sure they don’t fall to the floor and expose my partial freedom as I return my attention to my tormentor. “Fuck you, you weak piece of shit.”

He smirks, levelling his gun on my chest. “Fuck me?”

Air congeals in my lungs, the pressure building. I can already anticipate the impact of the bullet. It’s right there, demanding me to keep my mouth shut.

The need to distract him pushes me to take the risk. I refuse to let Luca jeopardize his life to save me again.

“You won’t shoot. Youcan’t,” I correct. “If you kill me, Robert will do the same to you.”

“I’m getting to a point where I’m willing to find out.” He leans closer, getting in my face. “So either shut your fucking mouth or I’m putting a bullet in your head.”

I drop the rope. Swing my free arm. Aim the blade for his throat.

The metal nicks skin, the contact barely penetrating before he lashes out, pushing me away to send me toppling backward in the chair. I hit the tile hard, the blade escaping my grasp, my left arm painfully restricted behind me.

I scramble with my free hand for my weapon, fumbling it between my stretched fingers as I tug to loosen my trapped wrist. I raise the blade in defense, but I’m not under attack. Robert’s thug backtracks, a hand clamped over his throat while his other trembles with the pointed gun.

He stares at me in shock, lips parted, eyes wide as blood seeps between the fingers on his neck, the drops of crimson falling one by one onto his white shirt.

I roll from the chair, my wrist still trapped in rope, and frantically saw at the binding. My heart hammers. My breathing stutters. He’s going to shoot me.

“You’re losing a lot of blood.” I tug and tug at the chair. “You need to get to a hospital.”

“Sh-shut up.” He releases his throat to inspect his hand, sending a deluge of gore down his neck.

I gasp. It’s bad. That small nick must have hit his carotid because the amount of liquid is extensive. That motherfucker is going to die. Fast.

I huff out a breath, the thrill of victory giving me a vibrating sense of hope.

“Fuck you.” He jabs the gun in my direction as I keep sawing. “You stupid c-cunt.” He stumbles into the kitchen counter, the weapon tumbling from his hand, his legs collapsing beneath him.

I tug at my bindings, the final length of rope loosening enough for me to yank my arm free. I’m on my feet in an instant and running for his gun. I fall to my knees and slide, snatching the barrel. But he doesn’t fight back. He spreads out on the floor, blinking sightlessly at me, his mouth moving without words.

Holy shit. He’s done for, the pool of blood building around him.

I point the barrel at his head, my finger twitching against the trigger.

“B-bitch,” he chokes, his grip uncurling around his throat. “F-fuck you.”

I watch the life seep from him as I sheath my blade in the cuff. I wait precious moments, making sure he doesn’t experience a resurgence of energy before I make for the hall, ignoring the putrid smell to stop at an open door leading into darkness.

Grunts and groans carry from inside. Indecipherable muttered words, too.

“Shed some fucking light, Greg,” Robert snaps. “I can’t see dick down here.”

I freeze, caught like a deer in headlights.

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