Page 76 of Salvatore

“Really?” I pant. “Not even with a body full of bruises?”

He inches closer. Too close.

I pounce back onto the bed, trekking over the mattress in two steps. I’m about to leap off the other side and make for the door when he jumps up beside me. I swing the lamp, hoping to hit him in the head with the heavy ceramic base, but he crash-tackles me, the both of us plummeting headfirst to the floor while my makeshift weapon slips from my grip.

My cheek takes the brunt of impact and carpet burn sears the side of my face as his bulky weight lands on top of me, knocking the air from my lungs.

I scramble, bucking and elbowing for freedom.

“Quit it.” He fists my hair and yanks me onto my back.

I scream. Scratch. Claw.

“Cállate!” He punches me in the gut, stealing my ability to fight as I heave for oxygen.

I’m a gasping, retching rag doll as he climbs my body and sits his heavy weight atop my abdomen. He plasters my wrists to the floor with his knees and leans down, getting in my face with the stank stench of beer.

“We’ll tell Gabriel your bruises are self-inflicted.” He stares into my eyes, no compassion or remorse, while I gulp and gasp. “That you knew your time was up and were trying to cause more delays.”

I wheeze breath after breath, turning my face from him, trying to look away, but he’s everywhere. All over me. Up against me.

I open my mouth, preparing to scream again.

“Don’t even think about it.” He plasters a palm over my throat, pressing hard on my jugular. “Fight all you like, but do it quietly or I’ll knock you out and finish having fun the easy way.” He squeezes a little harder, watching as I suffocate.

I dig my nails into his wrist as the edges of my vision grow darker, the room turning black. “No,” I plead, the solitary syllable a whisper against the thud of loud music.

His hold loosens, allowing my sight to slowly return and find him messing with his belt, then lowering his zipper.

Oh, God.

I told myself I’d be apathetic. I promised I’d play dead. To not let them enjoy my struggle. But I can’t.

I buck. Wiggle. Scream.

He presses tighter on my throat, the pressure threatening to collapse my windpipe.

I panic. Flail. Pummel and kick and thrash.

It doesn’t help.

The room blurs. My limbs grow too heavy to keep up the fight.

My arms flop to my sides, my consciousness waning as he slides down my body, balancing his weight through the hand threatening to collapse my jugular.

I grapple to remain conscious.

I’m sinking. Falling.

Nothingness takes over. Darkness. Maybe death.

I become weightless. His heavy body vanishes. The black void allows me to breathe.

“Ivy.”

My name is called. Shouted.

“Ivy.”

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