Page 86 of Downfall

I refuse to let my father win. To let any of them win.

The only issue I have is that I have no one to help me. I don’t trust anyone. Not even Mae, despite the care she takes of Bella. Any one of the people around me could be on my father’s payroll and they probably are in some capacity or another.

So I spend my time researching, scheming. I have the route planned out, memorised. I have the tickets bought and stashed away where I know no one will find them. I rent a container. Cash only of course. It’s on the outskirts of town. The complete opposite side from where my father’s empire is by the docks and inside I begin to put everything I would need.

I buy some high cash items, diamonds, necklaces, generic things that could easily be pawned should I need it. I sell Paris’s jewels too. Every single awful one. It was him trapping me in this city in the first place and now it is his death that’s setting me free.

If that’s not poetic justice I don’t know what is.

I stash clothes. Nothing fancy. Nothing noticeable. Just normal, regular clothes, regular items for someone who wants to blend in. Who doesn’t want to be noticed.

And I get a gun too, paying a small fortune for it. It’s nothing fancy. A pistol barely bigger than my hand but just having it, just knowing that it’s there, helps alleviate some of the tension in my head.

And every time I go to the container, I’m careful, so very careful. I check I’m not followed. I double back on myself so many times it’s impossible for someone not to give themselves away. I won’t make the same mistakes as last time. I won’t give myself away.

I sink into my bed every night, knowing that as each one passes I get a tiny bit closer to my goal. One tiny step closer to my freedom. Except my brain seems fixated on that long after my body is ready for sleep, my mind won’t switch off and I lay here, exhausted and yet wide awake.

And tonight is apparently going the same way. I’m here, with the air con humming away and my own thoughts whirling in my head.

For a second I glance around half convinced someone is here, lurking in the shadows, watching me. But I can see nothing.

I shake my head, letting the vivid hyper-exhaustion take over again. No one is here. It’s just me. Me and my crazy headspace.

I sink back into the sheet. Perhaps I should leave, should make some excuse to escape to the Hamptons after all, but that thought is pointless because I’d never be able too. My father would use everything he has to keep me here, under his control, and as always I would be obedient. His perfect fucking puppet.

Besides, if I do leave then it will only make my plans to disappear even harder to enact.

I scowl shutting my eyes, willing my head to just shut the fuck up. I want to sleep. I need to sleep. And yet I know when I do, my dreams will be plagued by the same images that torment my waking hours.

A movement of light makes me jolt. My adrenaline jumps and I look around again. Am I imagining this? Is someone here or have I really lost my mind? All I can hear is my breathing, all I can feel is my heart hammering in my chest.

I put my hand out, reaching to the bedside table to grab my phone only it’s not there. The side is bare. I wince through the darkness, my mind too muddled by lack of sleep to really register what’s actually going on. Something wraps around my wrist. It’s quick. Suddenly I’m clawing, snarling, trying to get free as I realise I’m now tied to the bedframe.

Someoneishere.

My other hand is yanked back, more forcefully than the first. I can make out the person over me now. Their body framed by the dark but if anything they’re all the more horrifying for it.

I scream hoping my security will hear. Hoping it might scare this person away but all they do is tut. As if my fear is an inconvenience to them.

When both my wrists are tied I start kicking out, using my legs as a last defence. I can feel their weight on the bed, I can feel them moving closer and closer to me. My panic is all consuming as I fight so hard to get free.

“Stop.”

The words chill me. The sound of that voice. His voice.

“Roman.” I gasp his name and he tilts his head as if he’s amused. “Let me go.”

“Where would the fun in that be?” He murmurs.

“Let me go you bastard.” I scream.

He shakes his head letting out a laugh as his hands run down my sides. He loops his fingers around my thong, teasing it down, as I thrash more and more violently in my attempt to stop him.

Only it does no good. He half rips it off, curling them in his hand and leaning back over my face.

“Remember this?” He says and then rams the lace into my mouth.

I growl under the fabric but all he does is brush the hair from out my eyes as if this is some sort of seduction, some weird sex game we’re playing and not a thing of force.

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