Page 71 of The Hitch
"Oh, she won't mind. Maybe she'll take a turn after, if you're up for it." I lean forward and tug on the hem of my shirt, exposing a little more cleavage. "Please? It's been so long."
The greasy little man chews on his lip and flicks his gaze to the stairwell. I giggle again and toss my hair, giving him my best come-hither eyes. He gulps and quickly sets down the plates, scooting one of them into Helena's cage. "Okay. But it has to be quick, okay? She might come back."
"The quickest," I promise and push my lower lip out.
He shivers and fumbles with the key ring, nearly dropping it. I watch him flip through the keys with hungry eyes until he finally finds the right one. The hinges groan as he swings open the door to my cage and quickly steps in. I smile with all of my teeth.
Biding my time, I lick my lips as he unzips his dirty jeans. Stains run down the sides, as if he uses them to wipe his hands instead of a towel like a civilized human. But we both know he'sbarely civilized. He's about to take advantage of a caged woman. And all it took was batting my eyes and a wink, basically.
The world will not miss him.
His pants drop to the floor in a jingle of keys, revealing a very unimpressive, very flaccid dick. "Uh, sorry, can you like… I don't know, touch it a little bit?"
"Of course, baby," I purr and reach for him. "Come closer."
He inches forward until he's in the perfect position. If I do this just right, his head will crack against the metal bars of my cage, and I won't have to work too hard. I won't have to traumatize Helenathatbadly. My lips curl into a smile, and I launch my body at his, knocking him down, but his fucking head misses the bar by a goddamn hair.
"Fuck!" he shouts and shoves at me, but I'm too quick. He's no match for my bulk. Cackling with glee, I snatch his hair and slam the back of his head to the floor.
"Get off me, you crazy bitch!" he screams and slaps at my arms, scrabbling at my hands, trying to break my grip.
"You're goddamn right I am," I laugh in his face and slam his head again. He groans in pain as his eyes go unfocused.
"Can I look yet?" Helena whimpers.
"No!" I yell and rear back my hand, curling my fingers into claws, and slash at the dickhead's throat. My nails break the skin, but it's not anywhere near as satisfying as I'd like. Frowning, I slam the back of his head into the floor until I see red. I hear the sickeningcrackand cackle, my eyes rolling back in my head.
Overcome by my own ecstasy, I grab the discarded keyring and slot a few of the keys between my fingers. The cold metal feelsgoodin my hand—it's no machete, but I drive my fist down into his face andrip. The keys force their way through his sallow skin, and blood rushes out. Pulling my hand back, I smear hisblood across my face and nearly burst into tears—it's absolutely beautiful.
For good measure, I rear back my fist again and bring it down on his throat, the keys penetrating his windpipe. He gurgles and hacks, gasping for air, drowning in his own blood. Oh, my god, I love this. I love everything about this. His eyes fly open, and he claws at his neck, straining for air, but the breath doesn't come. I heave myself up and stand above him.
"You're goddamn right. I am a crazy bitch." I spit on his face, and stomp downhard. His body twitches as the last shred of oxygen leaves his lungs and the light leaves his eyes. The stench of urine fills the air. He pissed himself.
"Now?" Helena asks a bit too loudly. She's got her eyes screwed shut and her hands over her ears.
"Sure, babe." I wipe the keys clean on the dead man's clothes. "Wanna get out of here?"
"What?" She drops her hands and looks over to me with a gasp. "Really?"
"Really," I giggle and step out of my cage. It takes a few tries with the various keys on the ring, but I finally get Helena's cage open, too. Tears stream down her face as she takes one look at the corpse before turning to the stairwell. We run together, and every footstep sounds like freedom.
Freedom from this dank pit of hell. Freedom from Ella. Freedom from the long arm of the law.
We yank together on the steel door at the top of the stairs, and I almost sob at the fresh air, the light of day, the sight oftreesoutside the dusty window. I don't even spare a look at the structure around us. I'm laser focused on the front door and getting the fuck out.
Helena leaps in front of me and slams the heel of her foot into the door, cracking it from its hinges until it gives way to theautumnal nature around us. The instant my feet hit cold dirt, I sink to my knees and sob.
"Not yet, we need to go!" Helena urges me up, her head on a swivel. My tearstained vision won't let me focus on anything but the gritty soil beneath me. I dig my fingers into the earth and relish the tiny pebbles, how the twigs snap under my grasp, and the satisfying crunch of decaying leaves.
We're not in the city. Birds call in the distance, and the only human activity I hear is Helena's frantic breaths and my own broken sobs. But none of that matters—nothing matters—we'refree.
I reach out for Helena, and she hoists me up, her iron grip clamping down on my forearm as we set off in a stumbling run. My lungs burn, and my thighs quake—this is the most running I've done since high school, and a gym coach with a piercing whistle is far tamer than literally running for our lives. Trees whip at us and snag on our clothes as I gasp for air.
"Please," I manage to wheeze out. "Please, can we stop for a second?"
Helena nods and hustles me behind a fallen tree. "For a minute. We're not safe yet."
"Where the hell are we?" I ask as I lean my head back on the rough bark. My pulse whooshing in my ears, I gulp down breath after breath, but the ache in my side won't leave me alone. Is this really how I die? I escape a basement prison but can't run for my life?
