Page 354 of Phobia
I try to check my security feed for the second time in the past fifteen minutes. Yet again, I get nothing. I’m losing my shit.
“Something's not right.” Andre glares at me, but the look in his eyes quickly melts into concern. I’m not fuckingdick-whipped, okay?!He can mock me all he wants to, but I know that gut feeling when shit is about to blow up in your face. “I need to go. Now.”
Andre holds my gaze, then with a jerky nod releases me. I turn on my heel and immediately break into a jog to my truck.
“Call me in an hour,” I hear him call out just before I slam the door shut.
I know exactly what will happen if I don’t.
I better fucking hurry up and get home as fast as I can.
I need to get my angel. I need to know he’s safe.
I fucking pray I’m not too late.
Chapter 13
Everything is black. I can't see even the tiniest sliver of light.
The darkness has finally swallowed me whole, and I must find the strength to break free, tearing through the belly of the beast.
For Delorean, I'm ready to face my biggest fears.
If I fail, if he finds me in a heap of discarded body parts on the floor, I'll rest in peace knowing I fought for Delorean. For us. For everything we could have been.
My fingers blindly feel the space near my thighs.
John's fists are unforgiving, but he's grown tired. Slowly but surely he slumps down on his knees, grabbing at my blood-soaked robe, shaking me and screaming in my face.
“Don't you dare fucking die you son of a bitch! Don't you fucking die! You don't get off this easy! I went through hell at the hands of your psychopath boyfriend. That fucker almost killed me!”
His labored heavy breath fans at my wet skin. He shakes my hopelessly weak body rough enough to slam my skull into the wall.
The mess Delorean will find, the desecration of our home, the prospect of this horrible vision, fills me with wrath.
This monster doesn't deserve to sully my home and get to walk away breathing.
My trembling fingers caress the sharp edge of the modified Allan's key Delorean had adjusted for me so I can pry open the large linen cabinets on my own. It’s a ten-inch Allan key, with a wide three-inch modified flat end, fanning out as a half of an octagon. The opposite end is the traditional ninety-degree bent tip of a hexagonal shape.
My Delorean made it for me. My key for all the doors, for all the locks, one to unveil all of his secrets should I wish to explore the house on my own.
All of me belongs to you, little bird.
Never a bolt out of place, even my cheat key is neatly tucked away in a modified hollow crevice of the thick timber panel.
I reach scraping the sharp flat edge with my nails, and I can feel it cutting through my flesh without budging.
“Don't you dare ––” John heaves in my face, collapsing over my thighs, shoving my body to the wall, too weak now to slam me against it.
I reach again for the dull end of the key, giving it my all, trying to claw it out, feeling my nails fold back and break. My whimper is barely perceptible over John's heavy panting. The edge of the key slips and protrudes lower from its hiding place.
I clasp it, feeling the surge of anger coursing through my veins.
Hate be my salvation.
Blessed fury poison me with wrath, carry me on wings of ire.
I will bring this monster to his knees if it's the last thing I do before I die.
