Page 10 of Gambit
Ihatethis feeling. Absolutely loathe it to my core.
Hughes don’t break.
“Fuck off,” I mutter. Now is not the time for Dad’s drill sergeant pep talks.
The air is cold against my exposed flesh, but the fire in my belly burns hotter than any shame or chill. I’ve been trained by the best—how to calculate, how to endure, how to fight back. Not even this binds me.
Breathing slow and steady, I work to keep my mind clear and sharp. I need to think, to plan. My eyes scan the room.
Flick.
My eyes dart to my trusty knife just a few paces away, her blade catching the sunlight that seeps through the grime-smeared window. A surge of hope shoots through me, raw and fierce.
“Come on,” I whisper to myself, voice low. Ignoring the sting across my face and the sticky mess on my skin, I roll off the bed, feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. The room sways a bit—my head’s still reeling from the hit and the drugs—but I shove the dizziness aside.
No time for weakness.
Gritting my teeth, my dress, torn and gaping, offers no warmth as I shiver when my bare feet pad across the threadbare carpet. Each step towards Flick is a step closer to freedom, to control, to payback.
With my hands zip-tied behind my fucking back, I have to be creative. I lean over the table, pressing my chest against the cold wood, trying to nudge Flick closer to the edge with my chin.
The metal tip of the blade barely touches my cheek when the door creaks open.
“Thought you’d try,” Franks’ voice slithers through the air, greasy and vile. His footsteps thud against the thin carpet, each one a countdown to violence.
“You think tying me up would keep me down? You don’t know me at all, Franks.”
He looms over me, his breath hot and foul. I try to back away, but there’s nowhere to go. My mind races as my eyes dart around the room.
“There is nowhere to go, little girl,” Franks snarls, lunging for me, hands reaching to grab and hurt. I jerk back and twist, turning my body into a weapon. Every self-defence lesson, every late-night training session—it’s all got to count now.
“Get off me!” I shout, my voice raw. I shove against him with my shoulder, anything to put some space between us. Survival instincts flare bright and fierce, honed by years of being told I’d have to fight for every scrap of respect in this cutthroat world.
“Feisty,” he grunts, trying to pin me.
“Stay the hell away from me!” I bark, desperation lending strength to my struggle. I can’t let him win. Not here, not like this. I won’t be a victim.
I kick out hard, my foot connecting with his stomach. He grunts, the sound ugly as it fills the room, but he doesn’t fall back. Instead, he looms closer, eyes burning with a madness that chills me more than the cold air against my exposed skin. I can’t afford to think about how vulnerable I am.
“Stop wriggling, you little cunt.” His curse cuts through the air, but I cut him off with another kick. My legs, at least, are free to do damage. He kicks my ankles out from under me, and I hit the deck hard before he crawls over me, pinning me to the floor.
“Get off me, you fucker!” The words rip from my throat, raw and fierce. I thrash beneath him, trying to dislodge his weight. Panic is a live wire in my chest, but I shove it down. Now’s not the time to freeze—I have to move, have to fight.
Franks growls, face twisting into something monstrous, and then his hands are on my skin, groping me, pinching, squeezing. He’s stronger than he looks, powered by a rage that seems to give him an edge I can’t quite match with no hands.
Never again will I throw out the insult that I can take someone down with my hands tied behind my back because that’s not true. Not true at all.
One thing is for sure,whenI get out of here alive and un-raped, I’m going to have a good long talk with Vince, my dad’s enforcer and my trainer for years, about why the fuck he never thought to train me like this. Why? Why the fuck did no one, not even me, think about this scenario?
Probably because you never thought you’d get into a position where someone got that close to you, fucking arrogant bitch,
Shut up!
My conversation with myself is cut short as one of Franks’ knees wedges between my legs, prying them apart, and dread floods through me.
“Think you’re so tough?” he growls. “Let’s see how you handle this.”
He pins me down with his weight. I writhe beneath him, every muscle straining. It’s not just the physical pain—it’s the knowledge that if he gets the better of me, it won’t just be my body that pays the price. It will be my soul.
