Page 119 of Love to Defy You
My only value lies between my legs.
At last, Enzo lets go of my clit and slides out of me. He zips up his pants, then grabs his phone and turns off the recording. With his head cocked, he stares down at me, but I can’t meet his gaze. My awareness is detached from my body, and I can’t move.
He grazes his knuckles down my back. “You look so beautiful like this, bent over and spread with my cum leaking out of your tight cunt.” A moment later, the shutter on his camera phone clicks. “There. Such a pretty picture.”
After a long pause, Enzo tugs the robe down over my ass, but his touch makes me shudder—not from arousal but from repulsion.
“Come here.” Enzo pulls me upright and wraps me in his embrace. “Alek is as good as dead, but I’ll help you move on from him. I love you, Willow, and I know you’ll feel the same way about me in time.” He presses a kiss against my forehead.
As good as deadmeans Alek isn’t dead yet, and I need to pull myself together to find him before that happens.
The urgency I had to escape returns, and I shake my head to bring myself back into my body. As I shift my weight to my other foot, I notice the cast iron skillet on the stove with the last bit of chicken in it. The burner light shows it’s still hot.
“I think I’m just tired.” I take a step away from him, and he lets me go. “I feel weak from being out of it for the past couple of days.”
Enzo put his hand on my shoulder and gives me a smile. “Of course. Why don’t you go lie down?”
I turn away from him, then grab the pan by the pot holder on the handle. When I swing it around to collide with his head, he’s too quick, and he grabs my wrist.
“I told you not to do anything stupid,” he hisses.
He starts to wrench the pan from my grip, but I bring my knee up between his legs as hard as I can.
With a sharp gasp, he grabs his crotch and hinges forward, releasing my wrist in the process. I swing the cast iron skillet with as much strength as I can muster, and it smashes into the side of his head.
Enzo howls as he falls forward. When he collapses, his head hits the tile, and he stills.
I whack him again to make sure he’s knocked out. He only stirs for a moment and groans before becoming motionless once more.
The pan clatters to the floor beside him when I drop it, and I race around the counter toward the foyer. I lunge for the front door, but when I turn the handle, it’s locked and latched. As I work to unlock the door, I keep glancing over my shoulder, my heart hammering against my rib cage while I wait for Enzo to fly over in a rage.
But he doesn’t, and the door finally opens when I turn the handle.
My bare feet hit cobblestone as I run outside into the dark, cloudy night. Thunder rolls in the distance moments before a lightning strike illuminates the surrounding forest of thick trees.
When the lightning fades, I follow the landscape lighting along the walkway, which leads to a private drive bordered by box hedges. I spare a glance behind me to check for Enzo, but I only linger long enough to take in the sprawling, two-story mansion with Roman columns and a gray stone façade.
I have no idea where the hell I am, but I race for the driveway and follow it until I reach a tall iron gate. With a hard tug, I pull open the gate and slide through, but my robe catches on one of the bars and rips a tear in the hem.
I realize the front of my robe is still open, so I clutch the fluffy fabric closed at my chest and sprint, the tie at my waist whipping behind me. An asphalt street stretches in both directionsthrough dense forest, lined with vintage lampposts to light the way. A low, dense fog makes the lights blurry in the dark.
A drop of cold rain hits my cheek, followed by another.
Veering left, I race along the concrete sidewalk until I find another gate, similar to the one I just escaped from. I must be in a private neighborhood of wealthy estate homes.
An intercom box is affixed to the side of the gate, so I rush up to it and jam my finger on the button.
But when no one answers, my heart sinks.
“Fuck!” I don’t have time to stand around, and I take off toward the next house. The rain starts to pick up, and my skin prickles at the icy droplets hitting my face and feet.
But before I can find another home, I reach a stop sign at a three-way intersection. I skid to a stop when I realize I’ve seen similar stop signs in Russian before.
A street sign above it lists two roads, and even though I can’t read it, I recognize the letters as Russian. The design of it matches the ones posted all over Olininburg, and once I realize where I am, I let out a sob.
If I can find a phone, I can call my dad to come pick me up. My feet hurt from the pebbles on the cold sidewalk, and my skin is prickling in the chilly night air, but I have to keep going. I turn onto the next street and hope I’m taking the fastest route to a more familiar area of the city.
But a few moments later, I hear my name. “Willow!”
