Page 87 of Bullseye
Taking a deep breath, I consciously relax all the muscles in my body. Taking a hit on tense muscles is way more damaging than on relaxed ones. That’s why so many drunk drivers walk away from car wrecks.
Shaking out my hands, I stay still as the man approaches and lifts his hand. With an open palm, he strikes me across the face. My head ricochets to the side and my cheek burns, but I can survive this. Righting my head, he barely gives me time to prepare before he slaps me in the other direction. It feels like my eye is going to pop, but again, I bring my head up.
This time, I see it like it’s happening in slow motion; he lifts his hand but to the opposite side—he’s going to backhand me. Fuck.
The glimmer of his ring with the signet of Lucifer’s Riders flashes in the harsh office light, and then he lets his hand come down hard across my cheek.
My skin feels like it’s tearing open, and I put my fingers to it. Pulling them away, I see they’re slick with blood. Looking up at the asshole, I glower as he pulls his hand back and punches me hard in the gut.
Putting out my hands to steady myself, I drop to my knees, but he follows me, and with another hard strike, backhands me again—across the same cheek. Blood gushes down, and I hold my sweatshirt sleeve against it, trying to stop the bleeding as my abdomen aches.
This is nothing,I tell myself.I’ve had so much worse when I was training for Krav Maga.
On my knees with my stomach flipping and my face aching, I watch helplessly as he lifts his boot.
Oh fuck, I should have stipulated no kicking.
Thankfully, he’s slower than I am, and as he raises his boot behind him, I know he’s going to kick me in the teeth. Turning away just in time, he lands his kick right between my shoulder blades. Something pointy wedges itself into my back.
“Oh fuck!” Falling forward onto my chest, there’s a danger that my phone is exposed. Scrambling, I right myself and back myself against the wall. A stupid move, but at this point, I’m just trying to survive…
He lifts his foot again and—
“Hold it.”
He drops his foot as Ironclad steps forward.
“You’ve had your revenge. She’s proven her strength. You can all go now. Leave us to the next part of her initiation.”
The way Ironclad smiles… I realize helikeswatching women be beaten. It’s his foreplay and obviously the reason he set up the rules of his club the way he did.
“Seneca.”
He holds out his hand to me, and although it hurts to move, I slip mine in his. He helps me to my feet.
“Not hurting too badly, I hope? Not so much that you won’t be able to enjoy our fun?”
Blood trickles from above my eye and runs down my cheek. I need to stop it.
“Let me go to the bathroom first, Ironclad. I need to stop the bleeding.”
“Of course.” He holds out his hand and points me to another door hidden behind a screen.
Stepping into the bathroom, I wonder if he has cameras in here as well. Hovering at the sink, I look at my reflection. My wounds hurt like hell, especially the one between my shoulder blades, but nothing is life-threatening. And nothing will cause permanent damage. At worst, I’ll get a scar.
Cleaning my wound, I apply paper towels, trying to stop the bleeding. Then, taking off my sweatshirt and lifting my jacket and T-shirt, I check my ribs which look red and are sore, but I don’t think any are broken. Removing the phone from my jeans as discreetly as I can and making sure it’s silenced, I start the live feed, and tuck it into my front pocket. Then, I pull the sweatshirt back on and head out to Ironclad.
I’ve got one chance.
“You look better,” he tells me.
“Thank you.” Walking to him, I know I need to keep control here. “But I’m still in pain.”
His eyes flash. So, I was right. This asshole loves it when a woman is hurt.
“What kind of pain?”
So, this is his foreplay. Okay.
