A Tempting Arrangement (Twisted Vows Book 1)

35. Misty

Trigger warning:On page flashback of past SA.

Nicholas opens the door for me and holds his hand to help guide me out. I’m shaking so badly I don’t dare take it, instead shifting around my dress in an excuse to get out on my own.

“Thank you for the ride,” I manage to say. He tried to chat like usual, but I didn’t have it in me. All I want is to get home. To pretend like none of this happened. To hide in the space I built for myself. My heart feels like it’s been cracked open, like the most vulnerable part of me is exposed and I need to get away to somewhere I can close that part of me off again.

Nicholas’s eyes are warm with concern when he says, “I’ll walk you to your apartment.”

“I’m fine, I swear. Geez, you’re as bad as Damon.” I don’t give him a chance to argue, already walking toward the door.

The newly installed doorman opens it. He’s tall and burly, looks more like a bouncer than someone who opens doors for a living, but it’s a layer of safety I desperately need.

He grunts as I thank him and walk through. It kills me to take my time walking up the stairs, tears of frustration already pooling in my eyes, and the bodice of my dress feels like it’s slowly suffocating me.

My skin itches and crawls everywhere Thomas touched me. I’m desperate to wipe his filth off and climb directly into the shower, not bothering to remove the dress. I fight to breathe as panic descends on me, my lungs collapsing in on themselves asI scrub my skin raw, but I can still feel the press of his fingers. I can still smell his sour breath. Memories I’ve been hiding wrap around me, pulling me under. I can’t escape as they flood into me, and I crash to my knees on the floor.

“Let’s go back to the party before your mother notices we’re missing.” I push against Thomas’s shoulders, trying to put space between us. He’s not a massive guy, barely above average, but he doesn’t so much as budge.

“Come on, baby. Don’t be like that.” Hot breath that reeks of booze fans over my neck, making my skin crawl. “No one will know.”

His fingers skate up my thigh, dragging my knee-length skirt with them, and I frantically grip his wrist to hold it in place.

“I’m not ready.” I push at him again, and this time, he leans far enough to face me.

“You’re a fucking tease. You know that?” he hisses, grabbing my shoulder with one hand, pinning me against the wall while the other breaks free from my grasp and lifts my skirt above my hips.

He bites his bottom lip, leering. “How can you tell me you don’t want it when you look like that?”

“Please, let me go.” I dig my fingers into his collared shirt, shoving him, and the pop, clack, ting sound of buttons breaking off fills the air.

“Bitch.” Thomas’s slap feels more like a punch.

The world rings around me as pain radiates in my cheek, deep into my jaw. His mouth is moving, but I can’t make out the words as shock ricochets through me.

“Did you fucking hear me?” His fingers reach into my underwear, his touch revolting.

“Stop,” I scream, slamming my fists into his chest.

“You are a fucking tease, Misty. Do you think that I don’t know what your parents want? That you’ve been using me?

“I don’t want anything.” Bile climbs my throat, and tears burn my eyes.

He tears the seam of my underwear, and they fall to the floor. “Well, I want something from you.”

Panic laces my blood, pumping adrenaline through my veins.

I want to scream that this can’t be happening, but it is. It’s not fair, it’s cruel, it’s horrendous. But it is happening.

That doesn’t mean I have to make it easy on him.

I dig my nails into his neck, pulling him down while slamming my knee into his dick.

Thomas lets out a pained groan and slams me back again, my head connecting hard with the wall. Black rims the corners of my vision, but it’s fear that takes over.

“Don’t touch me.” I slam my forehead and clip his nose, blood splattering on my cheeks.

He lifts his hand to his nose, then stares at the blood.

“You fucking bitch.” The remainder of his cocky mask evaporates. He buries his fingers into my hair, the pain pulling a scream from my chest, and tosses me to the ground.

My palms and knees sting with the force of the landing. He already has me by the hips as I try to scramble free. Fingers dig into my hip bone, holding me in place. I kick out and fight against his hold, fight to get away from him. Fight for a different reality.

A sharp point nicks my neck, and I freeze at the pain.

“Do you know what this is?” He strokes it over my nape before slicing easily through the back of my shirt, leaving me instantly bare from my waist up.

No. No. No. Fuck. I’d bought him a butterfly knife for Christmas. It’s the only thing he wanted that I could afford. I even had his name engraved into the handle. Now, the blade I picked out is digging into my spine.

“Please,” I cry desperately.

“Fuck, I knew you’d beg for it.” The sound of his zipper going down breaks something in me. He’s barely holding me.

I can’t let him do this.

I break free, scrambling forward on the smooth tile. It’s milliseconds before his knife digs into my lower back, cutting a deep horizontal gash as he drags me back.

“That wasn’t very fucking nice. Look what you made me do.” He pushes the knife in deeper, and warm liquid trails over my hip.

My cry catches in my mouth, the pain stealing away my ability to breathe. Something hard pushes at me from behind, and I try. I try so hard to break free, but this time, he digs the knife into my shoulder blade, forcing my head down.

Tears splash down around me as the pain wins the battle against my mind, and the mercy of blackness takes over.