16. Max
CHAPTER 16
MAX
C arson yanks me out of the venue and I try to get away from him, but the death grip he has on my elbow makes it impossible without screaming for him to get his disgusting hands off me. I do think about doing that, until he says, “Do something stupid, and all your guys are dead.”
Since we’re in a place surrounded by people he knows and is associated with, I don’t put it past him. Especially since he somehow noticed that they’re here. But I’ll get away from him. I’m leaving tonight, at least back at the house I can put up more of a fight. I can get back to the guys and to Danner.
They’re here.
They’re all here.
For me.
Carson shoves me in the back of the car before closing us in and the driver takes off.
“Pretty nice of them to show up for our wedding isn’t it?” Carson’s speech is slow and slightly slurred. Although he unfortunately seems to still be aware of everything going on around us.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
He chuckles darkly. “Oh wifey, you think I’m so fucking stupid don’t you?”
“Of course not,” I mumble.
When we get back to the house I’m pulled inside, even as I dig my feet in and try to resist. He doesn’t let up and I don’t know how he still has this much strength. I attempt to peel his fingers from my wrist, but all it does is piss him off, and his grip tightens even more. I know by the force that his fingers dig into my skin that I will be left with bruises.
He drags me upstairs toward the room that I’ve been staying in as I continue to try and get away. I’m screaming for him to let me go. As soon as we’re in the room, he throws me onto the ground. I try to scramble away, but he pulls me back by my ankles before straddling my hips.
I throw my fists at him wildly. I’m not aiming and or using an ounce of my training, just trying to blindly make contact and hurt him. “Get the fuck off of me!”
He manages to grab my wrists and pins them above my head. I try to buck him off of me now that I don’t have use of any of my limbs and I scream.
“Come on, wifey, I’ve been a patient man, but I’m done. I think I should record me fucking you and send it to them, what do you think?”
“If I don’t kill you first, then they will,” I spit into his face, and he uses his free hand to wrap around my throat, but it’s not like Caine’s grip was earlier. This is intended to hurt, to cut off my air, and that’s exactly what he does.
I gasp, trying to suck in as much air as I can while thrashing underneath him. Finally managing to bring my knee up and slamming it into his groin. It’s enough to knock him off balance and let up on his grip on me. I suck in a breath while scrambling away from him and heading straight for the weapon I have hidden under my mattress.
Before I can grab it, I’m yanked back once again and I claw at the floor trying to gain leverage. He’s unable to pin me down again, and my instructions from all my training finally kick in. I learn very quickly why no one fights while wearing a dress, but I don’t care.
I use everything I learned from Adam and fight back. Carson is breathing heavily, his movements lag though, his grip remains strong. I manage to bring him to the ground, and get him into a choke. He attempts to throw me off, but since he doesn’t know what he’s doing, I’m able to tighten my hold even more. Until he manages to stand, grabbing me and my dress and ripping it further up my body. I kick at him. “Don’t you fucking dare.” I threaten.
He kneels down in front of me, getting closer when he spits, “Dare what? Fuck my fiancé? Too fucking bad, because that’s exactly what’s going to happen.” He grabs ahold of my underwear, pulling the thin lace so hard that it rips off my body painfully. I rear my foot back to kick him in the face, making contact with his nose and he cries out while I get to my feet.
I know I should run, but if I do he’ll just catch up to me, and this fight needs to end. Reaching under the mattress, blindly searching for the fire poker that I stashed there and taking ahold of it right before he grabs me around the waist. I thrash in his arms as he tosses me onto the bed, and as quickly as possible I flip around sending the sharp end of the weapon directly into his chest.
We both freeze and I watch the red bloom on his chest, the contrast stark against his white shirt. I let go of the stick, backing up quickly. He inches closer, shock and anger written all over his face as he grips the base, pulling it out, only succeeding in sending more blood to escape his body. I feel the warmth of it hit my skin, but I’m frozen.
“What the fuck did you do?” he croaks, looking down, blood dripping from his mouth as well as his chest.
“What I should’ve done a long fucking time ago,” I tell him honestly, not a single ounce of remorse coloring my words.
Not even as I watch the life drain from his eyes right in front of me.
There’s no fear, no regret. Only relief.