Chapter Thirty-Six
Charlotte
M y head.
Oh my God, my head is killing me.
The throbbing is intense and painful enough, it drags me from my unconscious state. I’m cold and numb. As I attempt to open my eyes, a wave of nausea passes over me. The pizza I ate earlier threatens to make a reappearance.
What happened?
I remember walking and then something hit me.
It takes everything in me to force my eyes open. I realize I’m on the floor of a store or someplace. From my vantage point, I can see items for purchase, lining the shelves in front of me.
Where am I?
There are voices whispering nearby. Each time they grow louder, my headache intensifies. I gingerly reach for the sore spot on the back of my head. The hair is wet and sticky. When I bring my fingers back to my face, I’m not surprised to find blood coating them.
It’d be easier to fall asleep and hope all this is just a bad nightmare.
I close my eyes.
Get up, loser.
Cal’s voice seems to be inside my head, barking at me to do something. Anything besides sleep.
I force open my eyes, wincing at the throbbing inside my skull. My purse isn’t with me, so I have no way of calling anyone for help. My best bet is to try and escape. Slowly, I attempt to sit up. The room spins around me. I swallow down a gag, hating that I might puke at any second. Focusing on one of the objects on the shelf, I take deep breaths, willing the dizziness away.
Paper and sticker targets.
Leather holsters.
Metal and plastic magazines.
Am I in a gun store?
“She’s waking up.”
A whine crawls out of my throat as I try to stand up. I make it as far as my knees before footsteps approach. Two men. Familiar men.
“Bring her in here,” the man says.
The other man scoops me into his arms like I weigh nothing. When I finally look at him, I’m not surprised. Upset and terrified, but not shocked.
Ryan Cunningham.
“Over here,” the other voice says. “Sit her on the sofa.”
Ryan roughly drops me onto the peeling leather couch that’s in a break room of sorts. The other man—his father—squats down in front of me, a malevolent expression on his face.
“You fucked up bad, little girl,” Michael says, shaking his head. “I always knew you’d be a bitch that caused my family problems.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss out, spitting in his face.
He strikes me, sending me toppling sideways onto the couch. I groan, rubbing my aching cheekbone. Michael’s fingers dig into my bicep as he yanks me back upright. The movement makes the room spin again.
“You think you’re the princess of this town,” Michael sneers. “That you can whore around to whomever and then try and bring them down when you’re no longer interested.”
“I don’t know where you got these delusions, but I am not a whore and I’m not whatever it is you think I am.” I hate that tears prickle my eyes. I refuse to give him my tears, though.
“You embarrassed both me and my son. Made a mockery of our name. I’m on fucking administrative leave because of all these bullshit allegations that are tying back to me.” Michael grabs my face, smashing his fingers into my cheek. “Why are you trying to ruin our lives?”
I dart my gaze to Ryan. He scowls, wearing a matching expression as his father. They both really believe this nonsense. That I’m out to destroy them.
“He hurt me,” I choke out when he removes his hand. “He abused me for so long. Drugged me. Raped me.” My heart seizes as I allow myself to admit that’s really what it was. Those times I was unaware or woke up with him inside me. It was rape. I didn’t consent. “If your lives are ruined, it’s Karma taking her turn with you.”
Michael grabs a fistful of my hair, drawing me right to his face. “Maybe we’ll take turns on you. Is that what you want, whore? To have father and son both fuck you?”
He wants me to beg and plead.
Just like Ryan.
They get off on being the abuser—the strong one.
I’m strong too.
I rake my fingernails across his face so hard and with so much force, I rip the skin on his cheek. He roars as he shoves me back. As soon as he’s distracted, touching his bloody face, I bolt off the couch toward the door. I never make it because Ryan tackles me hard, knocking the breath out of me.
He rolls me over, his eyes wild like they used to be whenever he’d pin me down like the monster he is. I struggle, but he’s too strong. His lips crash to mine in a bruising kiss.
He wants me meek.
He wants me broken.
He wants me weak.
I bite his lip hard.
I’m not weak anymore. Not since he left me a burned-out husk after the accident. I rose from the ashes and became more. Something he’ll never be able to destroy again.
Ryan howls and then spits out blood. “You fucking bit me!”
“She’s a feral one,” Michael snarls. “Get a handle on your bitch. Man the fuck up, Ry.”
“You had your chance, Char,” Ryan growls. “I was going to try to keep you. Not now. You’re just a problem for us.”
I freeze, terror slicking over me. Was. He was going to keep me. What now?
Michael, sensing my fear, grins. “She’s a smart bitch. She’s pieced it together that she’s not leaving here alive. The fire should have killed her. We torched that place enough she should have died a painful death. But, since she didn’t, we’re going to bury her on the property and no one will look for her here. No one will care.”
I knew those bastards were responsible for that fire. We all knew. Proving it was a different story.
“People will care,” I threaten. “They’ll know it was you and you’ll rot in prison.” I sneer at Ryan. “You too. They’ll destroy you in there. You’re nothing but a weak, pussy little boy who has to drug and rape girls because you’re not man enough to get them into your bed—”
Ryan smacks me hard, making everything black out for a second. His hands find my jeans and he starts to undo them.
I am strong.
I am strong.
I am strong.
The chill of the air hits my thighs. I know his plans. It’s always been his plan. He prefers when I’m docile and half out of it. I am half out of it, but I am not docile.
“You’re a pussy!” I yell into his face. “A weak, pathetic puss—”
Ryan’s hands go around my throat, choking me, as he snarls in rage. The instant cutting off to my air supply has me passing out within seconds.
Black.
Black.
Black.
I come to, gasping for air. Hot breath is in my hair as the body on top of me grinds against me. Splinters from the wood floor tear into my bare ass with each buck of his hips.
I can’t believe this is happening.
Fight, Charlotte!
Without the usual haze of the drugs Ryan usually shoves down my throat, I’m about to find that fiery phoenix within. My fingers fly to his face with one target. His eyes. He screams when I dig my fingernails into his eyeballs, desperate to destroy him like he’s trying to do me. His thrusting stops as he tries to swat away my vicious claws.
Pain sears into my ribs when his dad kicks me in the side. My hands fall away, dripping with blood, and Ryan pulls out, howling in pain as he covers his face with his hands.
“You bitch!” Michael roars.
He kneels beside his son, cursing as he tries to aid him. I use the brief moment of distraction for my benefit. Scrambling up, I yank my jeans up as I unsteadily run out the break room door.
“Fuck!” Michael yells. “The bitch is running!”
I crash into a shelf, knocking items into the floor, as I hurry toward the door. Heavy footsteps chase after me, too close for comfort. Shoving through the door, I burst out into the snowy night. I’m disoriented and have no idea where to go. All I can do is run. The snow is so thick, I stumble, but don’t fall. The tears are freely falling now as the terror threatens to consume me.
Run. Run. Run.
My lungs ache and my head screams in pain. Everything hurts, but I don’t have time to mentally document each thing.
A scream tears from my throat, ragged and afraid, as a heavy body slams into me. Michael is snarling in fury. He shoves my face deep into the snow. I try to scramble away, but a cold blade digs into my flesh on my throat, slicing through skin like butter.
I’m going to die.
The pain searing into my neck is too intense. Too raw. Uncontrollable. This isn’t a tiny nick. It’s deep, cutting into muscle.
I thought I was a fighter.
I tried.
God, how I tried.
Turns out, I’m simply the prey meant to be caught and eaten.
When I hear the zipper of his pants and then a grunt, I find my inner fire again. I squirm and try to shake him off despite the blackness eating away at my vision. Despite the way I feel like the snow is suffocating me. Despite the way he overpowers me and brutally takes what he wants.
The blade digs deeper and deeper, sliding farther lower, cutting against my collarbone. The pain is so intense. I want to give into it. To black out and go away from this horrible night for good.
Cal’s face drifts into the darkness.
Don’t give up, loser.
I’m sorry, Cal. I tried.