Chapter 10
Betty
I was horrified to see Gray lurch forward and vomit on my wooden floor. It was unclear whether he’d been stabbed or punched, but it was enough to draw my complete attention.
Blood?
To my relief, there didn’t appear to be any, at least not enough to prove he’d been stabbed.
“Okay. Gray was okay,” I tried to assure myself.
The man holding my wrist took advantage of my momentary lapse and knocked the taser from my hand. My head whipped back in time to watch it fall in slow motion to the ground. It landed with a clatter and slid halfway across the room.
Fuck.
I quickly recovered, unable to afford the distraction, or Gray and I would end up dead. Knee bent, as my self-defense teacher had taught me, I drove it up into the giant asshole’s jaw, using my height from the bed to land an exacting shot.
His teeth felt as if they shattered when his mouth snapped shut. He reeled back, hitting the floor with a thud like a felled redwood. The house itself seemed to shudder as he landed. I leaped off the bed and bolted for the bathroom without further hesitation.
I slid across the threshold, fuzzy socks gliding on the tile floor, and grabbed the sturdy brass door handles for balance.
Glancing back, to my horror, the enormous man was already on his feet.
He had a malicious sneer on his face, anger knitting his brows as blood trickled from his mouth where I’d kneed him.
With hope, maybe he’d bitten his tongue off.
I slammed the door shut and locked it just as he lumbered forward, picking up momentum.
A moment later he barreled into the slab, rattling the hinges, the sound of strained and crackling wood filling the bathroom.
Backing away from the door, I scanned the space, mulling over my options and searching for anything I could use as a weapon.
I spotted the hand soap, a plan formulating as I scrambled to the sink.
My hands trembled as I grabbed the dispenser and twisted off the lid.
Soap coated my hands, dripping onto the counter and floor as I tossed the spout into the sink.
With a tip of my hand and a squeeze of the bottle, soap poured out and across the tile floor between me and the door.
The man burst through. Wood splinters exploded everywhere. The door fell entirely off its hinges and slammed against the wall.
I dropped the bottle to the ground with a hollow clatter.
He lunged, but his eyes widened in sudden shock. His heel met the soap, eliciting a slurping sound as his feet went flying out from under him. He crashed to the floor, tailbone first, sliding like a curling stone straight in my direction.
Large, soapy feet met my shins, knocking me off balance and sending me tumbling backward into the toilet room behind me. I curled into myself and crashed against the wall at the base of the toilet. Toilet paper spun off the roll, pooling beside me.
Frantic for a new weapon, my eyes immediately spotted the toilet brush. I grabbed it from the holder; it was still wet with bleach water from a few days prior. Inspecting the end, the bristles would have to do.
I gripped the flimsy handle in both hands and brought it down hard on the man’s balls as he lay on his back on the floor at my feet.
Aiming low, my blows elicited a high-pitched scream that undermined his bulk.
The last thing I needed was to end up trapped in this tiny space.
Still bristling and battering the hell out of his nether-region, I clambered over him and out of the room, all the while screeching a series of high-pitched, bleating goat screams.
I stumbled back against the sink, slipping on the ice-rink of a floor, and grabbed a wet washcloth. I flung it at him as best I could manage. It slapped onto his face, sticking there and buying me time to move further down the counter.
He swatted it away, clearly irritated, and started crawling toward me through the muck.
I scrambled for anything I could use—serum vials, powder cassettes, anything—tossing them down at him and adding to the mess on the floor. My hand found the aerosol setting spray and popped off the cap. I hated this spray anyway. It made my eyes sting.
He inched closer on his hands and knees, the floor a slick and dangerous trifecta of soap, makeup, and blood.
I shuffled forward as close as I dared, waiting for him to look up at me.
I braced one hand on the sink’s edge, the other on the spray nozzle.
My jaw ground with determination. When he finally looked up, I pointed and squeezed the nozzle, letting it rain down into his open eyes.
His resulting scream hit a whole new octave.
“Welcome to my skincare routine!” I bellowed.
He flailed, waving his hands before his face and eyes, scrambling back and coughing amidst the cloud of misty dew. I emptied the can before grabbing the crumpled bath mat at my feet. I tossed it at him, and it covered his head.
On the back edge of the counter sat my hairdryer. I brandished it by the cord, swirling it like a war flail as it wrapped my hand. When he pulled the mat off his head, I attacked, walloping him across the jaw and sending him sideways into the cabinets.
I had no clue what was happening with Gray or if he was still alive.
There were noises from that room, but they were growing quiet and dull.
I crossed my fingers, hoping the silence didn’t mean Gray had lost the fight.
I huffed. At least he had the smaller guy.
He had better not lose, or I’d piss on his grave.
The man took a moment to regain his composure, rubbing at his eyes when he lunged unexpectedly. I reacted fast and jumped forward onto him, knocking him back as I straddled his vast frame. I smacked him repeatedly across the face with my open hand, doing my best to keep him down.
“Just… stay… down!” I grit out through clenched teeth.
In the struggle, he caught my arm. It was a vice, halting me with incredible and sudden force.
Stunned, he yanked and flipped me. I arched over him and crashed onto the tiles.
My head hit the hard floor in the worst possible way.
I reached up, certain I’d feel my brains leaking out my skull, but glad to find it intact.
Stunned and in pain, I didn’t notice as he rolled and got to his feet. His meaty paw grabbed my forearm and hauled me up with him. I dangled there like a rag doll. Spinning me, he pinned my back to his chest with one of my arms twisted behind me.
“Stay still, you little brat,” he growled.
My free hand clawed at his other arm, which had wrapped around my neck. One of my acrylic nails popped off in the effort, and I hated him for it.
“Gr-ay!” I croaked before the man tightened his arm around my neck, rendering me speechless. My mouth hung agape, drool dripping down my chin.
He wedged the arm behind my back between us and freed that hand so he could rummage in his pocket for something.
I tried my best to kick him between the legs but failed, losing oxygen and growing weak. With dwindling hope, I watched for any sign of help from the other room, desperately trying to call for Gray, but no sound escaped.
Through watery eyes, I saw a hand clutch the splintered bathroom doorframe, someone using it to pull themselves up off the floor.
Blood stained the fingers, and the knuckles were already puffy and bruised.
A face came into view, and I almost fainted with relief when I saw Gray’s electric blue eyes and wild hair.
He was panting, with one arm wrapped around his stomach and his face splattered with blood.
I glanced to where he cradled himself. Still no blood there, not stabbed.
His eyes widened when he saw how I hung from the man: feet hovering off the floor, a tight arm around my neck, my lungs begging for air. I could only imagine what my face looked like, because I felt like a balloon about to pop.
“Betty…” he huffed. Gray stumbled forward, just as I felt the pinch of something near my belly button.
Tears pricked my eyes from the sudden sting.
When the man’s arm weakened at last, I chanced a look down, gulping air.
The man’s free hand was gripping a syringe, the needle lodged to the hilt in my stomach.
His thumb squeezed the entire contents of the syringe into my gut, and a burn bloomed from the point of the needle.
Instant tendrils of warmth spread across my body. My limbs slackened almost immediately.
I gasped out, voice hoarse, “What… the fuck… was that?” I could barely form the question through heavy breaths. His grip around my neck loosened further, and I fell like dead weight to the floor.
I could just make out Gray as he flung himself at the refrigerator-shaped asshole. The cottony, far-off sound of them fell away behind me, out of my view. The ground shook, and glass broke.
I almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the whole thing, but was growing too numb and progressively more exhausted. My eyelids grew heavy, and a euphoric weariness tugged at my consciousness.
It felt like hours passed before a hand cupped my cheek. It took all my effort to lift my gaze, finding it was Gray. He was studying my face, eyes searching mine. I barely remember him picking up the needle and syringe, sniffing it briefly before looking back at me with a concerned frown.
“Hold on, Buttercup. I’ve got you,” he panted. “You’ll be okay.” His face, below thick facial hair and weather-worn skin, was strained and frantic, eyes swollen and…
???
I was freezing cold. I was bouncing, and I really had to pee.
I tried to open my eyes, but they felt frozen shut.
My head lolled, and a deafening roar filled my ears while an icy wind whipped across my face.
I instinctively braced myself against the sting, a sinking feeling in my stomach when the world dipped suddenly and rose again.
I reached out for something to hold on to, feeling like dead weight on a roller coaster.