45. Devina
Huddled in the corner, we wait until our captor returns. The same man who brought us food has returned for the tray and placed water bottles on the table.
“Good girls,” he says as he examines our empty tray. Ryder uses those words to praise me, but coming from this oaf, I want to burn my ears off.
As he turns to leave I make my move, pushing myself off the floor and sprinting towards him. My heart is beating so fast but the world around me slows down.
I shove him into the door, which only stuns him. Before I can retreat he is on me. His hands clench around my neck. I’m choking on my spit, one last attempt to tell him to fuck off. I always have to have the last word.
“You fucking bitch,” he screams as his upper lip curls baring his teeth.
with his weight on top of me, my fight is fleeting and my hands involuntarily become lax around his writs. Just as the blackness threatens to take over, I see MaryClaire approach. She winds up and aims, kicking his head like a soccer ball. He falls back as the blood begins to pour from his nose.
MaryClaire’s eyes meet mine. The rabid look in her eye both impresses and terrifies me as she breaks our gaze to lunge for his gun.
He raises a hand, keeping one on his nose, as he chuckles to himself. “Sweetie, you have no idea what you are doing. Give me the gun and we can forget this ever happened.”
Her finger is glued to the trigger. Her tethered hand cups the base of the gun. I know she can shoot him now and it will be over. When more men come, which we can only assume they will, we’ll take as many as we can as we push our way out of here.
That was the plan.
But MaryClaire’s eyes grow double in size as he slowly pushes himself off the floor, now towering above us.
“Give me the gun, sweetheart,” he urges.
“Fuck you.” MaryClaire spits back as she closes her eyes to pull the trigger.
Everything slows around us as he lunges toward her. Instinctively I do too.
The gun goes off, echoing the walls around us as we all fall to the floor.