Chapter 21 Brielle
Keep The Wolves Away, Uncle Lucius
Grabbing the lamp on the bedside table, I rip the cord from the wall.
“Oh, love, do you want me to wrap that cord around your wrists, bind you nice and tight? Or maybe around your neck to let you gasp for air, as I fuck the life out of you?” He sadistically chuckles as I go on the defense.
“Get the fuck away from me,” I sneer through my teeth.
His shoulders begin to shake as he tilts his head back to laugh. “With WHAT? What are you going to do? Beat me with a lamp!?” He cackles at me, and it raises my blood pressure .
I grip the ceramic lamp in my hand and, with as much force as I can, smash it into the end of the bedside table, causing the lampshade and bulb to burst off as pieces of the lamp decorate the floor.
Within my hand I hold what remains, the sharp, jagged edges giving me hope of escaping this shitty situation.
“Oh, you’re feisty, senora. This is going to be fun.” He cracks his knuckles and strides my way.
My heart is pounding so hard.
I refuse to let this man touch me.
I refuse to let any man have their way with me ever again.
Trying to hide my shaking hand, I grip the makeshift weapon as I feel the sweat composing beneath my palm.
One breath in, one breath slowly out.
He lunges toward me, tackling me to the ground.
Still gripping the lamp, I start thrusting it repeatedly into the side of his shoulder and neck.
He yells in agony as I continue my assault, trying my best to hit his jugular. His body rears up and he punches me in the side, disregarding the blood coming down his neck .
I gasp and cringe but try to slam the object back into him. He blocks my arm and pins it to the ground.
As he focuses on the lamp in my right hand, I snake my left hand up to his face and jab my thumb into his eye socket as hard as I can. I fish my thumb into his eye, moving it around to try to cause as much damage as possible.
Jerking his body back, he sits on his heels, pinning my legs underneath him as he clutches his face.
I struggle, trying to reach for the lamp, trying my best to wiggle my legs out from under him.
“You bitch!” he shouts, then punches me twice in the face. “I will skin you alive. ”
It feels like the sun exploded on one side of my head, the pain and heat ripping across my skin and into my cheekbone. I can feel him rip one strap of the dress, exposing my breasts. The tang of blood creeps onto my tongue.
He grabs me by the neck, pulling me up toward the bed.
I’m so dizzy and distraught, my legs can’t cooperate with me, so he drags me there. I try to move my arms as best I can, but coordination and strength largely escape me.
He grasps my hands and holds them above my head in one fist. Tears begin to slip down my cheeks as I scream in fiery anger and defeat rips down my spine.
I try to rear my leg up to hit him in the balls, but he pins me down with his hips, his other hand fumbling with his zipper as his neck continues to bleed onto my dress.
He ceases my screams by shoving his fingers into my mouth, causing me to gag.
“Shut the fuck—” He doesn’t finish his sentence, for the door bursts open.
The pain in my head begins to morph into a horrible throb and I see spots within my vision. I hear two other voices, then feel his body lifted from mine.
From what I can see, someone has wrapped something around his neck.
A tie?
He is struggling, but at the same time I am struggling to maintain consciousness.
My vision clears a little, and I see Bobby running toward me, then carefully wrapping me within his suit jacket. “We got you, baby. We got you,” he keeps repeating.
I peer over to see who else is here.
Everett, his broad shoulders and tense stance making him look like an avenging angel as he stands over the Italian’s body.
He’s staring at him with so much ferocity. More emotion than I have ever seen in his face.
“He isn’t dead,” he mutters through clenched teeth. “Yet.”