6. Paris
Paris
As a result of wearing these ridiculously high heel shoes, I stumble when the jerk pushes me into the empty room.
Fury radiates off him. His chest is heaving, and his skin is flushed a deep red.
All because he’s pissed off some gorgeous stranger stared at me.
Ignoring the fact he’s the asshole who picked this outfit for me to wear tonight so people would stare at me.
I hate short tight clothing, and over the top shit like this fucking mink coat.
These ridiculous high heels. This obscenely short dress.
Who the hell still wears mink? But it’s all he wants me to wear.
Short, tight, and flamboyant. He wants me to look like a whore.
Now he’s angry someone looks at me like they want to fuck me like I’m a whore.
Stupid idiot.
“You… stupid, bitch!”
I brace myself as best I can for the backhand I know is coming. He never uses his fists on my face. I don’t know why because he still leaves bruises for the world to see.
“Ahh!” I scream, stumbling from the impact.
The sting to the side of my face radiates from my cheek up the side of my head.
Fuck! That hurt like hell.
I touch the sensitive spot and hiss from the pain. My head is pounding now, and my vision is blurry, too. No doubt another bruise is quickly blooming, maybe a concussion, too.
“You did that shit on purpose!” he screams, pointing at me.
He stalks toward me, and I move back with each step he takes, putting some distance between us while also trying to regain my senses. I’ve seen him angry, but not like this. This is going to be a fight for my life.
“You want to fuck him, you whore!”
“No!” I hold up my hands, curling into myself, hoping to stop the impending strikes. “I didn’t do anything, Nikita!”
“I didn’t do anything, Nikita,” he mocks, his face turning a deeper shade of red.
“According to you, you never do anything, Paris! But I’m not stupid.
I know what I see with my own two fucking eyes.
And you know exactly what you did. You want to flaunt what’s mine in front of other motherfuckers?
Maybe I should fuck you right now and have every one of my men come in here and watch, then give them each a turn in that tight pussy of yours. ”
A sinister smile crosses his face like he’s just had the best idea in the world. I have no doubt he’ll do it if he knows it’ll hurt me and cause me to suffer more than I already am. I need to hurt so he feels like he’s in control. So, he feels like a man.
He grips my hair, yanking my head back. I scream from the quick and painful motion. It wouldn’t shock me if he’s pulled some of my hair out.
“How about that, you cunt?” His dark laugh sends a shiver down my spine as fear takes over me. “You’d probably like that shit. You’re nothing but a fucking whore, anyway. I should start treating you like one instead of a queen like I’ve been since you’re taking my kindness for granted.”
He’s fucking delusional.
“I give you every fucking thing!” He spits in my face, and I swipe at it to wipe it off, disgusted to have any of his bodily fluids on me. “Clothes, jewelry, shoes, my fucking dick. Everything!”
Only inches from me, his vodka-tinged breath fills my nostrils almost making me vomit. Without alerting him, I reach inside the pocket of the mink coat and grab the small paring knife I lifted from the lunch tray the maid left in my room this afternoon.
I didn’t think the opportunity to deal with him would come so soon.
I thought later tonight when he’s too plastered to fight back will be my best chance.
But I guess there’s no time like now. We’re alone in a room.
His men are off doing God knows what for him.
And it’s not often we’re alone in public like this.
This may be the only chance I have to be free of him and the Petrovs. All I have to do is kill him then run.
Sounds like a solid plan.
I carefully pull the paring knife from my coat.
His eyes widen in surprise when the small blade enters his flesh.
I’m shocked and relieved I did it, as I watch him stumble away from me, clutching his stomach.
The red stain on his white shirt is spreading quickly and I feel nothing but pure relief.
However, my moment of relief quickly crumbles when the shock falls from his face and rage takes its place.
“You stupid, bitch!” He staggers toward me faster than I expect for someone who has just been stabbed in the stomach. The blood staining his white dress shirt now covers his hands, too. “You stabbed me! I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
What’s that famous quote? Give me liberty or give me death ? That’s where I’m at now. It’s now or never. It’s my freedom or my death and at this point either is fine with me as long as I’m done with him. I’m tired. I’m tired of living this life and under no circumstance will I ever go back.
When he gets close enough to me, I stab him again.
And again. And again. His bloody hands grip the black mink coat I’m wearing.
He pushes me back against the wall with strength he shouldn’t even possess, causing my head to collide with the concrete blocks.
But I don’t stop stabbing him when he keeps coming. I can’t because if I do, I’m dead.
I’m painted in his blood now. It’s on my face, in my hair, and on my clothes. I can only imagine what I look like, but I don’t care. It’s my life or his.
Letting out a primal scream, I drive the knife in any part of his body I can reach until he lets me go. He drops to the brown carpeted floor, then blood starts to pool around his large body, soaking into the carpet.
I should hate myself for what I’ve done. But that hate never comes. All I feel is exhilaration and relief. It’s almost over. I just have to get out of here without getting caught. “I’m almost free.”
With the small knife still gripped as tightly in my hand as I can hold it, I rush to the door.
I can’t leave any evidence behind, especially the weapon even though I’m sure everyone will know I did this when they can’t find me.
Or maybe they’ll think someone killed him then took me.
I’m not worth anything to them. Hopefully they don’t search for me and assume someone kidnapped me.
I don’t care if he’s dead or not, as long as I get away from him. I’ll deal with the consequences later.
I place my ear against the door, but I don’t hear anything except the noise from the crowd gathering for the fight. He sent his men away earlier, hopefully none of them will return before I can get out of here. I close my eyes, take a deep breath then let it out.
“Here goes nothing.”
I swipe at his blood on my face, slip off my heels, then twist the doorknob, inch the door open, then peek out. The hallway is empty.
Thank God.
We came in through the back exit. That’s the only way I can get out of here without anyone noticing me covered in blood.
I step out in the hallway, then softly close the door behind me. Hopefully, Nikita won’t be found until I’m far enough away to hide from the Petrovs. Even though I don’t know how far that’ll be and how I’ll get there.
One step at a time Paris. Get out of the building then worry about the next steps.
I sprint in the opposite direction, away from the arena. I glimpse over my shoulder just to make sure no one’s following, before turning back to run toward the exit at the back of the building. At full speed I collide with someone. I stumble and without thinking I push the knife forward.
I have to get away !
A hand grasps my wrist. Not tight, but hard enough for the knife to fall out of my hand. Strong arms wrap around me as I struggle, trying to get the person to loosen their hold.
“No! Let me go!”
“Calm the fuck, down!” His arms tighten instead of loosening. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Although eerily calm, his voice holds a stern edge.
“Please let me go.” I stop struggling, but plea, looking into the eyes of the man Nikita stopped in the hallway earlier. “They can’t find me. They’ll kill me.”
He looks over my shoulder like he sees someone coming and fear rises in me. The longer I stay in this building, the closer I am to getting caught. Then there will definitely be no freedom for me. The Pakhan will kill me but not before he makes my death as painful as it can be.
The hallway is still empty, but it won’t be that way much longer. Nikita’s men will come back and when they find him dead, they’ll come after me. All the Petrovs will.
I’m going to die.
He stares back at me, then lets me go like he’s touched something hot, like he’s just now really seeing me. Then he looks down at his clothes.
“Shit!” he says, surprise in voice. “What the hell did you do?”
“Nothing.” Tears fill my eyes. “I… I’ve got to go.”
I try to push past him, but he grips my arm like a vice, refusing to let me go.
“Please, I can’t stay here. I have to get out of here before they find me.”
After a moment, he picks up his gym bag sitting at his feet and the knife I dropped. “Come with me.”
He doesn’t give me time to tell him hell no before he’s pulling me out the back exit with both of us covered in the evidence of my crime.
I should feel remorse and disgust for what I’ve done. But I don’t. Nikita has taken everything from me. My life. My body. My soul. It’s only fitting I take his life.