38. Emery
Emery
Every creak has me scooting closer to the headboard. My wrists are a mess of dried and fresh blood. Every time I shift the rope, it rips open a fresh patch of skin.
After Eli left, I lost all fight. I couldn’t breathe, much less think. I curled into a ball and gave up hope, fearing every noise from the other room. Every click. Every footstep.
I stared at the closed door until the tears stopped, and I grew numb.
His threats became white noise as they spun in circles.
Then, I decided I’d had enough.
Eli wants me terrified. He wants me desperate for his help. He wants me to be the girl I was all those years for my uncle—afraid to stick up for herself. Easily controlled and manipulated. Except that’s not who I am anymore. It’s not the woman I want my daughter to look up to.
I’ve grown a spine, and I refuse to let him break me.
I wipe my tears on my arm, pulling myself to sitting, staring at the closed door. I stare so long it’s not fear that swells inside. It’s rage.
For what he’s done.
What he intends to do.
I press my back to the headboard, glancing up at the bloody knot restraining my wrists. It’s drenched crimson and impossible to untie, but there has to be some way out of it. I tug, wincing when there’s no give. A fresh bead of blood trickles down my arm.
Glancing around the room, I search for anything within reach that might slice through the rope but come up empty. When I tug again, I fight through the splinters of pain. If I can’t undo the knot, maybe I can loosen it enough to slip my hands free.
With each twist, my wrists ache. Blood soaks my forearms as I turn my hands again and again. The burn is searing. Tears sting my eyes for an entirely different reason, but I don’t stop.
If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to fight my way out.
The rope begins to fray the longer I work at it. A piece snaps off, but I’m not quite free when voices come from the other side of the bedroom door. Two men near, chuckling with each other, sending a cold chill down my spine.
I shift, making sure my back is to the headboard and my hair hides what I’ve done to the rope. The door swings open just as I pull my legs to my chest, trying to hide my bra, which peeks out of my torn shirt.
Only one of the men enters the room, shutting the door behind him. I recognize him from the car ride over here. He was in the passenger seat, glancing back at me when Eli wasn’t paying attention.
His dark eyes take me in. “I hear you’ve been causing trouble.”
“Let me guess. You’re going to do something about it?” Maybe I shouldn’t provoke him.
But I was raised around men like him. Men who want you to be weak and scared. Men who thrive when they have all of the power. The girl I was before would’ve accepted it. She would’ve been quiet to pacify him. I’m done being that girl.
I don’t so much as blink as he sneers at me.
“Eli doesn’t like them feisty. You’ll learn that soon enough.” His smile turns vicious. “Good thing he has me to put out that fire.”
The man sweeps me head to toe, pausing where Eli ripped open my shirt. My lace bra hides barely anything, but I try to keep my knees pulled close, shielding myself from his perusal. That only seems to intrigue him more.
He paces to the bed, watching me. When he approaches, I spot a blade at his hip. But it’s too low. There’s no way for me to grab it.
“Stay away from me.” I try to shift as he gets closer, but the rope keeps me here.
It was too much to think it would snap at the final second.
“Stay away?” He grins. “You seem to be missing the point, but I’m happy to show you.”
The man grabs me by the ankles and tugs so hard my back flattens on the bed. The quick jerk has my shoulders aching. I cry out in pain, but it only makes him smile wider.
His gaze travels up to my bloody arms, and that’s when his smile falters. “Why is the rope fraying? What have you been doing in here?”
His eyes darken, but it isn’t anger that claims his expression, which is even more terrifying. The corner of his mouth ticks up, and I realize he enjoys the thought of me trying to break free. He wants me to fight back, and that says a lot about what he’s planning to do to me right now.
Instead of reaching for the rope, he grabs my ankles again, tugging harder this time. It stretches me out so there’s no hiding, sending a searing pain up through my shoulders. My wrists soak the sheets in blood as he starts to climb over me. But I refuse to let him win.
With a swift bend of my knee, I strike him at just the right moment, knocking him between the legs.
“Fucking bitch.” He grunts, but it turns into a chuckle.
I glare at him. “Sadistic asshole.”
He grabs my hips and flips me around so my stomach is pressed to the bed as he grabs my ass and tugs it in the air. I kick and scream and wiggle, but it does nothing but fuel this battle.
When he leans over me, I throw my head back. The crunch of his nose sends blood pouring down my back. He grunts and grumbles but doesn’t let up.
“Bitch. You’re going to pay for that.” He tugs my shoulder hard, and it finally snaps the rope free from one of my wrists.
He barely has time to grab me before I’m spinning around. His knuckles slam into my cheek, and stars fill my vision. But he’s too amused to notice my hand reaching for his blade. I tug it free and drive upward without hesitating.
Only then do his eyes widen. Sick pleasure turns to fear.
I pull the blade out and drive it into him again and again. Until his gurgled breath has blood spitting from his lips. He scratches for my arms, my chest. But I don’t stop; I just keep stabbing.
He’s gasping for air as I kick him off me, and he lands with a thud on the floor.
There’s so much blood; I can’t tell how many times I stabbed him. So long as he stays put, that’s all that matters.
I reach up and cut the rope from my other wrist, slipping off the bed. His last choked breath sputters from his lips as he stares up at me.
This isn’t the first death I’m responsible for, but it’s the first at my own hands. I look down at the bloody blade, and I should probably feel guilty for what I’ve done. Instead, I grip the knife and turn toward the door with determination blazing.
I’m going to kill them all if I have to.
I reach the door and pause, lifting my wedding ring from where Eli left it on the table and slipping it over a blood-soaked finger.
I listen for any movement on the other side before slipping through.
There’s no one keeping watch, so I manage to leave unnoticed.
Drips of blood leave a path in my wake, but I don’t bother cleaning it up.
There’s no going back—only through.
The suite takes up the entire floor, with the main living room and kitchen at the center. On either side are doors to offices and bedrooms. Two men are stationed at the elevator, so I press my back to the wall and look for another way to escape.
A staircase, maybe?
I try a door to my left when a voice catches my attention.
Eli.
I creep toward it, glancing through the small crack where the door is ajar. Eli is sitting at a desk with his back to me, and from what I can see, there is no one else in the room.
I should leave. I should focus on surviving.
But as I stare at the back of his head—listening to his maniacal chuckle—all I want to do is end this before he has the chance to do it to anyone else.
Leaving the elevator behind, I slip into the office, taking careful steps so Eli doesn’t hear my approach. He continues rocking in his chair, talking to someone on the phone. Blood courses between my temples, muting all other sounds.
Eli is mid-laugh as I slide up behind him, winding my arm around his throat and pressing the blade to his neck. A crimson streak paints his skin as he freezes mid-sentence, glancing up at me.
His dark eyes meet mine, and he sets the phone down, ending the call without explaining.
“Seems like I underestimated you.” He grins; not an ounce of fear shows on his face. “I appreciate the attempt, but it isn’t going to get you anywhere.”
A click comes from my left, and I glance to see three men entering the room through another door, their guns aimed at my head.