And for whatever reason, she was still alive for this man.
“I’m not anyone’s replacement,” I rebuked. “Now let me the fuck go, or you’ll be sorry.”
His jaw flexed. He was trying to maintain a light, arrogant demeanor, but I was pissing him off. This was a man who didn’t like hearing no.
He didn’t let me go. His face twisted into a more prominent snarl, his attractive features poisoned by bitterness.
“You’re meant to be mine,” he barked. “This is all meant to be mine.”
Alarm bells started ringing in my head, and I realized that this situation was dangerous. A man who thinks he’s entitled to something or someone and doesn’t get it can be the most dangerous man on the planet. Especially if that man is connected to the mafia and is most likely armed.
“Not only do I not get the fucking title, but he takes everything else away from me too.” His hand bit into my wrist to the point I thought he may shatter it. “He’s taken everything away from me.”
Cristian. He’d wronged this man in some way, and it was clear that he was going to get his revenge by hurting me.
“He gets to call the shots,” he continued, shaking me ever so slightly, tightening his grip. “He gets the respect. The title.” His eyes flickered over to me. “The whores.”
His other hand went downward, then up my dress.
He wasn’t going to let me go. He was going to take what he thought he was entitled to.
His grip was painfully tight, and I was boxed in against the counter with no escape. My heart was thundering against my ribs as my eyes darted around the kitchen. Felix, who was always around, always lurking, was nowhere to be seen. Cristian was a ghost in the morning. I didn’t know if he left or if he was locked in his office at the end of the house. Even if he was here, he wouldn’t hear me if I screamed. There was no one. Just me. And there was no fucking way I was going to let this piece of shit rape me without a fight.
“Don’t you want me more than that old man?” he murmured, yanking me forward so our mouths brushed. “I can fuck you better than he ever would.”
It was exactly what I needed when he slammed our lips together, his tongue plunging into my mouth. I didn’t hesitate to sink my teeth into it until I tasted blood.
“What the fuck!” he boomed, blood spraying out of his mouth.
He’d loosened his grip, and I was preparing to knee him in the balls and go for the knives in the kitchen island, but he was quicker than me.
“Bitch!”
His fist slammed into my face with considerable force, and I stumbled backward, sending my coffee cup crashing to the floor.
Unfortunately, this was not the first time a man thought he needed to prove his masculinity by punching me in the face, so I didn’t tumble onto the floor in shock and pain as I had the first time. I learned that if you let a man get you on the floor, he was more than likely going to kick the shit out of you, break some ribs. That hurt like a son of a bitch and took a long fucking time to heal.
The fucker had expected me to fall to the ground so I had an opening. I didn’t squander it. My knee found its way to his balls, rather awkwardly and clumsily, but it did the job, and he grunted in pain, crumbling to the floor.
I didn’t hesitate, stumbling to the kitchen island, snatching the biggest knife from the block and putting the large marble island between us.
Running might’ve been better at this juncture, but the man was already recovering, and I was more a stand your ground, stab the shit out of the man who tried to rape you, kind of gal. For better or for worse.
And it was definitely for worse, since he recovered quickly and pulled a gun from inside his jacket.
“You fucking cunt!” he roared, blood tinged spittle landing on the white granite between us.
“Oh, what an original insult,” I shot back, my voice shockingly even. My cheek burned, and my skin felt tight and swollen already. “If I hadn’t had you pegged as a piece of shit by the fact you forced yourself on me and punched me in the face, you certainly cemented yourself in the shithead hall of fame by insulting me for defending myself.”
I was holding the knife up, brandishing it like it would actually do something. I’d literally brought a knife to a gun fight. I made a mental note to get myself a piece if I survived this. Then to figure out how to handle a gun, to make sure a bullet would land right between the eyes of whoever tried to hurt me. Cristian likely would have something to say about his captive being armed, but he’d likely have something to say about me being raped too.