My captor bodily lifts me and tosses me right after it like a piece of lightweight rubbish and as I am hurled, half running as my legs hit the carpet, half falling and rolling with the force of it. I let out a muffled noise as I collide with floor again. I can still hear them as I stop dead, flailing like a dead fish and gather my wits.
I crawl forward and get to my knees in a bid to get to the desk, pushing my minor pain aside. I don’t know what alarms the button triggers or if the arsehole out there will be alerted, but I am not going without a fight. Alexi showed me how to trip every silent alarm in this building and it’s my one chance of someone that Alexi trusts to come and find me.
I hear him stalking in behind me and make a run for it as I get to my feet and kick off my last shoe, panic overtaking as adrenaline courses through my veins. Dashing forward as he tries to grab me and almost breaking my ankle with the awkward jolt forward I make, I skim around the desk just out of his grasp. I slide my hand under as I go, making a quick grab and a fly finger jab to hit the concealed alarm, a prominent small button under the left-hand side.
I skid past, and he throws me a glare across the desk which turns into a snarl and then a sadistic smile, revealing a squint of yellowed teeth.
‘’So you like games huh? Fiery little witch who wants to be caught. I like chasing … I like hurting, and we have a couple minutes to kill.’’ A sadistic scowl on that ugly face and I limber up with a fury inside, burning so violently with heat that it could compete with the sun. I am not about to take this lying down and even if he fucks me up, Alexi will come, and this guy will be screwed.
I back up, slide my dress up above my knees so it’s not as restricting to move, and get ready. I have no idea who or what that button does but I can guarantee that in minutes someone is going to be up here; I won’t let them use me to get to Alexi, and I won’t die for him when I know he wouldn’t care.
I make a run for it, my head down, and determined as hell, I aim for the door, but I’m not fast enough and despite adrenaline coursing through my body as every part of me pounds with all I have, he catches my arm and drags me backwards across the desk. It hurts like hell. Having my body rammed into a wooden ledge that topples me onto my back and then dragged across it while laptops, desk ornaments, pens and such scatter to the floor. It’s like being poked and prodded with sharp inanimate objects all over every tender part of me, and I squeal out despite myself.
What is it with rapists favouring fucking smooth surfaces to control me?
He hauls me across and spins me, so my legs come to his and even though I try to fight with hands and feet, he holds that gun straight to my fucking throat and pushes it so hard I start choking on both the protrusion into my larynx and the cold heavy feel of imminent death if he pulls that trigger. It douses my fight and I choke, my hands immediately moving to try and stop him impaling my neck by grabbing the barrel and stop it pressing harder.
‘’I like fire. I am going to fuck you hard before I let them take you.’’ He yanks me closer, pinned to the desk with that steel holding me still, my nose starting to run with what I presume is blood from being hit, and he starts grabbing at my wrist in a bid to better control me.
I am trying to dislodge the infernal killing machine enough to keep breathing and struggle against him as he pulls one hand free. He has his back to my escape and try as I might I just need to hold on until someone, anyone, answers that alarm and bursts in here. I let go, the metal digging in further, so I cough in pain and tears fill my vision with what he’s doing, but I know help is coming. I have no time to go weak with panic and fear, even though my body is soaring on adrenaline and shaking like crazy. I reach out and claw whatever I can get hold of on the arseholes head and face.
I knew fake nails had a purpose beyond prettiness. I get another stinging smack to the face when I catch his eyes with my nails, muffling a cry. I may be being grappled at by a paid goon with a gun and hard-on, but I won’t relent.
He pins my whole face to the desk with the flat of his palm on my cheek, crushing my face sideways until the agony sears through me, feeling like my eyeballs may pop out of my skull, and it stops my every movement as I struggle to stay conscious. The metal against my throat presses harder, so I can no longer breathe, and he leans in rasping into my ear as the pressure in my cranium becomes unbearable. ‘‘We’re going to have ourselves a lot of fun over the next few days.’’ He laughs disgustingly. Licking my ear as he does, slow and vile so my skin crawls and I buck and gag at the touch.
There’s a strange almighty cracking noise so sudden and unexpected that my heart lurches in response. It’s loud, weird and indescribable—like branches cracking underfoot and I have no clue what the hell it is. It seems to have been right in my face and suddenly all pressure goes limp and the bastard slumps over me heavily, his hand drops on my throat as does his gun, releasing the pressure immediately. That is before sliding down my body, dragging my dress as his weight skims me and slides out of sight to the floor.