Page 118 of My Fiancé's Brother
His hand connected with my cheek with such force I saw stars. And then his hand came back the other way, hitting my face so forcefully it knocked me off my feet. Gravel dug into my hands as I turned and tried to crawl away. I felt his grip on my hips as I kicked and screamed. I had visions of this man hurting me, raping me, killing me.
“That’s it,” he yanked me hard. “I love it when they fight. Nothing turns me on more.”
My arms and my hands beat him, trying to scratch, claw, connect with something. He tossed me so hard to the ground that the breath knocked out of me. I lay there on my side, struggled to get air into mylungs, but my rib cage refused, and I wheezed and gasped, unable to breathe I was so winded.
He knelt over me and then he ripped my shirt open. Dirty hands pushed up beneath my bra, and cold fingers pinched and dug into my breasts. I managed to rake my nails down over the length of his face before he backhanded me. Pain exploded in my head. I tasted blood. Tears blurred my vision. I heard him laugh and then his dirty hands tore at my pants. Fighting my belt, greedy, yanking at it so hard, my hips lifted off the ground.
A surge of fear went through me. Was this happening to me? I tried to lift my knees. I tried to buck him off, but the weight of him on my thighs was too heavy.
“Nooo,” I screamed, crying so hard I couldn’t bring oxygen into my lungs. I heard Chloe barking in the distance.
“That’s it, baby,” he grunted, as he yanked my pants down to my hips. I watched through blurred eyes as he trailed one dirty hand over my chest and then he slowly, started to undo the belt on his pants.
“No,” I whimpered, trying to push up. His hands came to my throat, choking me. My hands went around his neck, fighting him. I couldn’t breathe. I was suffocating. He was going to kill me. I was going to die at the hands of a madman. I thought I would have a heart attack before he managed to choke the life out of me. I didn’t want to die like this. I didn’t want to be murdered on the side of the road with no one around, no one wondering where I was. Who would take care of Chloe? I would never see Jackson again. I clawed at his face, but to no avail. His ugly features swam before my eyes. I could feel myself begin to black out. I cursed his face in my mind. I cursed this animal that was going to take away my last chance to see Jackson again.
And then he was gone.
I rolled over on my stomach, coughing and gasping in pain as I tried to pull air into my lungs. I pushed myself to a kneeling position. I needed to run. I needed to get away. What if he came back? My pants were on my hips. I staggered to my feet, pulling up my pants. I was crying and shaking, completely in shock. I became conscious ofthe sound of someone getting hit. Repeatedly. I swung around, and Jackson knelt over him and repeatedly pounded his fists into the guy’s face.
“Jackson,” I wailed, my voice sounding thin and reedy.
He stopped and looked up at me. His face was a mask of rage. His eyes had murder in them. Blood splatter covered his face. He was breathing like a crazy man. I bent over and howled in pain and fear.
He rushed towards me. I collapsed into his arms, sobbing and clinging to his hoodie. He had his hands on my chin as he took in my bloody face. I tasted the bitter iron of my blood dripping down my lip. I used the back of my hand to wipe my mouth. Tears poured from my eyes, and I hurt so much I thought I was going to blackout.
“Oh baby,” he soothed. “Sweetheart.”
“I want to go home,” I sobbed, trying to hold my ripped shirt together. I looked around in horror. Was this happening to me? What was happening to me?
He peeled off his sweatshirt and then ever so gently helped me lift my arms so that I could slide it over my head. He looked down at my face and said in a low voice, “I'm going to kill that piece of shit.”
I sobbed so hard I could barely breathe. “No, please. I just want to go home.”
He lifted me up. My arms went around his thick neck, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He started to walk. We stopped when he stepped over the unconscious body of the man who had attacked me. And then he reached down, and with one hand, grabbed the man by the collar and started to drag him behind him.
We walked like that for the three blocks back to the loft. My face buried in his neck while I bled all over his shirt. I could hear the sound of the man’s body being dragged carelessly along the gravel road.
We got to the loft, and Jackson just dropped the guy, letting his limp head bounce on the ground.
“Is he dead?” I asked, my voice muffled against Jackson’s neck.
“No.”
He carried me up the stairs and put me gently on the couch. I curled my knees up to my chest. “You need to call the police.”
“After I tend to you.”
“Call them first,” I begged, terrified that the man would wake up. Come up here. Hurt us.
Jackson stood up and pulled out his phone. Chloe bound up onto the couch beside me and tilted her head at me. She looked at me with concern on her face.
I reached out and gently touched her nose. I vaguely heard Jackson talking. Words like assault and perpetrator. Our address. And then he tossed the phone down and crouched in front of me.
“Let me see your face,” he pulled my hand gently from my eye. His fingers palpitated my face. I winced.
“I don’t think anything is broken,” he said, “But you have a bloody nose.” He left for a moment and then returned with a cold cloth in his hands. I shut my eyes as he dabbed the cloth over my skin.
My eyes met his. “Why are you here?”
