“Look at me, you blabbering cunt.”
“No.”
“Look.”
“No.” I spit the word.
He grabs my chin.
“I said look! Or I’ll kill you first.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss. “You’re nothing. You’re pathetic. You have to tie up girls to get off. That’s not a man. That’s a fucking loser!”
He growls. A dark, feral glare flashes across his face.
Good. Let him be mad.
Because if I die here, I’m not dying quiet.
“Help! Help!” I scream into the hopeless void.
Suddenly, glassexplodes.
A window. Shattering.
Riser jolts upright.
“What the—”
The van rocks. Metal groans. Something heavy crashes in. Boots hit the floor. A blur of movement. Punches emit the primal sound of knuckles hitting flesh and bone.
Riser whirls, but he’s too slow.
A fist slams into his face. Another. A knee to the ribs.
It’s him.
Through the chaos, the slivers of broken glass and moonlight, I see him.
Grayson.
His jaw clenched. Eyes murderous. His whole body made of rage.
They slam into the van walls, the metal warping and crinkling. I scream as a foot crushes my shoulder.
“Ah!” I cry, half-sobbing.
Please, don’t let them crush me.
Then—
“Charlotte,” Grayson shouts, breath ragged, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
That voice.
That voice pulls me back into my body.
Tears flood my eyes, and I lift my head. Not far from me, Riser lies folded over, unconscious. Grayson stands above him, knuckles bleeding, chest rising and falling like he just ran through hell.
