Gideon shoves me up against the fridge so hard the impact steals my breath.
I have to fight for my life.
I try to run again, but I don’t get very far. This time he grabs hold of my black tank top and the strap of my bra, pulling against both with force. My top rips exposing my breasts and my bra goes flying across the room.
“Jesus! Look at those juicy tits! They’re so much bigger than before. Did you get a boob job?”
His eyes flash something evil as I try to cover myself.
“Don’t be shy, Dominika.”
I’m nearly hysterical, but coax myself to calm down.
Think.
Focus.
Breathe.
I use this moment to my advantage and kick him in the shin.
“Fucking bitch! I was going to be nice, but now I’m going to fucking rip your ass in half,” he grunts, coming at me.
He’s going to rape me, and then kill me.
God, please don’t let this happen.
Suddenly, something inside me shifts.
I can’t die.
I won’t die.
I can’t die.
I won’t die.
I can’t die.
I won’t die.
I didn’t have the strength or courage to fight him off eight years ago, but this time, I’m not going down without a fight.
From the corner of my eye, I notice a tripod leaning against the wall. Gideon comes after me. I duck down, run and grab the tripod. It’s this ridiculously heavy thing Joel offered me as part of his package to sweeten his offer. I use all the rage and pain I’ve buried for the past eight years and lunge at Gideon, swinging as hard as I can.
I hit him right on the chin.
The blow is so hard, it makes his head snap to the side.
Blood splatters all over the place.
Yes!
“Fuck!” Gideon yells.
I swing again and this time, I hit him in the chest.
He stumbles back before landing on his ass.
