As they faced off, he moved forward again, his intent clear — to box her in. She edged away successfully. If she could figure out how to get out of this house, she knew she’d have no trouble outrunning him. She had a reason to live now. Two reasons. A family. And a man she loved. A man she would apologize to profusely if she could just see his face again.
“I’m going to play with you all night. For days, actually, taste your body…over and over again. It’s going to be so good. You won’t be recognizable when I’m done with you, but that won’t matter, because you won’t ever be found. I imagine it will take me a while to grow tired of your sugar, though, honey buns.”
“You won’t touch me again, Jesse. Never again.”
“We both know I will. If you give up this chase, I’ll make the first time a little less painful,” he said, light shooting from his eyes in anticipation.
“If you back off, I won’t kill you,” she replied.
He lunged for her, and she quickly sidestepped him, then rushed to the next room as he went flying to the floor with a scream of rage. Pissed was good, she told herself. The more angry he was, the more careless. If she could just tire him out, she could get out of the house.
“You are only making this worse for yourself, Misty. Stop this now, before I really lose my temper.”
Jesse had trapped her in the next room. She’d made another foolish move. There was a door, but it was boarded up, without offering her even a chance of getting out of the house.
She looked around quickly for any sign of a weapon. Nothing that she could spot.
Dammit!
“You won’t touch me, you disgusting maggot,” she growled, and she scooted around the ripped couch.
“Oh, I’ll be touching you all night long,” he replied, his beady eyes glowing with desire as he drew closer.
“I’d rather die, Jesse.”
“Don’t worry, dollface, you will,” he promised. “But not before I get what’s owed to me.”
There! A knife! She spotted it in the corner of the room, on the other side of the couch, beneath what looked like an old television stand, and its blade was at least six inches long. Though it was rusty and old, it could probably do some damage. If she could just get her hands on that, she would thrust first, ask questions later. Though she’d threatened to kill him, she really didn’t want to live with that, with knowing she’d taken another person’s life. But she sure as heck wanted to maim him, to do anything short of killing to stop him.
And if it came down to her or him, well…
When he jumped toward her this time, she was prepared. She leapt over the coffee table and rolled onto the ground, crawling closer to the broken stand. Almost there!
When her fingers were within grasping distance, pain shot through her ankle as he grabbed it and twisted. He had hold of her from beneath the coffee table, his body lying on the ground, a trickle of blood running down his head from some hit he must have taken during their struggles. She only wished she’d seen the impact.
The wound must have been slowing him down, but not enough, and if he applied more pressure, her ankle was going to snap.
“Give it up, bitch!” he thundered as he managed to get his other hand on her leg, and he began pulling her back toward him.
“No!” she screamed, clawing against the floor. When she thought it was hopeless, she managed to grip some of the torn carpet, anchoring herself before she tugged, though she felt as if she were being ripped in two.
“Now you’re mine,” he said, and laughed.
Her heart stalled as her blood turned to ice, but still, she wasn’t giving up. He might outweigh her, he might be stronger, and he might have the upper hand, but she had a reason to live, she reminded herself.
“I love your spirit, Misty. Always have. You fight so much more than any of the others. Even after days of my beating you, you managed to glare, managed to cry out in anger as well as pain. Most of the girls submit far too quickly, take all the fun away. Not you, though. No. You’ve always thought you were tough, and you never did fully submit to me. I like that in a woman — like the spark. It will be a shame to slit your throat. I don’t know if I’ll ever find another one like you. Don’t worry, though, I won’t kill you too fast. I want to enjoy that lush little body for as long as I can.”
He clearly thought he’d already won, and his sadistic arrogance filled her with rage.
“I fought because having your revolting body on top of mine is a fate worse than death,” she spat, tugging as hard as she could on the leg of the TV stand to gain traction, the muscles in her arms screaming, the bone in her ankle screaming, too. It was worth it, however, because she managed to pull herself forward the two inches she needed to reach her goal.
He was so focused on her legs, on trying to pull her back to him as he yanked at her clothing, that he didn’t see her fingers slip around the handle of the knife.
She knew she’d have only one shot at this, only one chance to plunge the blade into his thick flesh. If she messed this up, he would win. And that was something she absolutely couldn’t let happen.
“I don’t give a damn what you feel about me, just as long as you scream when I get my pleasure,” he growled.
Maybe she shouldn’t have been taunting him, because his rage was reaching new levels, but it was distracting him, and she needed that.
Her pants ripped under the intensity of his grip. The sound excited him, and he pulled harder, drawing her backward, now fully within his grasp.
He scrambled up her body, and slammed his fist against the side of her head, making her see stars. Jesse had one hell of a punch; he’d knocked her out more than once in the past. It took everything in her not to black out right then. If that happened, she’d lose all chance of escape.
So, okay, one chance, she told herself, and when he flipped her over onto her back and hovered over her, spittle dripping from his mouth and landing on her chest, she thrust the knife upward and twisted, not aiming, no strategy in mind except to wound him, to push him away.
“What the fu –?”
His sentence ended in a pained grunt when the blade sank deep into his stomach, and he began to collapse on her. With the last remaining ounce of strength left in her, Misty shoved against him, and he rolled onto his side, giving her just enough room to drag herself away.
He screamed as he twisted and flopped over onto his back, then reached down and pulled the blade free, making blood spew from the wound.