Page 42 of Brutal Truths

I grab a smaller trinket off the dresser and throw it at him, darting to my left as he lunges. It clips his shoulder but does nothing to slow him down. If anything, it fuels him to move faster.

His hand clamps onto the back of my neck, and he shoves me forward, using my momentum against me. With a sickening thud, the left side of my face slams into the wall.

The impact sends stabbing pain exploding through my right cheek as a yelp slips free. Tears flood my vision, turning everything into a hazy mess of color and emotion.

“You’ll pay for that,” I warn, forcing the words past the pain, trying to keep him focused on something other than what he’s doing. “Tell me who Rurik is.”

“Your empty threats don’t scare me.” He breathes in my ear, his voice low and cruel. “Why do you care who he is? All you need to know is that whenever he’s finished… you’re mine.”

“I’ll never be yours.” As the pain intensifies, I swallow hard, struggling to keep the bile down. “When your brother gets here, he’s gonna kick your arse.”

“You really think that will happen?” He laughs then licks my face.

My entire body recoils. Disgust hits hard and fast as I twist against him, trying to break free, but his grip only tightens.

“Now, be a good girl and hold still.”

Not a fucking chance, shithead.

His knuckles brush along the front of my body, and I surge against his hold, refusing to go still for him. I’m not going down without a fight. I’ll defy every attempt he makes to control me, no matter what.

With his weight, he presses in, trapping me. A mistake, because that frees my legs just enough for me to use them.

That’s all I need.

Using what my sister drilled into me, I drive my foot back with everything I have. Aiming blind, but striking hard—anywhere I can, and hard enough to matter.

He laughs mockingly at my failed attempts… until I land a solid blow to his knee. A howl of agony escapes him, and for a fleeting moment, his hold weakens.

I take it. Twisting, I pivot to face him.

His smug expression tells me he thinks I’ve made an error in judgement—I haven’t. This position is better. It opens him up, giving me more room to move, more ways to strike.

For half a second… I have control. Then it’s gone.

His weight slams into mine, his hand a vise around my throat, constricting my windpipe. “Now, what? I agree this is so much better.”

As his grip tightens, the lack of air makes my head swim, dizziness creeping in as my vision blurs at the edges. I fight it off.

Not yet.

I force my breathing to steady, refusing to black out before I get my chance. Once again, he’s left my legs free. When will he learn just how stupid that is?

Leaning in, he drags his nose up the side of my face, invading the little space I have left. That movement loosen his grip, allowing me to breathe marginally better.

“Are you scared?” His voice is low, almost amused. “I can smell your fear…and it fucking turns me on.”

He presses his groin against my stomach, making me acutely aware of his arousal. “My favorite is the first time. Want to know why?”

Our eyes lock, and I hold his gaze, doing my best not to show him an ounce of fear. “Because you’re an arsehole.”

His lip twists into a sneer, his gold tooth catching in the light. “The first time is always the best. After that...” His grip tightens slightly. “It changes. You lose a little more fight each time… until there’s nothing left.”

“I’ll never stop,” I spit out. “And you’re wrong.”

Once again, he pulls back, offering an opening while exposing himself. “Am I?”

I grit my teeth and sneer, nodding weakly, his hand still firmly on my neck. “Yes.”