Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Instead, he beams at me. “Oh good. We’ll have a little time to get properly acquainted. I think we got off on the wrong foot before. We’re neighbors. I want us to be friendly.”
“I’d prefer if we were simply cordial,” I reply coolly. “I’m sorry, but I’m really busy. I need to get this laundry put away before Dane gets here.” I’m quick to remind him of my lie.
“Hey, I get it.” Ron holds up his hands as though in defeat. “You’re a classy lady, and he’s a fancy man.”
Then he takes a step toward me, and my stomach drops.
“But you have that sexy Carolina drawl, and you need a Southern man, not some foreigner.”
“What I need is for you to leave me alone,” I assert.
My butt bumps against the hot dryer. There’s nowhere for me to go.
“Back off,” I warn, and my voice doesn’t waver.
I’m done being polite.
“There’s no need to be rude, Peaches,” he admonishes with a shake of his head.
“You’re the one being inappropriate.” I struggle to keep my tone calm and even when my heart leaps into my throat.
“Oh, come on.” He’s cajoling now, and he takes another step toward me. He’s close enough that his weight presses my hamper into my belly, pinning me. “We could go up to my place. Have a drink. You’ll see that I’m a nice guy.”
My fingers are numb around the handles of the hamper.
“Let me out.” The demand is a ragged whisper.
My twisted fear response is causing me to shut down. Forbidden lust doesn’t stir this time, but I’m not running away from danger, either. As always, I freeze.
It’s going to happen again, and I’m going to let him do it.
He shoves the hamper aside, and it clatters to the concrete floor. My clean laundry spills everywhere, but my eyes are fixed on the threat.
“I knew you liked me,” he says with smug satisfaction.
His breath smells like stale tobacco, and his lips taste bitter when they crush down on mine. The faint scent of cigarette smoke threads through my senses, and I’m not sure if it’s coming from him, or if I’m getting dragged into the memory of Tom and my debutante ball.
I close my eyes, as though I can hide from what’s happening to me.
Dane’s fierce green eyes fill my mind. They glitter with possessive hunger.
I’m his.
Ron has no right to touch me.
For the first time in my life, I fight back.
My knee jerks up between us, slamming into his balls. He chokes against my mouth, then reels away. He doubles over and makes a pathetic retching sound.
“Fucking bitch,” he wheezes, stumbling toward me.
I spin on my heel and run. I dart out of the laundry room and into the open breezeway on the ground floor. I’m at my front door in seconds, and I wrench it open. I slam it shut behind me and throw my weight against it, sliding the lock in place just as Ron’s bulky body slams into the wood.
“Come out here, you little cunt!” he roars. My entire door vibrates at my back. He’s kicking it, punching it.
If he manages to get inside, he’ll do the same to me.
The violence reminds me of a different night when I was pressed against my door, when the masked man pinned me here and violated me in the worst way.
My knees fold, and I sink to the floor as horrific memories threaten to pull me under.
I force my shaking hand to find my phone in my pocket. It takes a few trembling attempts to find Dane’s contact information and connect the call.
He answers after three rings. “I’m at work. Can I call you back?”
I can’t breathe. I try to speak, but all that issues from my throat is an awful choking sound. Ron pounds on my door, shouting curses at me.
“Abigail!” Dane’s usually cultured voice is rough. “Where are you?”
“Home,” I manage to wheeze.
I squeeze my eyes shut. My head is pounding in time with Ron’s fists on my door.
“I’m on my way. Stay on the phone with me.”
I can’t do more than nod mutely.
“Tell me what’s happening,” he commands sharply.
“Ron…” His name is all I can force past the lump in my throat before the horrors of my past overwhelm me.
“I’ll be there soon,” he promises darkly. “Are you in your apartment? Is the door locked? Answer me, Abigail.”
“Yes,” I whisper, compelled to obey.
“Stay right where you are. Breathe. Just keep breathing. That’s all you have to do until I get there, understand?”
I heave in a painful breath that’s like a knife through my chest.
He must hear my attempt to comply because he praises, “Good girl. Another. Just focus on your breath.”
His voice is my anchor to reality, preventing me from getting lost in awful memories. He continues to talk me through my terror, commanding each of my ragged breaths.