Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
One step and I’m gone. I sprint to Ark’s office before pushing through his door as if his privacy is null and void when it comes to me.
When I notice the office is barren of a soul, I race for the main entrance door, my sore ankle a thing of the past.
As my hand circles the antique doorknob, I’m squashed against the door firmly enough for my lungs to squeal. A tattooed hand pins my head to the door while another clamps my thigh just below the hem of my uniform.
“No… pl-please,” I beg, thrashing and screaming, mindful silence never wins and having far more to live for this time not to fight.
Ark’s greenish eyes pop into my head two seconds after Tillie’s baby blues, but the stranger’s hand slides higher before I can add them to my defense.
Whiskey puffs from his mouth as his fingers dig into the fleshy part of my thighs. His painful grip flashes up horrible memories and churns my stomach with nausea.
While fighting with everything I have, I plead for him to stop, and scream the words I once held back to reduce the severity of my punishments.
Nothing stops him. He continues to steal the air from my lungs as ruefully as his demoralizing attempts to strip my confidence.
I won’t let that happen. I was a child back then. I was half their size and weight. I can’t use those excuses this time around.
“No!” I scream, refusing to go down without a fight. “Get off me!”
A mere inch from my panties, his hand is suddenly yanked away, and a breathy grunt emits from his lips.
I’m too shocked my pleas worked this time around to move, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize what is happening.
A fist connecting with the bridge of someone’s nose over and over again can’t be mistaken, much less the stern rumble of a man bristling with fury. “What the fuck do you think you were doing?”
I twist my head toward the snarled voice, gasping when I spot Ark towering over the man who was endeavoring to assault me. Blood is gushing from the ex-elevator attendant’s nose, and a dark shadow is already circling his left eye. However, they’re not the cause of my shock.
Since Ark is facing away from me and only wearing a towel, I can’t miss the mottling of scars covering a majority of his back. They’re textured and silver, meaning they were most likely done years ago, but painstakingly extensive. They go from behind his left ear, across his shoulder blade, and down to the waistband of the towel hanging precariously off his waist.
Are they the reason he calls himself a monster?
Is he afraid Tillie will see his scars and believe he is no longer worthy of me?
It dawns on me that we’re not the only people in the room when Ark’s eyes shoot to the side, and he shouts, “You were meant to keep the building in lockdown!”
“He isn’t meant to be here,” Rafael replies, his wide eyes bouncing between Ark, my attacker, and me. “Someone must have let him in… He must have…” He stops, shakes his head, and then starts again. “I fucked up. I’ll fix it. I will make this right.” He tugs the ex-elevator attendant up with a deadly tight grip on his arm and hoists him in my direction, doubling the shake of my thighs. “Apologize.”
“For what?” he asks, abhorrently confused. “Getting a little rough with a prostitute he no longer wants?”
Rafael firms his grip, forcing the man to yelp.
“Apologize, Paarth!” he demands again. “Before that pathetic whimper is the last noise you ever issue.”
Paarth’s eyes widen like he is aware Rafael’s threats aren’t idle before he strays his wet eyes to me. “I’m sorry.”
“Louder!” Ark demands, scaring me with his menacing tone. “And say it like you fucking mean it.”
Paarth’s slur comes out sounding like a sob. “I’m sorry. I thought you were… That he was… I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“What the…” Rafael wordlessly urges me to move away from the service entrance door when the wet patch on the front of Paarth’s pants dribbles to his feet, wetting his shoes. “Did you seriously just piss yourself?” An accent that isn’t solely Russian annunciates parts of his ridicule. “You sure as fuck better hope they can extract your putrid scent from the carpet, or you’ll have more than words with Ark’s fists this evening…”
I miss the remainder of his reply when he pushes my attacker through the narrow opening of the servants’ entrance.
I’m in such a daze several long seconds pass in silence.
The scent of Paarth’s urine is overpowering. It has me on the cusp of vomiting. I’ve only sampled one scent more rancid—my speech therapist’s cum.
With my mind too trapped in the throes of my past, I’m confused when Ark asks, “Did he hurt you?”