Page 37 of Fire Island (Fire Island #2)
Thirty-Five
EVIE
M y own stupid knife presses against my throat, my back pushed up against Timothy’s chest, my wrists burning in his hold as he restrains me. Warmth trickles down my neck as the sting sets in. The big guy closes the small distance that’s left between us, eyes searching my face.
“This a game to you, Butterfly?” the big guy says.
“Don’t call me that,” I hiss, straining in the grip holding me.
Timothy sneers, his hot breath hitting my ear. “We can call you whatever we want, whore. Nobody’s coming for you. You’re all ours.”
I struggle in my confines but don’t react other than to say, “I never have been, nor will I ever be, yours.”
“You look pretty much ours at the moment,” the big guy says, tracing a filthy finger over my jaw. It hooks over my bottom lip.
My gut churns.
Chest heaving, I hold my composure . . . just.
The big guy smirks. “You made us work for it, angel. Don’t get me wrong, I’m always up for a good hunt, but now you’re going to pay for that little chase.” His foul breath hits my mouth, and I wince, pressing my lips closed and turning my head to the side.
His fingers pinch my chin, snapping my face back to him as he towers over me.
“ Now , you don’t leave this little island. You don’t get to ease into this. You take us both, right here, right now.”
“Get your depraved fucking hands off me!”
“Not this time, little one,” he whispers.
Heat licks my spine as fear seeps through my body.
My airway all but closes over. Trembling, I groan, trying one last time to pull away.
The knife disappears from my throat as it hangs in his hand.
His gaze travels down my body, slow and heated, his pale-blue eyes darkening as his expression changes.
When it comes back up, the tip of the knife pushes the neck of my T-shirt down. The material slices under the sharp blade. Crimson soaks into my T-shirt.
“I like that, you bleeding. Me taking what I want, Butterfly .”
“Please . . .” I sob. “Please don’t do this.”
My heroine is long since gone.
My bravery left along with my last chance to escape, scurrying after Reese as he fled.
Like I told him to.
Because the heroine doesn’t throw lives down for protection. She stands her damn ground.
She. Stands. Her. Damn. Ground.
Still trembling, I set my shoulders back.
It’s not fear, it’s adrenaline.
It’s not fear, it’s adrenaline.
It’s not fear, it’s adrenaline.
No fear.
One long breath in. I fix my attention on the man towering over me. The blade, my knife, in his filthy fucking hand.
This is my story.
You are side characters, just begging to be killed off.
I write this ending.
I have the control. Like every underestimated woman who came before me.
Feigning a sob, I bend my head. I wait until Timothy’s hold gives just a little...
One swift, manic thrust of my head backward, my skull slams into his face.
My bonds split instantly as he doubles over, grabbing at his face. Blood pours from his nose.
I step sideways, putting both men to my side.
The big guy advances with the knife. I dance past him, alternating my gaze between the two men. Skirting the room until I come to the cupboard.
Kicking the door open, I sweep down and swipe up the two small blunt knives I left behind last time.
Now the fight’s a little more even.
Big guy chuckles, but his face tightens.
They don’t like it when prey fights back.
That I already know.
I figure he is my biggest threat now. Not Timothy. The size difference alone makes him more formidable. He’s wiping at his face with the back of his hand, his glare burning into me now. “I will stab you, bitch, I have no problem fucking you unconscious.”
Christ .
Timothy lunges at me. I sidestep him. As he tries to circle back, I twist my wrist, sending my blades backward. Spinning toward him, too quick for him to move out of the way, I slice the top of his arm.
“Fuck!” He cowers, grabbing his wounded arm. Blood seeps through his fingers. “You fucking cut me.”
“Want another one?” My voice is low, foreign.
Each breath sears from my lungs before they barely inflate again. My head is vacant except for a singular focus.
Hurting them both.
I wait for one to advance. For them to realize I won’t go down without a fight. My rusty blades and I are committed. In this for the long haul. To the end.
The very end.
Not giving the adrenaline pumping through my harried veins a chance to settle, I close in on Timothy.
He’s my bait.
My target, the bigger threat.
Timothy backs away as I stalk toward him, head bent, my gaze boring into him. My labored breathing fills the hut with no other sounds bar the few raspy breaths from either side of me that I intend on snuffing out.
“Stand still,” the big guy barks at Timothy. “She’s bluffing. She ain’t going to hurt us.”
My weeks of torture and years of torment would disagree.
Still, the big guy holds his position. I slide one knife under Timothy’s throat.
Keeping the big guy in my peripheral, I hiss, “I ought to spill your blood all over this damn floor. For every month you sent me letters. Revenge for every butterfly that died at your sadistic hands. For the years of freedom you stole from me.”
He tries to huff a dismissive laugh, his gaze flicking to his buddy, and I shove the blade against his throat harder.
“Nothing about this is funny. And yes, this is all your fault.”
“You don’t have a clue. Get the fuck off me, you stupid bitch,” he rasps.
I lean in, close. His sweat-clad skin is caked with dirt and filth. “Said the mouse to the lioness,” I growl.
Movement rushes at my side.
I spin to face him. A wall of sweaty man hits me. I stumble, and he shoves me to the ground. I scramble backward, but he grips my legs, crawling over me until his hand closes around my wrist, the other sinking into my hair and making a fist. “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”
He leans down, licking my neck with a groan. “Good, I like a little fight in them.”
Timothy steps toward us.
“Fuck off! She’s mine, you pathetic excuse.”
I send my free hand into his side, sinking the rusted blade between his ribs.
He roars, face twisting with pain. The knife lodges, and I can’t pull it back. It’s stuck.
No!
He pants through the pain, spittle hitting my face. “Fuck!”
The hand closed around my hair pulls up, and the back of my skull hits the ground. Hard.
Stars pop into my vision, and I whimper. I grip my last weapon with every bit of remaining strength I have. Bucking underneath him, I scream out, “I will kill you!”
He seethes, leaning down. “Not if I kill you first, little one.”
I snap my head up, smashing into his nose.
He groans, swaying a little before he sits back, pinning me under him.
With a deep breath, he tugs the knife from his ribs and tosses it through the front door.
His fingers around my wrist, he slams my hand into the floor until my grip falters and the blade falls.
No . . .
No!
“You can’t win this game, Eve. So don’t bother trying.” His eyes study my face.
Eve.
He called me by my name.
Was T his sidekick all this time? Is he the bigger wolf, lying in wait to sweep in and take the spoils?
“Wha—what did you call me?”
“Your name, precious girl.” The last two words are almost a snarl.
I glance at Timothy, and he looks as deflated as I do, surprised.
“What kind of man lets his girl get away?” the man over me whispers, his lips brushing my ear.
My heart flings against my ribs, bruising the air right out of my lungs.
He is the stalker?
What?
“My useless cousin over there is about as good at operating a semitruck as he is abducting a meek little woman.”
“You still owe me a new fender,” Timothy whines.
The man straddling my hips gives him a dirty look that registers as a not now expression.
“I like to watch my prey being played with, Eve. He’s good for that, but I’m done waiting.”
That explains why Timothy drugged me but never...
“Please, stop. You can have me willingly, if you j-just let me go! Please!”
I’ll trade an unwanted encounter for my life any day.
“I don’t want you willing.” He tugs at my shirt, and I slap at him with both hands. “Hold her!”
Timothy takes a tentative step toward me.
His nervous gaze flicks from us to the door, like he’s about to make a run for it. Something snaps on the ground outside, and Timothy shakes his head, fleeing the hut.
“Fucking coward,” the man hovering over me says.
“Who are you?” I ask, half wanting to know, half wanting to buy myself time.
“Need a name to scream?” He runs his knuckles down my cheek, and I wince, snapping my head to the side. “You can scream Thorin while I fuck the life right out of you.”
My mouth gapes.
Reaching over, he takes my knife from the floor and holds it up while inspecting it.
My heart rate kicks up. I squirm beneath him, wanting out. Now.
His gaze falls from the blade to my face.
“How about I mess you up before the good part?”
The knife comes down, the tip aiming for my chest.
His piercing eyes find mine.
I slam them shut. He won’t get the satisfaction of seeing my fear.
Hauling a long, slow, stretching lungful, I wait for the piercing pain of the blade, the tang of crimson and the burn of death to find me...