Page 112 of Mask and the Magnolia

There isn’t even anyone at reception right now so I should continue to go unnoticed until I can get cleaned up enough to sneak back to my place.

The storage closet is the best place to do that.

I can’t stop smiling as I slip inside, grabbing a fresh jumpsuit from the shelf as I make my way to the sink.

I turn on the water and let it warm up while I carefully unzip my suit down to my waist. I pull my arms out then peel off my tank top, trying my best not to get ash all over the floor or counter. Once I can see the steam from the hot water, I grab a new bar of soap and work it into a lather in my hands and up my arms.

I wince when I reach my elbows, a stinging pain shooting down to the fingers of my left hand that causes me to stop and look for the source.

Shit.

I didn’t even realize I burned myself but I have a four inch long scorch mark that’s real angry and probably already infected.

“That’s going to leave a doozy of a scar,” I say to myself with a chuckle then suddenly start to cough as my air supply is abruptly cut off.

“I have been waiting for the day I could finally get you alone.”

My hands fly to the forearm around my throat, trying to claw at its flesh with my blunt nails as I feel the veins in my neck pop to the surface and the blood vessels in my eyes start to burst.

“You’re always with those two tattooed fucks, keeping an eye on you, covering your ass,” Jones growls, his mouth right next to my ear as he grabs my arm with the burn and wrenches it high up my back. “Not today, though. I’ve got them busy with physicals and med reviews. Today your ass ismine.”

He pulls me away from the sink, my vision going black around the edges as I keep fighting to breathe.

Jones shoves me into the desk and his arm leaves my throat, allowing me to drag lungful after lungful into my chest before he grabs a fistful of my hair and slams me down onto the flat metal surface.

Blood spurts from my nose and I can hear the crunch of cartilage as it breaks. The pain shoots through my skull, my thoughts scattering as my face begins to throb.

“I’m going to ruin you, St. James,” Jones snarls as he yanks my head up off the desk. “I’m going to fuck your depraived ass until it bleeds and you are going to take it like the beta bitch you are.” He slams my face into the desk again, a mouthful of red pours from my lips as at least one of my teeth shoots across the space in front of me. “And when I’m done, I’m going to shove my dick so far down your throat you’ll be sucking your own blood off my knot.”

I try to move my free arm, try like hell to lift it, to make it move at all but it’s not working. There’s some kind of disconnect between my brain and my body, a delay that’s stopping me fromfighting back. Even when he lets go of my hair and pushes my jumpsuit to the floor.

I need to move.

I have to fight.

I’m not thebitch betaanymore, not some worthless piece of trash everyone can shit all over. They can’t use me however they want, can’t take what I’m not willing to give.

Not anymore.

Something cold and hard cracks against my ass as Jones kicks my legs open. “Have to get you ready first, St. James. Gotta make sure you can take everything I’m going to give.”

The same object comes down on my asscheek again before he shoves it between them, pushing it against my asshole while the bastard laughs.

“Don’t worry about lube, once I tear into you with the baton, your blood will work just fine.”

Adrenaline surges through my veins as my fight or flight instincts finally kick in almost too late.

I force myself upright, ignoring the pop in my left shoulder as I crank my right elbow up and back into the side of Jones’ head. He stumbles and loosens his grip, and I manage to get away from him before he realizes it happened.

“You’ll pay for that, motherfucker,” he growls as he comes toward me, staggering a little as he lifts the police baton in his hand. “With your life if you have to.”

Grabbing the first thing I can find, I yank an old intercom off the wall and smash it against his face, dazing him enough to make a run for the door.

But I don’t make it.

About a foot short of freedom, Jones tackles me from behind, both of us crashing into the shelves, knocking them over in a noise I hope someone can hear. I quickly flip myself over and start scooting away, throwing shoe boxes and sticks ofdeodorant at him, turning anything I can into even the weakest of weapons.

I manage to kick him in the face as he lunges after me, the way his mouth explodes in a spray of red momentarily satisfying as it slows him down. But not enough.