Page 39 of Something Like Sugar (Pine Forest Something #2)

He nods, tears and blood seeping over his swollen lips, still fresh from Lawrence’s beatings, as the apology sails from inside him.

My body energizes unevenly, hatred and disgust I crafted against the very man before me now warring with empathy, because I’m me .

I’m Shana Holiday, even when I don’t want to be.

And I feel his sincerity at my core.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs.

Lawrence strokes his finger through the pooling blood on Thomas’ face, bringing it to my lips as my childhood attacker hisses in pain.

I cry out, shaking my head away, but I’m tied down, arms and legs bound, as he shoves the blood into my mouth and forces me to suck it, sounds of Thomas’ protests echoing against my skull.

I convulse, gagging uncontrollably when it hits the back of my throat.

“Taste how grateful you are. This is how grateful little dancers take their masters cocks after a long day of work.” He shoves his finger back in, then scrunches his nose at me in disgust when I wretch, pulling away and wiping the spit across my cheek.

“What’s wrong, baby ? You don’t like it when I treat you like the nasty girl you are?

But you like it when he does it, don’t you? ”

Smack! The sting across my face is instantaneous. Sharp and jarring. “Disgusting little slut, giving it up for him like a good-for-nothing cum dumpster when I would have treasured you. I watched you; you know… waffle cone bullshit. I would have made you my QUEEN!”

I cough, the iron taste of someone else tinging my tongue, swirling with the sickening words he laces with my likeness, and acid rises from my gut as I projectile vomit across Lawrence’s chest.

Vengeful, punishing hands shove me back, anger forcing his weight until my back hits the floor, and the chair cracks beneath it. Good, I think, because he hasn’t noticed the break. If I can stall long enough, get untied… I’ll figure the rest.

Placid beats go by, with nothing said nor done between us, and I use the stalemate to prod my fingernails into the edge of the ropes securing my wrists, as his chest heaves and sweat pours from his pinched brow. He stalks forward, wild as I’ve ever seen him.

Crazed.

“You think he’s so good for you, but he’s done nothing but half ass jobs of ending your tormentors.

Can’t you see? I have taken Thomas and brought him to you.

I will kill him. Slay him for you, until his blood spills at your feet, and you can dance in the glory that is his ending, his suffering for you, my love. Law and Order. Justice!”

He straddles my body. It’s still tied to the broken chair, but what he doesn’t know is that it’s only by one hand now.

I just need to keep him talking long enough to free the other.

My body shakes, but I thread my fingernails into the layers of rope, dismantling his plans strand by strand.

He can slay my monsters or dragons, whatever time may bring, and he can do those things all he wants, but as I’ve told Dustin and will tell any man who poses the same…

I’m the only one who can save me from myself.

It’s taken me far too long to see that clearly, staring through the mirror. And while I used to think that made me a loner or an oddball, it really makes me a fighter. And you don’t have to be alone to fight for yourself. You can do it surrounded by the ones you love.

“Thank you.” I gasp, fluttering my lashes and feigning appreciation.

I channel my inner Haans, acting as best I can and laying on the flirt, as I repose my hands behind my back, my entire body weight depending on my triceps not to give.

My chest puffs, determination and grit seeding where they must, a reminder it’s not just me I’m saving today.

It’s us .

I drop my eyes to my tummy, a gift that means more than all the world, one I never even asked for but suddenly can’t imagine living without. And I promise her in this silent moment; I won’t go down without fighting for us.

My family .

Lawrence can’t see my freed hands behind the chair, but he’ll soon feel them. I do my best to fake a smile, beckoning him near.

It seems to be working. And it takes every bit of willpower not to drop the act, as he loosens his tie and sinks to a chair upright.

He doesn’t set mine back up.

It feels like a punishment. A way to control me and the comfortability he may provide, and I thank God for this man’s insanity, because he’d see my hands and it would all be over. I pray like Hell that won’t be the case as my voice rises to a lustful octave.

“I mean it, Lawrence,” I continue. “Thank you. It all makes so much sense now. It was always you, wasn’t it?”

I tell him what he wants to hear. He needs me, this much I know from the immediate slack of his shoulders when I lick my lips and pretend to shudder.

“Nobody has ever killed for me before.” I flick my eyes to Thomas, now cowering and sobbing from his chair.

“You would really do it for me?” His head tilts, pupils dilating at my new disposition.

“If you come closer, I’ll show you what he taught me about kissing. I bet he did it all wrong. You could teach me better.”

“I could.” He palms his slacks, erection forming beneath them while I hold back the excess vomit threatening my digestive tract. Lawrence’s breath is already enough to churn guts without the ick factor of his insanity.

And then it happens, he kisses me, tongue diving in and dragging along the edges of my own. I hate every nano second that passes. If there’s something smaller than nano, I’d like to file for an individualized patent on hating his kiss that much too, but this is strategy.

I wonder what Dad would do? He’d relate it back to Shakespeare somehow, and Titus Andronicus did not spend all that time wining and dining Tamora just to throw it all away for simple revenge.

No. He ended his enemies in style; her rapist sons baked in a pie she feasted upon before a dagger to her throat.

I can do this. I won’t meander on the rest of the story where pretty much the entire cast dies regardless.

No. I’ll kiss him, coffee breath and all.

He leans into me, and my muscles burn. I can press more than his pathetic excuse for a body, though, and I’ve never been more thankful for my training as I hold both of us up by two hands, my attacker unaware that we’re resting in my palms. I suppose he imagines he’s just crushing my bound wrists, chivalry and all.

Lawrence hums in appreciation of our tongue tie, and I try to imagine Dustin in his place, anything to distract from the man on top of me and what could become if I don’t succeed.

Haans called me Licht during our date. I looked it up later, and it means light.

That’s precisely what this is.

I’ve drawn this man to me, a beacon. A light. Not one stalker, but two. And isn’t it shitty how all I was doing was being myself? Minding my own business? Wearing hoodies and leggings? It’s standards like that I hate, too.

I want to vomit again, but I push it back.

I wasn’t lying about binge-watching Law and Order . The more compliant I appear to this lunatic, the better this will be for me and the baby.

That’s how I’ll escape.

I want to cradle my stomach, even if it is too soon to know whether she survives this, to hold my hand against her tiny, forming heart and tell her it’s okay.

I promise her that. Right here. Right now.

It will be okay, sweet girl.

I don’t even ponder that I immediately know the sex. I just do. And she’s mine to fight for. Mine to hold.

Mine to bring into this world, not his to take.

I am nobody’s to take.

I am Shana Holiday, Not the Last of Her Kind.

Not a shy, pushover virgin.

I’m Business Elite’s Finest, an Award-Winning Ballerina, World’s Most Supportive Daughter, and a loud, proud weirdo with the best friends a girl could wish for.

Confidence pulsing, I let out a breathy whimper, baited specially for Lawrence, whose tongue is now wandering disgustingly down my neckline. Unfortunately, it’s exactly where I need him to be, and I’ll take whatever I must if it means we survive this.

I eyeball Thomas, getting his attention over Lawrence’s hunched form. The lunatic is still licking trails over my skin that are so unappealing they might as well be from snails. I want to peel my skin from my body as I press back a sob and tears I dare not let him see, if he’s to think I want this.

I motion to the door with my eyes. The keys hang from Lawrence’s belt loop.

I can’t tell where we are, some sort of boiler room.

Every so often there’s a whooshing sound, like a toilet flushing by the back wall.

Whatever it is, it’s loud and requires a motor.

There will be workers on this floor, wherever we are, and once I get free and grab the keys, I’ll need Thomas to distract Lawrence long enough for me to escape and find one.

Somehow.

With Thomas’ hands and legs still bound.

Shoot.

“Distraction,” I mouth to him in total silence. I pray it’s not too dim for lip-reading.

He nods immediately, and hope carries me forward.

“You taste just like I imagined you would. So sweet. Innocent.” Lawrence winds his tongue around my earlobe, his breath hot and suffocating, but I lie all the same.

“You like that?” I purr, repositioning my hands while he’s distracted.

I arch my chest up. “If you lift my shirt, you can taste there, too. Just move your hand from my shoulder and put it where I really want it.” I drop my eyes to my breasts, because if he frees my shoulder, I’m golden.

I throw him my very best version of a flirty wink, and it sticks, thank God , because I wasn’t even sure I did it right, chest still rising and falling so fast I fear he must sense my nerves.

A smile creeps across his face. It would be handsome if he wasn’t a hostile stalker holding me captive. It would still be plastered to a money-hungry murderer, though. One who tried to steal my studio and force me to his will, coercing me to undress for him under the guise of another man.