Page 26 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

“You know what they say about your life flashing in front of your eyes when you’re about to die?

Turns out, it’s a lie. I realized I’d barely lived.

So, there wasn’t much, in terms of memories, I could reach for.

Which is when I knew with certainty that I was not going to die.

No asshole pervert was going to kill me.

Not when I hadn’t even started living. I fought back, threw him off, then used the same wires he’d rigged me with to knot around his neck, and squeeze and squeeze.

He fought me back, but I was persistent.

I was fighting for my life. I tightened the wires until his eyes bulged, his mouth opened, and his face turned purple.

And even then, I didn’t stop. I kept compressing the life out of him until I heard a sound from outside the room.

“I released him, then ran out of the room and down the corridor to the main door which, thank god, was open.

There was a man entering, and I took him by surprise.

By then, I was so focused on getting away, nothing could stop me.

I bowled him over, ran out of the house, and found myself on the street.

It was a residential area with houses on either side.

Motherfuckers had held me in a house which, from the outside, looked like a normal suburban house.

“There was a car driving toward me, and I ran out on the street and threw myself in its path so the driver would stop. He wanted to take me to the hospital, but I refused. Instead, I convinced him give me a lift to the nearest tube station and pay for my travel card. I got his address, and later, I sent him the money with a note saying, ‘thanks.’ I figured I’d let him guess who sent it—I certainly wasn’t giving him my name.

“Anyway, I made it back to university and went to my room. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost my phone and my parents had been trying to reach me to tell me that Weston had already been found. So, I put the whole thing behind me and moved on." Ha-ha. Keep telling yourself that, buddy.

"That was it? No one missed you?"

I shake my head. "My parents were grappling with Weston’s disappearance. I was already eighteen and at university. It wasn’t unusual for me to not answer my phone or to go for weeks without speaking to them."

"What about the officials at the university? Surely, someone would have noticed when you didn’t attend your classes?"

I shoot her a sideways glance.

"What?" She scowls. "It’s a reasonable question."

"I was a rich, entitled, jock, baby. You think the professors or administrators would dare question me?" I blow out a breath. “It’s also because I was a spoiled, impulsive idiot that I decided to take off on my own to try and find Weston. It’s what led to my capture by his kidnappers. And later, when I escaped, I couldn’t say anything because I was too embarrassed I‘d allowed myself to be caught. Had to maintain my reputation at all costs, you know?” I lower my hands between my knees.

“The only consolation is that Weston and his friends were released while I was held. I’d like to believe it was a prisoner exchange. ..”

She closes the distance between us, crouches in front of me, then touches my cheek. "Didn’t your friends wonder where you were?"

"They thought I’d gone home or that I was with a woman. No one was going to be a pussy and raise an alarm just because I hadn’t been seen in a few weeks."

"With a woman, huh?" Her eyebrows draw down.

For the first time since I woke up with the sound of my screams in my ears, my chest feels lighter.

"You jealous about that, baby?"

She firms her lips.

"You upset because I hooked up with girls in university?"

She reaches up and locks her fingers around my neck, bringing her face close to mine.

"I don’t care about who you were with before I came along.

No, strike that. I do care about who you were with, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

But if I ever see you with another woman, I’ll kill her first and then tear off your balls. "

I can’t stop my lips from curving. I grab her by her waist and haul her into my lap. "Say that again."

"What?" She pouts.

"So possessive, LadyBird."

"No more than you." She hooks her fingers into the front of my shirt. "I’m sorry for what happened to you. But I’m not sorry you killed that bastard.”

"So bloodthirsty." I peer into her face. "These are the hands of a killer, baby."

"Or of someone who did what had to be done to survive. If you think this is going to make me look at you differently, you’re wrong."

I hold her gaze, and in them, I see a resolve. She’s not upset about what I did to survive. She’s not repulsed by what happened to me. "There’s one more thing you need to know."

She pushes the hair off my forehead. "What is it?"

"There are some scars I carry from the experience that you can’t see. Scars which still affect me. Scars which are now part of me. Indeed, I don’t believe I can do without them."

"Where… where are these scars?"

"If I show them to you, you might not be so understanding."

She lowers her forehead to mine. "If you think that scares me, you’re wrong."

"Even if I told you that it’d affect how we can be together?"