Page 53 of The Rules

That vindictive, jealous bitch had set her up. Had deliberately fed her to this predator, knowing exactly what would happen.

His fingers dig deeper into her flesh—then he lunges, mouth crashing against hers. The kiss is rough, sloppy, reeking of entitlement.

Revulsion surges up her throat. Her stomach flips. The bile is instant.

His breath is hot and sour against her lips, his tongue forcing its way past clenched teeth.

And that’s it. That’s the last fucking straw.

Something snaps.

Kath reacts before thought can interfere—her fist driving hard into his chest, all of her weight and fury behind it. Bone meets muscle with a sickening thud. She feels the impact in her shoulder, hears his breath explode from his lungs in a shocked, strangled wheeze.

But he's bigger than she expected, more solid. His body absorbs the blow without giving way, and panic floods her system as she realizes it wasn't enough.

She pivots, planting both palms against his chest and pushes with everything she has, desperation lending her strength.

He staggers back, but the motion throws her off balance too.

Her heel snags. Gravity wins. Her hip slams into the table’s edge, pain shooting up her side before her elbow crashes down next. Pain explodes through her arm, sharp and vicious, stealing her breath.

A gasp tears from her throat, raw and involuntary. The sound echoes in the private room, mixing with the muted bass from the club beyond.

Through the haze of pain, she sees his face. His lips stretch into a grin, like her pain is exactly what he wanted. This is what he came for—her pain, her helplessness. It’s written all over his smile.

The man lunges forward with terrifying speed, his bulk slamming into Kath before she can recover from her fall.

His weight crushes down on her, trapping her beneath him.

The impact forces the air from her lungs in a sharp gasp.

One hand clamps down on her thigh, bruising the soft flesh. The other slides higher, groping blindly before seizing her breast through the thin fabric of her top. His fingers squeeze with cruel pressure, no care, no hesitation—just possession. Kath’s stomach heaves as his whiskey-soured breath washes over her face, hot and wet against her skin.

She jerks her head to the side, desperate to escape the nauseating closeness, but he follows, his face inches from hers, hovering like a predator savoring its prey.

“No need to be shy now,” he growls, his voice thick with anticipation, trembling with an eagerness that makes bile rise in her throat.

She pushes against his chest with all her strength, muscles burning with effort, trying to create space between them.

But he’s too heavy, pressing down with suffocating certainty.

His hand drops from her breast, fumbles roughly beneath her skirt. She feels the tug of her panties, the sharp snap of fabric straining as he claws at the waistband.

Terror and rage surge through her veins like fire. Her skin crawls beneath his touch, every nerve in her body screaming toget him off. Her limbs thrash against his bulk, but it's like fighting stone.

He shifts his weight to one side, trying to free his other hand, his breath ragged with effort—and then she hears it.

The soft, metallicclinkof his belt.

Panic explodes inside her like shrapnel.

Pure instinct takes over. Kath opens her mouth and screams, the sound ripping from her throat with raw desperation. “HELP!” The word echoes off the walls, primal and terrified. “HELP-!”

His palm crashes over her mouth, smothering the next scream—then strikes her cheek in a brutal backhand. Her head snaps sideways, pain blooming hot and sharp. The taste of blood floods her mouth.

“Shut up.”

His voice has changed—stripped of its drunken playfulness, revealing something colder. More calculated.