Page 113 of Trust

“Get up!” Adam yells. “Fucking Christ, are you too stupid to follow a few orders?”

I grab onto the wall, using it to help me get to my feet. He’s not going to shoot me. There would be too many questions.

But Ilya…

He might try to shoot Ilya if he shows up.

What did I do?

“I’m sorry,” I rasp out again. “I’m so… so sorry.”

Adam grabs me by the hair and starts dragging me out. “Fuck. I should have realized. You were always an easy slut, weren’t you? You gag for any man who’s a bit rough with you. You’re attracted to trash.”

What does that say about him?

If I was braver, and if he wasn’t holding a gun, I’d ask.

Instead, I let myself be pulled out of the bathroom, stumbling as I follow along in his footsteps. Adam releases me when we reach the bedroom, and I watch him, trying to catch my breath.

He sets the gun down on top of the bedside table, then turns around to face me with cold eyes.

“You like getting hit, right? That’s what gets you off.” Adam backs me up against the wall until he’s boxing me in against it. “You want to know that your partner is strong.”

Adam wraps a hand around my neck.

No, he’s not going to shoot me.

He’s going to strangle the life out of me.

He can probably get away with it, too. Just another dead drug dealer, nothing to think twice about.

I’ll be dead before Ilya can get here.

I sob, pushing as hard as I can against his chest. It does nothing to dislodge him, and it only makes his fingers flex around my throat.

“What’s wrong?” Adam asks. “Why are you pretending not to want it?”

Because I don’t.

I don’t dare say the words.

“Strip,” he says, his voice dark as he releases me and takes a step back.

“Ad—” I start to say his name, but his eyes flick toward the gun, and I hurry to obey.

I haven’t prayed much in my life, let alone in the past few years, but I find myself praying now.

Please let Ilya get here soon.

I’m shaking so hard that I have a hard time getting my shirt off — a shirt that Ilya had bought for me — and I carefully fold it and set it aside onto the nightstand.

Right next to the gun.

For a split second, I think about picking it up.

I think about what it would be like to turn it on Adam, to feel powerful for once.

The thought only makes my stomach turn, and I think I’m going to be sick.