Great Exploitations(21)

Instead of crawling for the bag, I almost moved toward the sound of his voice. Then Rob tossed his belt aside and gave his feet a turn. When his first kick landed against my stomach, causing me to wonder if he’d liquefied all my internal organs with one blow, my primal sense of survival resurfaced, and my direction changed back to the plastic bag.

“This night could have gone so differently. If only you’d been the obedient girl I know you’re dying to become.” Rob’s words were punctuated by his kicks, which were peppered with my cries, which were interrupted by Henry’s shouts.

“I know what way you had in mind,” I got out, spitting some blood. “Believe me when I tell you this is the better option.”

Then another fist connected with the other side of my face. “How’s that for better?”

I tasted blood, and my body throbbed from every part. I wasn’t sure what, if anything, would be left of me when Rob Tucker was done. If anything was left, it wouldn’t rest until I’d taken my revenge on him.

“Go to hell,” I spit as my fingers closed around the plastic bag.

“Not until I’m done with you.”

Another fist smashed onto my cheekbone. As I screamed from that hit, I managed to pull the bag close and fumble around until my fingers grazed cool metal. I worked fast to free the file, and just as Rob wound up for another punch, I flipped over and drove the file into his compacted fist. It went in deeper than I’d anticipated, and the pain almost instantly registered on his face.

“Go ahead. Hit me again. Or kick me. Or whip me.” Sitting up, I held back my wince and held up my weapon. “I dare you.”

Rob went from studying his hand as though he wasn’t sure what had happened to glowering at me. From the looks of it, I was the first person who’d stood up to him. He seemed unsure whether to finish the job with me or turn, tuck his tail, and run.

“Come on, you spineless piece of shit. Hit. Me. Again.” I arched my arm back, ready to drive the file into his eyeball if I needed to. Despite the beating I’d taken, my hand wasn’t wobbling. My voice wasn’t either. If my response to being brought as close to death as I’d been was being strong and not shaking, I could say with absolute certainty that I wasn’t fragile. At least not anymore.

After a few moments, Rob’s rage dimmed until a tilted smile moved into place. Then, flashing me a wink, he stood so he towered over me. I kept the nail clippers at the ready. At that position, they were heading for his balls if he tried anything.

“Until next time.” His smile became wider as he studied me sprawled out below him. Bastard. “Be a good girl.” He moved toward the elevator with purpose. He punched the down button, hopped on the moment the doors opened, and gave me one last wink before the doors sealed.

I sat there at the ready for another minute—my blood running down my face, my right eye swelling shut, my lower lip bulging—just in case he came back. When Henry’s voice broke through my haze again, I let myself exhale before collapsing onto the floor. The adrenaline was siphoning from my veins, and without it, my body was spent. Every hit, every lash, every part of me seemed to scream with pain. It became too much for my brain to process.

I felt unconsciousness coming on when Henry’s voice called out again. “Eve? Please. Are you there?”

Reaching for the phone, I managed to crawl an inch toward it before my energy stores were depleted. “Henry . . . help.”

“I’m here. I’m here with you. Help’s on the way, okay?” His voice wasn’t quite shaking, but it was close.

“Stay . . . with . . . me,” I whispered, sure he couldn’t have heard it.

“I’m here,” he replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His voice—his promise—was the last thing I heard before a darkness so deep came over me, I wasn’t sure if I could ever make it to the surface again.





HOSPITAL SHEETS. THEY had a distinctive feel and smell a person could never forget. I was in them. Just beneath the haze of whatever drug cocktail they were pumping into my veins, I felt the dull throb of pain.

Where was I? How did I get there? Why did I come there? Those were the questions I wrestled with as I struggled to open my eyes. After blinking a few times to adjust to the light in the room, I scanned my mind for my last memory. When I couldn’t find it, I tried searching for others . . . but there was nothing. I saw them, but I couldn’t decipher them. They meant nothing.

That wasn’t the ideal way for a person to emerge from a who-knows-how-many-days sleep in a hospital. Some memory, any memory, that meant something would have been nice, but every last one of them was almost weightless, floating and meaning nothing.