For the first time tonight, he’d rattled me.
“What do you mean you did it before?”
“Ah, my girl. How easily I was able to fool you and everyone else. It was years ago. Some little slut in Salt Lake City overdosed on Rohypnol—you know, roofies? When the heat started to come down, Mother and I just picked up a new identity and started a new life in Cinci.”
My brows pinched together as I tried to piece together what he was implying.
“What kind of new identity?”
He laughed, the high-pitched, maniacal sound a stark contrast to the deep bass booming from Club Revolution.
“As if Mother would actually name me Ethan. I was born Anthony Gallo, after St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost things. My mother named me that with the hopes of finding the faith she thought she’d lost after she was raped by the man whose seed created me. Born out of wedlock, she feared I would be damned. So, you see, Val,” he said, emphasizing the name I’d once used. “You aren’t the only one who can come up with a fake name.”
His name is really Anthony?
I stood stock-still, barely able to process what the stranger before me was saying. I tried to remember the things he’d said about his mother, attempting to figure out if her religion was the reason he’d become the sick, twisted bastard he was today.
When I saw him reach down toward his ankle, I forced myself to focus on the present. I knew he was going for the gun most likely secured there.
I was expecting that.
Just as he lifted the hem of his pants and removed it from the holster, I brought my leg around to kick him in the face. The heavy boots caused blood to spurt from his nose as he flew backward and sprawled on the ground. The gun skittered toward me and out of his reach. Moving quickly, I kicked it away and watched as it disappeared under the sofa. I couldn’t have planned the guns landing place better if I’d tried.
Ethan scrambled back up to his feet and spit blood on the ground. His eyes flashed.
This was it—the final test to see if all of my training had been in vain.
“You fucking bitch!”
I didn’t know who moved first—him or me. Whoever it was, I wasn’t fast enough. A hard fist connected with my cheek, and I went hurling to the floor. I scrambled to my knees as Ethan gripped the top of my cropped hair. He yanked me roughly to my feet and smashed my head against the living room wall. Stars dotted my vision, and it was if I were thrown back in time. I remembered this feeling of pain blooming in my skull all too well.
Releasing my hair, he wrapped a hand around my neck. When it began to slip from the oil, he wrapped the other hand around like a manacle, squeezing until my vision began to darken, and I thought I might pass out. I remembered what this felt like—the panic, the hysteria—but shoved it down, focusing on my training. I’d survived this monster once when I had little more than my naïve self-declared bravado. This time, I’d survive because I knew that bravery was no longer false. I could feel it in my bones. I could survive this—I could survive him—and I would live to see another day.
My body shot adrenaline to every vital organ. Calling on my lessons with Derek, Hana, and Xi, I raised my right arm and twisted. Using all my strength, I tried to dislodge his wrists from my throat.
But it didn’t work.
What I was taught—all of my defense lessons—didn’t work.
He was too strong.
“No, Ethan. Please, don’t do this!” I rasped.
“It’s useless to try to fight me, Gia. How many times do I have to tell you that?” he growled.
“Please. I just want you to leave me alone. Go… go…” I coughed, struggling to gulp air. “Just go away.”
“You’re my girl, Gia. Mine. Not his. Not ever. Do you understand me?”
In a fit of rage, he let go of my throat, grabbed me by the roots of my hair again, and whipped me down to the ground. Along the way, my side smacked against the coffee table, and I could swear I heard a crack. Whether it was my ribs or the table, I couldn’t be sure. My head, my cheek, my back—I hurt all over, and it was hard to tell where the pain stopped and started. The room tilted, my vision becoming hazy. I couldn’t move, my body nothing but a lifeless heap on the floor.
He’s finally going to kill me.
I was stupid to come here.
I laid there motionless with my eyes closed, knowing he was near because I could hear his ragged breaths. He was mumbling something that sounded like an incantation, but I tuned him out. In my mind, the words Derek had once made me say came into focus.
I am not weak.
I am not what he says I am.
I am smart and intelligent.
What happened is not my fault.
I did not fail.
I am strong. I am enough. I am in charge.
I am.
He can’t hurt me anymore.
I couldn’t let Ethan strike. I needed to fight. This was my life and I was going to take it back.
I am enough.
Drawing on the mental aspects of my self-defense training, I kept my eyes closed and listened to the sounds around me. I heard a hollow wood door opening and closing, signaling he had gone down into the hallway for some reason. There was a click-click that reminded me of the stove burner being lit. I tried to peer through partially closed lids to see what he was doing in the kitchen, but I couldn’t tell from my angle on the living room floor. A few moments later, there was a strange burning smell, but I couldn’t place it. Before I could think about how to investigate further, I heard the shuffle of his feet as he stalked closer.
I pinched my eyes closed tight. From the sound of his breathing, I knew he was hovering above me. He reached down and gripped my jaw with one large hand.
“I’m going to kill your boyfriend next, Gia. If I can’t have you, neither can he. He never should have touched you, and now he has to pay. Perhaps I’ll skin his fucking little dog alive while he watches as punishment,” he hissed. “But first, I’m going to brand you and take what’s mine one last time. My cock will be the last thing you ever feel on this earth. Because make no mistake—you will die tonight.”
He wants to brand me?
I didn’t know what kind of vile, sadistic shit he had planned but I could certainly imagine the worst. With my eyes still closed, I tried not to scream bloody murder as I heard the sound of his pants’ buckle come undone. The only security I had was knowing I was fully clothed.
Instead of panicking, I focused on trying to retrieve the kubotan tucked into the side of my waistband without him seeing it. I peered at him, cracking my eyes open just enough to see that he wasn’t paying one bit of attention to what I might be doing. He was too preoccupied with his lust, struggling to free his dick.
Then I saw why he was struggling. He was trying to do it one-handed while the other hand brandished a black iron pole with a flaming red tip.
Then it clicked.
The burning smell.
He literally meant physical branding—as if I was a cow, he was preparing to slaughter.
I swallowed back the bile welling in my throat as I slid the tiny knife from its hiding spot. Using my thumb and forefinger, I unscrewed the cap until I could pull it from its sheath. Keeping it hidden under my hip, I waited. When the zipping sound of his fly filled my ears, I knew I would only have seconds to act.
“Why do you do these things, Gia? I just wanted to love you. We were supposed to have babies, and I’d raise them and teach them in the White Room, just as mother taught me. I gave you everything but you had to fuck it all up,” he muttered, almost whining, before stepping between my legs and lowering himself down to me. When he reached for the elastic waistband of my yoga pants, I swung my arm up with all of my might and felt the kubotan sink into flesh.