He pulls my door open and stands there with one hand full and the other hand on the handle. I stare at him as my mind races. The front office might have someone working in it. I mean, it is business hours. The possibility is one I can’t pass up.
“What the fuck are you doing? Get out of the truck, Fallon,” Marcus growls at me. His obvious aggravation with my lack of urgency is so pleasant.
I clear my throat and slowly slide out of my seat. Again, I continue to watch, waiting for the perfect opportunity.
“Get a move on it.”
I squeeze between the door and the truck. I hold my breath and just as I clear the door enough for him to shut it, I take off. With my hands behind my back, I run. I set my eyes on the office. I don’t look back. I put every ounce of energy into my legs, but the searing pain from my ankle and the spinning in my skull almost makes me rethink this plan. How can I outrun a perfectly capable man with a hurt ankle?
But I put my head down and I push harder, push through the pain. Because this may be my only chance to get away, and I’m not wasting it. I get halfway there and realize I don’t hear any indication Marcus is following, but I put that thought to the side and keep running. I’m almost there. Safety is right behind that door.
I slow down only when I think if I don’t, I’ll run right through the door of the office. When I’m within distance of reaching out and touching it, I start kicking it and screaming. I don’t know if there are people inside, but I just need someone—anyone—to hear me.
“Open the door! Please!” I scream. I kick at the door and again. “Hello? Is anyone in there? Please help me!”
“No one is going to help you Fallon. Read the sign.” Marcus’s voice rumbles through my frantic screams laced with what sounds like disappointment. I look down at a white piece of paper with awful handwriting scrawled across it. It reads “Office Closed.” That’s it. Those two words knock me down to nothing but a helpless girl with no way out. Two words and I’m defeated.
My stomach drops. I stop yelling and kicking, lean my forehead against the door and close my eyes. I focus on my breathing. I’d winded myself in my desperate attempt to escape. But it almost doesn’t matter because the panic I feel at the thought of going back to that room with this man has me freaking out. My entire body is on edge, and I can’t calm myself down. My breathing turns even more ragged as I try desperately to control the anxiety coursing through me.
Marcus’s hand wraps around my upper arm and he lifts, twisting my arm just enough that pain shoots through my shoulder. I cry out as he yanks me back. “Let’s go.”
Panic flares all over again. This is my only chance. I know in my gut if I go in that room, he’ll lock me up again for who knows how long. No one will find us here. No one would expect him to bring me here. I have to do something.
“No! No, I’m not going in there,” I say as I yank out of his hold and shake my head furiously. I start walking backwards away from him. “I’m not yours. Let me go, Marcus. Let me go, and we can just forget any of it ever happened.”
Marcus moves so fast I’m barely able to react. He grabs me by the throat and slams me against the wall. “Where the fuck do you think you're going to go, Fallon? Hmm?” He raises his free hand and gestures to the road, “There’s nothing around here for at least five miles.”
I spit in his face and, despite his fingers being clenched around my throat, manage to force out enough to say, “Fuck you.”
He chuckles and wipes the spit from his face. He brings his eyes back to mine and nods. “Okay.”
He drops my throat and bends over to grab me around my thighs, picking me up and tossing me over his shoulder.
“No! Put me down!” I wriggle and kick at him. The harder I kick, the tighter his grip on my thighs gets. “No! Help! Someone help me!”
He pushes me through the motel door, kicks the door shut and throws me down onto the only bed in the room. He spins and reaches for the lock, clicking it into place before rounding on me.
I try to scoot up the bed away from him, but with my hands bound behind me, it’s hard to get too far. He grabs me by the ankle and pulls me back down to the edge. He climbs up my body and settles himself between my legs as he grips my face, forcing me to look up at him. His jaw is pulsing, and his breath is ragged. He stares down at me, and at first, he doesn’t speak. But then he finally says, “If you try to run again, I will find your boy. I will bring him here and I’ll tie him up.”
He grinds against me, and it makes my stomach roil. “I’ll let him watch as I take you. Every part of your body will be mine. Right in front of him.” He gives a little laugh as he leans in close to whisper in my ear. “And then I’ll let you watch as I slit his throat.”
He pushes off me. He grabs the small bag on the floor and starts to unpack his things.
I slowly move up the bed until I can lean against the headboard and bring my knees to my chest. “So what’s your plan, exactly? Do you really think we can stay here forever?”
He doesn’t answer me; he just gives me a glare and goes back to unpacking.
“Are you fucking serious?” I yell. I mean what else can he do? Beat me? Push me down the stairs? I have nothing to lose.
He snaps as he crosses the room to me, “I can do whatever the fuck I want. You are mine.”
He crashes his dirty, slimy lips against mine. It’s enough to make me heave in disgust. I try to pull away, but his hand has my head held firmly in place, so I take a deep breath through my nose and open my mouth. He takes it as a gesture to deepen the kiss, which causes my gag reflex to kick in. And then I bite down until I can feel the trickle of blood seeping in through my teeth.
Fuck him.
Marcus hisses as he jerks away. His fist hits my cheek, sending me flying off the bed and landing in a heap on the ground. My head throbs harder, and I feel fresh, warm blood trickling over my scalp. The force of his his must have reopened my wound. He spits his blood across my face causing me to jump. “You bitch!” “I will never be yours. He will always be the only person I see,” I snarl. “His touch will always be the touch I feel. I am his. You don’t own me.”
He reaches down to grab my cuffs and yanks me up onto my feet. My ankle hurts too much for me to fully support my own weight, so he half-drags me into the bathroom where he undoes one cuff and loops it over a towel rack before placing it back on my wrist. He gives each one a squeeze, tightening them enough to make me to wince. My wrists are already sore from the cuffs rubbing them raw and now he’s tightened them even more. He stands back and looks at me. “If you are his, then where is he? Why hasn’t he come for you? Why hasn’t he found you?”
He backs out of the bathroom and walks away, leaving me standing there stuck to the wall. “Marcus, you can’t leave me like this . . .”
I yank on the cuffs. Pain? What’s pain? “Marcus!”
“He’s taking us on a wild fucking goose chase,” Cason huffs. His irritation is evident in the way he’s slings his hands out and squeezes his eyes shut. Cason doesn’t have a whole lot of patience. He never has; impulse and patience are on entirely opposite ends of the scale.