Page 97 of Betraying Him
He tugs on his dick, and I feel the bile crawling further up my throat.
Don’t be sick, don’t be sick, don’t be sick.
I’ve got to keep strong. I have to keep my wits about me. I need to end this.
Even if I can’t get away from my father and the fate that awaits me, I sure as fuck can get away from the man who’s currently climbing on top of me.
His weight settles over me, and my entire body feels like lead beneath his.
If this doesn’t work…
No, it has to work. I willnotlet this man fucking rape me.
It’s just not happening, I don’t care what I have to do to stop it, I’ll do it with a goddamn smile on my face so long as this fucker doesn’t get to touch me or anyone else again.
His hands slide up my hips, and I force myself to stay still, but then he reaches for the waistband of my leggings, and that’s it.
I fuckingsnap.
I reach out and grab his gun, flicking off the safety before kicking him square in the chest, right off the bed and to the floor.
Thank fuck for Logan teaching me the basics of how to handle a gun.
“What the fuck do you think you’re?—”
I don’t think, I just pull the trigger.
I almost topple backward onto the bed from the force of the shot, but I keep my balance. I climb off the bed, gun still in my hands, and this time, it’smelooming overhim, even if my arms are trembling as I point the gun toward him.
“I’m surviving,” I whisper.
I had only shot him in the leg, and while it no doubt hurt, he’s not incapacitated… yet.
Morris goes to stand, but I don’t give him a chance. I shoot again, this time in his stomach. Then again in his chest. Two more times, until he’s lying dead in a pool of his own blood.
Last time, when I killed that man in the alley, I went into shock. The horror of what I’d done was too much for me to handle, but this time is different. This time, all I feel is relief.
That, and a hell of a lot of fear, because my shots weren’t silent, and I know that any moment now, the rest of my father’s men will come for me.
Shit, shit, shit.
I run from the room, down the hall and toward the main elevator and it’s so close—the elevatorandmy freedom—but, of course, the man who’s in every one of my nightmares steps out in front of me, stopping me dead in my tracks.
I lift the gun and point it straight towards my father’s chest. My hands are shaking, my breathing erratic as tears stream down my face, but I don’t move. I can’t.
My finger twitches, but I hesitate for a split second, not sure if I can really go through with killing my own father.
But that split second of hesitation is all he needs to charge me, slamming into me and sending me flying to the floor. I land with a thud, the air rushing from my lungs, and I gasp as the gun slides from my hand across the marble floor, too far out of my reach for me to do anything but stare up at the man who will be my end.
I hear a commotion coming from the other end of the penthouse, and I know it’s no doubt his men finding what I left in my room, but I don’t care about them right now.
No, I can’t take my eyes off the man who’s looking down at me, murder written all over his expression.
“Whoareyou? Because no daughter of mine would ever do something likethis.”
His eyes harden even further, and I can see his intention before he does it, but I still don’t have enough time to stop his foot from kicking me in the stomach.
I cough and wheeze, unbelieving this is happeningagain.
