She goes to slam the door shut, but I’m throwing my shoulder back into it, the wood reverberating off the door stopper.
Zade took EpiPen dispensers and filled them with small doses of anesthesia for me. Quickly, I grab one of them out of my front pocket and stab it into the side of her neck before her nails have the chance to claw at my face.
Francesca drops right as Rocco barrels into me like a linebacker, his body smashing me into the wall and knocking the breath from my lungs. My head knocks against it, learning the hard way that the walls are concrete. Stars explode in my eyes, and all I can do is blindly knock away Rocco’s hands until I shake them from my vision. I manage to land one hit to Rocco’s throat—weak as it is—and swerve under his arm. He chokes and hacks, providing me enough time to regain my bearings.
The last time he raped me was also the last time he would ever see me helpless.
Growling, he whips around, swinging out his arm as he does, aiming towards my face. I duck, and land a kick to his stomach, taking him by surprise. Before he can recover, I kick out once more. This time between his legs.
He shouts, eyes bulging and tipping over from the pain. I grab the other dispenser and jam it into his neck, his groans soon fading into silence.
Rock ‘n’ roll plays loudly from one neighbor, and the other has the news channel blasting from the TV. Thankfully, neither of them seems inclined to check on us.
Panting, I turn to find Zade leaning in the doorframe, arms crossed and a smirk on his face. A mixture of heat and pride swirl in his yin-yang eyes, and I can’t help but feel on top of the fucking world.
“Good job, little mouse,” he praises, his voice deep and smooth as butter.
“Didn’t want to join in?”
He smirks. “My girl had it handled.”
My chest swells. Having Zade’s love feels like a dream, but having his trust and confidence feels like a dream come true.
“Thanks,” I breathe, a bead of sweat dripping down my back. I plant my hands on my hips, peering down at the duo passed out on the floor.
They look heavy.
Dusting my hands off, I head towards him and pat his chest, saying, “I’ll let you carry them out,” before slipping past him.
Zade’s answering growl quickens my steps, a genuine smile blooming on my face. When I glance behind me, his head is turned over his shoulder, and he’s staring at me like he has plans for me later.
He won’t act on them, but I won’t lie and say the idea doesn’t sound a little intriguing.
After checking for passersby, Zade quickly drags Rocco into the back seat, and Francesca in the trunk.
They’ll be out for a while still, but he speeds us back to the airport anyway.
Thankfully, they don't wake up until halfway through the flight home, and we knock them right back out again before they can give either of us a headache.
It’s after midnight by the time we pull up to the looming gothic mansion, the gargoyles stationed on either side of the roof staring down at us.
I imagine they’d approve of what we’re doing if they were alive.
This time, I help Zade. He takes Rocco and I wrangle Francesca out of the trunk. I accidentally drop her, which earns a chuckle from Zade as he heaves Rocco up the porch steps and through the front door.
Luckily, Francesca is rail thin. She was obsessed with her image and ate like a rabbit. Bending down, I lift her up by the arms and throw her over my shoulder, and then quickly make my way into the manor.
The weight I lost during my captivity has been packed back on with muscle. Not only am I back to a healthy weight, but I’m in better shape than ever. Toned in all the right places, muscle lining my arms and legs, and even my ass has rounded.
Most days, I still struggle with looking in the mirror and seeing something beautiful like I used to. Not because of how I look, but how I feel. In my eyes, my body is stained with dirty handprints, and no amount of scrubbing will set me free of them.
I let Francesca drop to the floor, her head cracking into the checkered tile. Sweat lines my hairline, and I take a moment to catch my breath.
Francesca and Rocco will assume that Zade will quickly torture and kill them. But that’s where they’re wrong. I have far grander plans in mind. Not just for them, but for Xavier Delano, too.
He’s been hiding away on his private island with a mini army surrounding him, but Zade has gotten word that he has an L.A. trip planned at the end of the month. The island isn’t far off the West Coast, and it’ll only be a two-hour flight, but it’s still impossible to hide a big black jet from air traffic control. Not unless he wants to risk flying nose-first into another plane and come crashing right back down in several pieces.