Out of Love(27)

She kicked my leg. Hard. I clasped it and pulled it to my chest.

“If I would have aimed for your ribs, I would have broken them.”

“Stop!” I barked with more force.

“Stop means go to sick fucks like Stefan Hoover. Try again, Livy.” She struck my backside when I rolled into fetal position.

“Ouch! Please … stop!” Tears breached my eyes and ran hot down my cheeks.

“No please. No stop. GET. UP. LIVY!” she thundered like a drill sergeant.

I scrambled to my feet again, hobbling because my right glute and left thigh throbbed along with all the scrapes and bruises from being knocked to the ground twice.

“Jess …”

She shook her head. “Not Jess. Stefan.” Her hand shot forward, and she fisted my shirt and ripped the neck. “Show me your tits, Livy. I want to fuck them.”

Who. Was. She?

Her hand dove to my crotch, cupping me with an iron grip. I felt so broken, fearful, and violated by the one person I loved the most, second only to my dad.

“Do you have a tight cunt? I bet you do.”

Her hand shifted to my inner thigh where she dug her fingers into my flesh until I saw stars. “Spread them for me, Livy.”

I clawed at her hand.

She shoved me down again and tried to straddle me like Stefan did. And … something snapped. I saw him. The ugly, inhuman face that tried to take everything that wasn’t his.

“GET OFF ME!” I kicked and scratched at her. All of her.

Her face.

Her hair.

Her torso.

My body flailed and wriggled as my hands and feet fought back with more strength and desperation—no longer caring if they landed somewhere on her that could cause injury.

And I did. My foot collided with her face, splitting her lower lip.

I stopped.

She stopped, her tongue darting out to swipe the blood.

“Oh my god! Jess … I’m—”

“Ready.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

I blinked more tears, pushing myself to sitting then hugging my knees to my chest.

She kneeled in front of me and removed my headgear. After tossing it to the side, she pulled me into an embrace, stroking my hair. “You’re ready to never be a victim again. I just needed to bring out your will to live. I will bend you so no man can ever break you. Then I will shape you into something stronger than you ever imagined.”





Chapter Twelve





Jessica told me the details of her past were still on a need-to-know basis, but she shared some details of the time she was raped. She trained under some elite people and learned to defend and kill if necessary.

I asked her if she’d ever had to kill anyone. She rolled her eyes as if the question was ridiculous and said, “What do you think?”

“You can’t role-play true fear.” She put in her mouth guard as I slipped in mine.

We were a month into my training. She hooked me up with a coach and came down once a week to one-on-one spar with me and evaluate my progress.

I’d made her bleed three times; she drew blood from me too many times to count. She said I needed to crave the blood, welcome the pain, and harness the fear. After four weeks, I did none of those things.

At best, I ignored the blood, took over-the-counter meds for the pain, and hid the fear from her. I also hid the bruises with makeup and wore a full wet suit to cover other bruises while surfing.

During that month, I also saw very little of Slade Wylder. I didn’t look for him in class or go to my favorite tree to nap. I allowed myself no more than a two-second glance when passing his house.

Truth?

I missed Jericho. And I missed Wylder.

But clearly … he didn’t miss me.

For Halloween, Aubrey did the unthinkable—she had a party at her house. Well, her parents’ house. I think it had something to do with the news that her parents were getting a divorce. She didn’t take it so well, said she hated both of them.

I’d come to learn that there were two kinds of people in the world: those who lived for Halloween and those who didn’t even set out a bowl of candy if they weren’t home. I fell into the love Halloween category.

“Whoa …” Kara’s jaw dropped as I strutted down the stairs in my sexy SWAT costume—black onesie with a built-in pushup bra that gave the impression that I had a lot more cleavage than I actually did, garters, fishnet stockings, black combat boots, and a black hat with SWAT in white. My hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and I felt pretty badass.

It was my silent statement that I could be both sexy and tough.

“Let’s just hope a few available options from the opposite sex show up to the party.” I rubbed my glossed lips together and wrinkled my nose at the pumpkin spice overkill. Aubrey didn’t want any candles lit, but she wanted the smell, so she bought a gazillion bowls of pumpkin spice potpourri and air spray.

“Still haven’t had sex?” Kara adjusted her seductive skeleton leotard.

“No.” I frowned. “I may never have sex again.”

“I think you stand a really good chance of it tonight.”

I laughed. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll know I’m simply broken.”

An hour later, the party was in full swing with body odor, perfume, and possibly some pot competing with the pumpkin spice. And it was hot in the house.