Survivor (First to Fight #2)(20)

I sob in earnest then, even though it brings fresh waves of pain from my ribs and cuts. He soothes me, one hand roaming over his handiwork. “What do you want from me?” I manage when it feels like I’ve cried myself dry.

“Everything,” he says. “Now let’s see if we can really have some fun.”

My head lolls from side to side, even as I bite my lip to stifle my protests. I feel relieved. Relieved that the threat of pain has passed—for now. He sets the knife next to us, far enough out of my reach so I don’t dare try to make a reach for it. His hand explores in earnest now, mapping my legs and quivering stomach. Except they’re gentle, like a lover’s hands and my body recognizes them as such. Even though I hate myself for it, I soften at the loving touch, responding with a soft exhale. Relief shifts, molds, and turns into arousal and I’m so grateful there’s no pain that my weary body leans into the pleasure of his caress.

“There you go,” he murmurs, sliding his hand down the seam of my panties. My hips catch and a sob breaks free. “Shh, it’s okay.”

I turn my face away, but he pulls my chin back with a firm hand and makes me watch as he slides one hand underneath my waistband. His eyes are glued to the sight, so he doesn’t notice when I squeeze my eyes shut, but that only seems to make it worse, intensifying the light, easy, arousing brush of his fingers against me.

My chest heaves as my body betrays me, moving toward his touch instead of away. The grip on my face turns bruising as his breathing grows heavy. “You like that?” he whispers, his fingers growing more insistent. “I know you like it. Show me how much and I’ll let you go.”

I shake my head, but he’s so intent upon his actions he doesn’t seem to notice. I go somewhere else in my mind, anywhere else, as his attentions ignite a fire low in my stomach. I stop fighting, and lie there, a mindless, base creature, enjoying the touch of a monster.

When it’s over, there’s nothing left in me.

No more tears.

No more pleas.

I’m hollow, scraped raw.

Above me, he groans and bile leaps to my throat. He rolls off, breathing heavily and throws an arm over his head. “I knew you liked it,” he says after an eternity. “No one would believe that you didn’t want that just as much as I did.”

His words float away as the darkness finally, thankfully consumes me.





For days I try to call Sofie, but they all go to voicemail. The day before I’m due to fly back to South Carolina, I manage to corner her mom in their front yard.

“Mrs. Varano, I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. I’m worried about her.” Begging leaves a nasty taste in the back of my throat, but I don’t know what else to do.

Mrs. Varano pushes the screen door open. “You can try talking to her, but she’s been so very sick these past few days. She probably didn’t want you to catch whatever bug she’s got.”

“Yes, ma’am. I won’t stay long. I just have to make sure she’s okay. You and I both know she’s not the easiest sick person to be around.” I try to make my voice light, but the joke falls flat.

Sofie’s mom nudges me forward. “She’s in her room. You go on back.”

The yellow hallway light flickers as I make my way to her room. I knock, but there’s no answer, so I push the door open, my heart racing. Sofie looks up from the suitcase she’s packing, her tear-streaked face red and puffy. Her baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants nearly swallow her.

Her hand goes to her throat and her already pale face drains of color. “J-Jack, what are you doing here?”

I frown, my brows pulling together. I look back in the hallway like I’m going to find the answers there, then look back at her. “What do you mean what am I doing here? What are you doing?”

She glances down at the clothes in her hands and the suitcase in front of her knees. She places the handful of shirts inside and zips it shut. “I’m—a…nothing. I’m just packing.”

“Sure doesn’t look like nothing.” I step inside her room and close the door. “What’s going on? You said you were sick and then you didn’t answer any of my texts. I’ve been f*cking worried about you, Sof.”

She jerks back as I get closer and I frown. “I’m fine. I’m sorry, I should have texted you back,” she says.

I wave that away. I want to go to her, but there’s a knot growing in my stomach that keeps me from taking another step farther into her room. Forcing my voice to remain calm, I say, “I don’t care about that, I just want to know that you’re okay.”

She lifts a shoulder and the sweater falls off baring angry red marks. “Of course I am,” she says, tugging the sweater back up her arm, her thin smile wobbling.

“Then what the hell are you doing? And what the hell happened to your shoulder.”

She sets back on her heels, gets to her feet, and tucks her trembling hands behind her back “It’s nothing. Just a scratch from moving things around. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Then why do you look like you’re about to blow chunks or run away screaming? I’m not mad. I mean I was, but I’m not really mad, baby. I was just worried.”

Pressing her lips together, she sighs, then says, “I just didn’t know how to tell you.”