Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
My mere existence used to vex her.
Just my trying to help used to annoy her.
“Don’t touch me!” she shouted and shoved me against the wall when I tried to rub ointment on her bruised face after a ‘client’ left. “You’re the reason I’m like this, you goddamn leech. I wish I’d killed you! Stop fucking looking at me with those disgusting eyes!”
Dave didn’t tell me not to look at him, but I lower my gaze anyway as I whisper, “Please let me go.”
“Why?” he slurs, stepping closer. “I can show you a good time.”
“No.” I try to speak loudly, but my voice comes out small. I’m incapable of screaming, because my mom stripped that away from me—among other things.
“All you women want is money, fucking sluts. I said I’ll show you a good time, so stop whining and thank me for it.” He pushes me, his large, heavy body that reeks of alcohol and sweat trapping me against the wall.
A low buzz starts in my ears, but I shove at his chest with unsteady hands.
“Dave…please don’t do this. Think of your little girl. You wouldn’t want her to be hurt like this, right?”
He wavers a bit, and I try to slowly disengage, my heart hammering in my ears. As I’m about to slip away, he grabs my breast over my hoodie, and bile fills my throat.
“Where ya think you’re going?” He fondles me as I push at his hand. “I wanna see your tits.”
I should knee him. He’s drunk, so he’d probably fall over—
Before I can do that, a gloved hand wraps around Dave’s head and pulls him back so powerfully, he stumbles before he falls against the opposite wall.
I watch with complete horror as the tall, large man who’s dressed entirely in black slams his fist into Dave’s nose.
He flashes me a look over his shoulder, and I can finally see the face of the man who’s been stalking me for weeks as he says in a deep, gruff voice, “How annoying.”
2
VIOLET
Confrontation has never been my strong suit.
If anything, I avoid it like the plague, but the thing I avoid most?
Violence.
I’ve been in too many bad situations where I was overpowered by people so much bigger than me that I couldn’t have possibly taken them.
My mom. The men who visited her. My foster parents.
Dave just now.
All of them used their size to intimidate me, and I’m easily intimidated—a scaredy-cat through and through.
My favorite activities include reading, embroidering, and scribbling in my journal. Hell, even working is fine.
Anything is fine compared to being overpowered by another person.
Right now, however, I’m not the one being intimidated or thrown around.
It’s Dave.
He’s being held by the collar of his stained sleeveless shirt as a man drives his gloved fist into his face.
And it’s not just any man.
It’s the man who’s been following me sporadically for over a month.
My stalker.
And this guy just called me annoying before he went back to pummeling Dave against the wall.
I’m the annoying one.
Me.
The crunching of bones tightens my stomach, raising the bile in my throat. Dave’s blood splashes on his shirt and the wall, and the dots of red look black under the flickering light. Like an ancient curse.
My drunkard neighbor groans and tries to resist, but his uncoordinated movements do nothing to halt or even slow down the stranger’s assault.
I’m transfixed by the view, trembling as I push further into the wall, the solid surface digging into my back as the air assaults my tightened throat.
Violence isn’t anything new to me. I’ve witnessed it in spades and have been on the receiving end of it more times than I can count. But this is the first time I’ve seen anyone being so…calm while they’re beating the shit out of someone.
Laser focused, even.
As if his sole purpose is to dismantle Dave limb from limb.
I can only see the stranger’s back, but even that feels like a disturbance. He’s tall, at least 6’4” or 6’5”. I’m 5’6” and still feel like an ant behind him.
But it’s not only the height.
He’s broad and muscular, as if he’s carved from stone, and his fists strike powerful punches.
I don’t like overly tall or extravagantly big men.
Actually, I stay away from all men by using my invisibility tactic.
It’s simple in my mind—dress shabbily, lower my gaze, don’t speak too much or draw attention.
The formula Mama gave me has worked most of the time.
Not with this man, though.
Because not only has this one been following me, but he’s also beating Dave because of me.
The ridges of his big muscles strain against the leather as he lifts his fist.
Thwack.
He lifts it again.
Thwack.
Blood drips from his glove, forming small pools on the dirty concrete as Dave squeals like a pig being slaughtered.
His fight and his voice wane, but the stranger is still punching and punching and punching.