Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
I must black out, because when I come to, Benny is using me as a punching bag and there is no sign of Korslova. I know he’s going to kill me. All I can feel is bitterness. I can’t win, though. I decide to give up. I’ve been fighting my whole life and I’m tired. I know it’s weak, but my exhaustion runs soul deep. I’m not sure how long I lay on the cold, hard, tiled floor. I can’t even tell you how many hits I’ve taken. Eventually, I pass out once more.
When I wake up this time, I’m alone. There’s not a part of my body that doesn’t hurt. The swelling on my face is so severe that my left eye is completely shut. The right isn’t much better. I have barely a slit to see out of—making it difficult to see. There’s sunshine flooding through the windows. If it’s the next day or a week later, I don’t know. My muscles scream in protest when I try to move. I know there’s no way I can stand. I lay flat on my back, whimpering as I lift my hand to reach the leg of the sofa, pulling my body around. Tears sting my eyes and pain rolls through me like a tidal wave. I fight the dark shadows that surround my vision. I can’t lose consciousness again. I need to get out of here.
I’m having trouble breathing. I have some cracked or broken ribs. My right arm is awkwardly turned, and I can’t move it. It seems to take me forever to get to Benny’s desk and my breathing is increasingly painful and ragged by the time I do. Lying on the floor, I gaze up, knowing there’s a phone up there. I’m going to have to sit up. Just the thought of the pain that I will have to endure makes my heart somersault. I don’t know how long Benny will be gone. He may still be in the house. I need to get help. I can’t stay here. He has beaten me before, but never like this. That’s not what terrifies me, though. No, that would be the fact he’s planning to whore me out to the Bratva.
I have to get away.
One problem with that is Benny and the Korslova family have connections with the cops. I must be careful. There’s only one name I trust in the local police department. He’s become a friend. He’s a regular at the diner and has been there when I come into work after Benny has punished me for whatever he thinks I’ve done. Cruz Garcia.
Of course, I first have to somehow manage to get the phone. That’s a feat which is easier said than done. Biting down on my lip to stifle my scream, I somehow turn my body so that I’m now lying on my side. I look around the room, wincing as I see the tracks of blood where I’ve dragged myself across the room. I desperately look around for anything that might help. I spot an umbrella leaning on the bookcases across from the desk.
I take a breath, immediately regretting it as I start coughing. Each cough is painful and some blood slides from the corner of my mouth. That can’t be good. I send up a prayer to a God that I figure long ago has forgotten me. I am hoping He will at least love my child enough to help me do what I need to do to get away. I just want to escape and give my baby a chance to live and be happy. That will be my purpose now and is the only thing that pushes me to ignore my pain. Using Benny’s desk, I begin the pain-filled task of sliding across the floor toward the bookcases.
Suppressing the scream that threatens to escape, I bite down on my lip while stretching my arm in an attempt to grasp hold of any part of the umbrella. I’m sure it's broken. I can’t move it correctly and unfortunately, that’s the hand closest to the bookcase. I finally move to angle my body and kick at the umbrella. I am glad it is a larger one, because when it falls, the handle hits against my stomach. Using the same hand that I have been pulling myself with, to grab the handle, swatting it to trying to knock the cordless phone off. I don’t have a lot of energy, and it takes forever. Eventually, it falls, knocking me in the head. It hurts, but I can’t be bothered. I grab it from the floor. Clutching it and stretching my thumb out to call is difficult. I manage, but it sure as hell isn’t easy. I’m thankful that I memorized Garcia’s number. By the fourth ring, hope is slowly fading away.