Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
I crawled into the passenger side. More blood drenched the seat. I got across, behind the wheel. Groaning and in pain, so much pain. My eyes watered like crazy. Stupid pepper spray. That stuff saved my life.
Hospital, I needed a hospital. I started the engine, hands slick with blood, almost unable to turn the key.
He appeared in front of me, the gun aimed at my face.
“You fucking bitch,” he screamed, his eyes red and swollen.
I slammed on the gas.
Another gunshot. The bullet cracked the window and lodged somewhere in the back seat.
I smashed into him then hit the brakes. He flew off the hood and bounced on the pavement twice.
He tried to get up and I slammed the accelerator again.
The second time he made the car bump wildly. I sped off, flying around the corner, one hand pressed against my belly trying to keep myself from bleeding out, the other barely steering, his body a lifeless lump in the rearview mirror.
23
Cassie
Present Day
Roman held my hand through the entire story. He didn’t interrupt or ask questions, only let me get it all out. When I finished, I release a breath that felt like I’d been holding it for years and leaned my head on his shoulder.
He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me close.
“Thank you for sharing that,” he said softly. “Can I ask something?”
“Go ahead.”
“Was he dead?”
I nodded and closed my eyes against the tears. “I think when I ran him over, it must’ve killed him.”
“And you made it to the hospital?”
“No, I crashed a few streets over and passed out, but some guy called an ambulance. I got lucky.”
Roman kissed my hair, then my cheek, and wiped away my tears. “Not lucky, kukolka. You fight. You’re a fighter. Do you know how proud I am of you?”
I pulled back and stared at him.
Those words. Do you know how proud I am of you?
Nobody ever said that to me before.
Not my father, not any of my friends.
It wasn’t what most people said when they heard you survived a rape. There was a lot of pity, a lot of frowning and sighing and making sure you were okay, but nobody ever said they were proud.
After it happened, after the initial wave of well-wishers subsided, I was a pariah, as if getting sexually assaulted by some stranger and not getting killed for it left me bruised and worthless.
I got calls, of course. People checked up on me. But after a few days, it was like I disappeared.
All I wanted was some love and respect and help. I wanted a friend to hold my hand while I cried, or to tell me that I didn’t do anything wrong.
Or someone to say that they were proud of me.
“I killed a man,” I said softly. “I know I killed a rapist. I know he deserved it. But I ran him over with my car and left him like an animal in the street.”
“He would’ve done worse to you. Most people in your position, they freeze up, they panic. But not you, Cassie. You fought back, and that takes strength and guts. You fought and you won. You should be proud of yourself.”
I laughed, unable to help it. I laughed at the absurdity of feeling proud of what happened to me.
That night was a never-ending wound. My stomach was stitched but it never closed, not completely.
“The thing that kills me most is the way my dad acted afterwards, like I had it coming. Like it was my fault.”
Roman’s face turned sour. “Your father’s a piece of shit.”
“I know, but still. It stayed with me, the look on his face. He said I was ruined. Can you imagine that? Your daughter survived a rape attempt, and you call her ruined.”
He took my hand and kissed my fingers, one by way. “I’ll put a bullet in his head for you. I swear, I will.”
“I believe you.” I leaned over and kissed him. “You don’t need to do that. Wouldn’t it ruin your plan?”
“Fuck my plan. It’d be worth it to make the bastard suffer.”
“I don’t need that, but thank you.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that. And I’m sorry your father is such a piece of trash.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I don’t think it was anyone’s fault.” I shook my head slowly and looked up at the sky. “I don’t know who that guy was or why he chose me. Wrong place, wrong time, right?”
“Could be,” Roman said quietly. “Although I have a hard time believing in coincidences when a mafia family is involved.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You think my father had something to do with it?”
“I’m speculating and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you survived.”
“Now you understand why I went to Sea Isle. I had to get away from my dad and from all my friends and all those pitying, judgmental looks. I wanted to start over.”