Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“Ow. Fuck,” he whines.
“No!” she shouts, lashing out with both her feet, her fists flailing, hoping to strike him. He lunges at her and grabs her around the waist, jerking her into his arms. He lifts her off her feet while she kicks out at anything and everything in their path in an effort to strike him.
“No!” she screams. “Please, Anatoli!”
Ignoring her cries, he tightens his arms around her and half drags, half carries her into the bedroom.
“No. No. Stop!”
“Quiet!” he shouts as he shakes her and throws her facedown onto the bed. He sits beside her, holding her still, pressing down on her back with one hand while the other starts tugging at her boots.
“No!” she screams again. She twists, kicking him, once, twice, trying to struggle out of his hold as she pummels him with her fists.
“For fuck’s sake, Alessia!”
She’s wild, her anger and loathing giving her a strength she didn’t know she possessed. She fights, consumed by her rage and directing it at the man she hates.
“Fucking hell.” Anatoli throws himself on top of her, crushing her into the mattress and knocking the breath from her body. She tries to buck him off, but he’s too heavy.
“Calm down,” he pants in her ear. “Calm down.”
She stills, marshaling her resources and struggling to gulp air into her lungs. Anatoli shifts his weight and flips her over so that they’re nose to nose. Keeping his leg over her thighs, he grabs her hands and pulls them above her head, pinning them there with one hand.
“I want you. You are my wife.”
“Please. No,” she whispers, staring into his wild, wide eyes. In them she sees his excitement—his lean body vibrates with it. She feels it against her hip. He stares down at her, breathing hard, and one of his hands moves over her body, over her breast and belly to her fly.
“No. Anatoli, please. I’m bleeding. Please. I’m bleeding.” She’s lying, but it’s a last desperate attempt to stop him. He frowns, as if not understanding, and then his expression changes from lust to distaste.
“Oh,” he says.
Releasing her hands, he rolls off her and stares up at the ceiling. “Maybe we should wait,” he grumbles.
Alessia twists onto her side, drawing up her knees and curling into a ball, making herself as small as possible. Despair, revulsion, fear—these are her bedfellows now. Her tears start to choke her, and she feels the bed move as Anatoli rises and walks back into the living room.
How long can she cry before her tears dry up?
Moments. Seconds. Hours.
* * *
Later Anatoli drapes a blanket over her. She feels the bed dip as he climbs in, beneath the covers. He shuffles over, wraps his arm around her, and tugs her unyielding body closer. “You will suit me well, carissima,” he murmurs, and his lips brush her cheek in a surprisingly gentle kiss.
Alessia puts her fist to her mouth, stifling her silent scream.
* * *
She wakes suddenly. The room is in semidarkness, lit only by the gray light of the coming dawn. Beside her, Anatoli is fast asleep. His face is relaxed and less stern in repose. Alessia stares at the ceiling, her mind on full alert. She’s still dressed and wearing her boots. She could run.
Go. Now. She wills herself.
Slowly, stealthily, she rolls off the bed and tiptoes out of the room.
The detritus of their meal from the previous night is still on the table. Alessia eyes the cold fries, hastily grabs a few, and stuffs them into her mouth. While she eats, she rummages through her bag and finds her money. She slips the notes into her back pocket.
She stops and listens.
He’s still asleep.
Beside her duffel she spies Anatoli’s suitcase. Maybe he keeps his money in there….If he does, it could help her escape. Carefully she unzips it, not knowing what she’ll find inside.
It’s neatly packed. There are some clothes—and his gun.
The gun.
She fishes it out.
She could kill him.
Before he kills her.
Her heart starts pounding, and her head begins to spin.
She has the power. The means. The pistol is weighty in her hand.
Standing up, she sidles toward the bedroom door and watches Anatoli sleep. He hasn’t moved. A tremor runs up her spine, and her breathing shallows. He’s kidnapped her. Beaten her. Choked her. Nearly raped her. She despises him and everything he stands for. She’s terrified of him. She raises her trembling hand and takes aim. Quietly she releases the safety. Her head is throbbing, sweat beading on her brow.
This is it.
Her moment.
Her hand wobbles, and her vision blurs with her tears.
No. No. No. No.
She dashes them away and drops her hand.
She’s not a murderer.
She turns the gun around. And stares down the barrel. She’s seen enough American television to know what to do.
She doesn’t want to blindly accept her fate. This is one way out.