CHAPTER 64
EMILY
This wasn’t my fault. None of it. If I was dead by morning, it wouldn’t be because I’d opened the door or because I moved in with him in the first place or stopped singing to please him. This wasn’t me; it was him.
He’d caught me by surprise. He’d knocked the wind out of me and slapped a precut piece of duct tape over my mouth before dragging me to the bathroom. I punched him. I kicked like a gymnast. I grabbed a big ceramic urn to hit him with, but he kicked it away. He was bigger. He was prepared. He was crazy. His goatee had grown out over his cheeks, and he’d lost weight. For a second I saw the handsome guy I’d loved, but he disappeared as soon as he opened his mouth.
“This is done, Em.” He threw me into the bathroom. I banged against the glass shower door, but it didn’t break. “I tried to do this like a nice guy. But you don’t want a nice guy.”
Twisting and wrestling, he got me onto the floor. My stomach writhed on the slippery marble, but he kept me still with a knee to the lower back. It hurt like hell, but the pain made me all the stronger.
He flipped me over. I scurried backward until my back was to the tub.
I couldn’t say fuck you. I couldn’t even flip him off because my hands were behind me. I was afraid. Very afraid. But adrenaline and a lack of options made me defiant as well.
He took me by the side of the face and got close to me. I could smell his cologne. His sweat. His own fear.
“I was a nice guy before I met you. I was fun. I had a lot of good times. Then you . . . you made it all go bad. Now it’s like my friends don’t even know me.”
Behind the tape, I told him it wasn’t my fault. And he could have his life back any time if he let me go.
Maybe he heard my muffled syllables. His hands got gentle, no longer holding my head in place.
“I keep telling them you’re worth it. You had all those cameras. I always saw them, and I knew you had them for me. It was like I was there with you. You know? Like I was still in your life.”
I blinked away tears. He moved his hands away and put them on my thighs. Even through my jeans, my skin recoiled.
“And you smashed them up. Like you wanted to smash me, and when you get back, you think you’re gonna just sweep them away?”
He squeezed my thighs.
“Just make me disappear and move that guy in?”
He squeezed until it hurt, moving his face close.
“I don’t think so.”
I reared my head back and thrust it forward, bringing my forehead onto his nose as hard as I could. Bones crunched.
His scream was deafening. He got off me, hands over a nose that was shooting blood.
I got away with hands behind my back, bare feet gripping marble, then carpet. The door was a million miles away. Fucking suite. Motel 6 next time.
There were roses all over the floor. I stepped on one hard and got a thorn in the heel. I screamed behind the tape. I knew he was coming. He had to be.
The door. Right here. But the handle was for hands in front, and mine were behind, and I’d never reach the lock in this position.
“Fuck!” He was a few steps away, bleeding everywhere, coming for me. I was ready for a fight. I might kill him, and I didn’t have use of my hands, but I was ready.
From the heavens, like the sound of an angel, the doorbell rang.
Then a knock.
Then the doorbell again, but I didn’t even have time to hear that second ring. Vince dove for me, and I threw myself against the door, making it rattle.
“Emily?” The voice came from the other side, and just like the flip side of a gold coin, despair turned to hope.
It was Carter.
The door rattled from his side.
Why wasn’t he coming in?
Vince tried to grab me and missed. Another rattle from the other side of the door.
“Emily!”
“Do not disturb!” Vince cried, though he sounded like he had a bad cold.
As I backed away, Vince advanced on me, half-crouched, one hand over his nose, the other hand swiping for me, and I thought for a second . . . what if it wasn’t Carter? What if it was cleaning or room service? What if they heard a sick guy tell them to go away? They’d go away.
I lunged for the door and threw myself against it just as it swung open. I landed at Carter’s feet, surrounded by security guys.
I blinked up at him. He was bent forward with his hands behind his back as if the security guys had tried to wrestle him down. A bellman held my missing pink bag, and on the floor by Carter’s feet was a little envelope with my room number and welcome message inside. He must have recognized the pink luggage and followed it to me. Thank God for that.
Carter’s dark hair fell over his eyes, and when the security guys let him go, he dropped to his knees over me. In the room, far away, there were scuffles and curses. I was lost in relief, lost in safety, spinning away from the intensity of what had just happened.
“Are you . . . ?” Carter was so out of breath he could barely speak. His eyes ran over me, from face to bare feet and back to face.
I nodded. I was okay. I was all right. Everything was going to be fine. I was safe.