CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO - ISSY
My body is spinning in the air the moment after I nod my head yes. Because you know what? I’m fucking sick of this Goddamned game. I’m gonna end it. But not only will I end it… I’m gonna win it.
I grab Gargantuan by the neck, slide my body—leg extended—around his back, and push down on his head with all one hundred and fifteen pounds of girl power.
He drops to the floor and even though the weights on my ankles and wrists were supposed to make this difficult, they sure do come in handy when they connect with his ribs and his face.
I get his nose first. To make the blood flow, clog his breathing, and make him weak. Then the eye, because the eyes swell up so pretty if you hit them hard enough. Then the teeth. Just because I want him to remember what I did every time he looks in the Goddamned mirror.
A sick feeling floods my body when I hear the crack of breaking enamel.
Blood spatters everywhere. He’s moaning, and rolling over on the ground, and I’m just about to turn and take out the next guy when I’m slammed down onto the hardwood floor, face first—so the mud and melted snow tracked in from outside coats my cheek when they bind my wrists and ankles again.
I turn my head, find Caleb’s face, and spit in his direction. “There’s your show,” I say, smiling at him. “I hope you got a kick out of it.”
He doesn’t smile back. I don’t get the brave face. I don’t get the attitude, or the jokes, or the threats.
I just get that look. That look I know so well from my memory. The one that said, Go to bed, Izett. I’ll be up to tuck you in later.
The look that would make me go directly to the upstairs hall bathroom, sit in front of the open toilet, and throw up.
Every. Single. Time.
And it takes every fuckin’ ounce of strength I’ve built up over the past eight years not to puke right now.
I think he’s going to rape me.
“Aw, come on now, baby. Don’t be afraid.” Caleb bends down right next to me to grab my hair and pull my head up off the floor so I can look him in the eyes. He strokes my cheek. “Izett,” he whispers. “Don’t worry. We know just how you like it. Did you know that your boy here sent his boss a text last night? And do you have any idea what he said in that text?”
My heart skips. Remembering Finn, sitting in his car outside my house, texting on his phone.
“It said you thought you were playing a game. And do you know what kind of game he told his boss you thought you were playing?”
I close my eyes to shut him out, but he yanks my head back so far, I can’t breathe.
“Open your eyes and look at me, bitch!” And then his other hand is wrapped around my throat, squeezing until I have to. I have to obey and do what he says because I want to breathe again.
“He said you had a fantasy. You wanted to be fucked in front of other people. Well, baby girl”—I close my eyes and whimper a little—“I’m gonna make your fantasy come true. Right here. Right now.”
While all this is happening, Finn was picked up, walked over to where I am, and he’s thrown down next to me. His face bloody, just like mine. One eye almost swollen shut.
But one eye is fully open.
And it winks.
“What?” I breathe, not even making a sound. Just lips moving.
He winks again.
I squint back at him. Tilt my head. Is he fucking with me right now? Is he trying to tell me this is all part of the game?
But he’s not smiling. This is no joke.
Before I can fully imagine what is happening here, the door bursts open and a man walks in.
A man I recognize. A man who should not be here, but is.
He’s older. He has short, white hair. Clean-shaven—in fact, I can smell his aftershave as he walks past me on the floor. I turn my head to follow him. Take in his expensive suit, black trench coat, and American flag pin on his lapel.
Senator Walcott. Chella’s father.
And this is how I know we’re not playing a game.
This is how I know Finn’s wink—blink, whatever it was—wasn’t saying, Be cool, Issy. You’re fine.
It was saying, See you on the other side, babe.
“What in the ever-loving fuck is going on here?” the senator bellows, looking around from face to face until his intent gaze rests on Caleb’s.
Caleb is still kneeling down, holding my hair, hand squeezing my neck, his threat of rape still echoing in my head. But he lets go now. My face falls, hitting the floor, my eyes on Finn and his on mine.
He doesn’t wink again.