Novel Square
50
Michael’s jaw tics. He squeezes his massive hands into fists at his sides, then takes a step forward. Luca tries the ignition again. The engine fires up, the boat leaps forward, then the engine dies down.
“Fuck,” he swears, takes his arm off of me, then begins to play with the buttons on the dashboard.
“Couldn’t you have thought of this before?” I hiss.
“It’s a last-ditch resort.” He bends, pulls out a panel, then yanks at some wires.
There’s a flash of movement to the side. I turn, then scream when Michael dives into the water. He swims toward us and panic squeezes my chest. Shit, shit, shit. I need to do something about this, but what?
If he reaches the boat, if he gets on, no way, can we escape. Worse, if he gets his hands on me again… If he takes me captive again… He’ll never forgive me. He’ll make me regret trying to escape him. And you’ll love every minute of it. No. I shake my head…
It’s this addiction to him that got me into this situation, in the first place. It’s because I couldn’t stay away from him, that I let my guard down enough to, perhaps, even trust him, that I may now be pregnant with his child and… No… If that’s the case, I definitely need to get away from him. He reaches the boat, grabs the edge and the craft rocks. I scream again, grab the back of the seat to steady myself. I need to do something, anything, but what?
“The oars,” Luca jerks his chin to a corner of the boat. “Grab an oar and fight him off.”
“No,” I cry, “I don’t want to hurt him.”
“If you don’t, he’ll hurt you,” he retorts. “You don’t want that, do you?”
Do I? How can I tell him that I like it when Michael puts his hands on me? How it turns me on when he treats me like his plaything. How… I lose sight of everything when he’s near me.
Oh, my god, I have no choice. I am going to have to do this. If I let him near me again… I am never escaping him… And my child… If I am pregnant, he or she will never know a normal life.
I scramble around the seat, totter toward the end of the boat, where one end of the oar pops out from under the cover of the tarpaulin.
Michael grabs the edge of the boat, begins to haul himself over the side. That’s when I spring forward. I grab the oar and raise it. My muscles scream in protest. The oar is heavy enough that my knees almost give way under me. I manage to find my balance, and the oar slips from my hands. The edge slams into the side of his head. I tighten my hold on it, pull back as his gaze widens. Those blue irises flare with… Surprise… No, something else… Hate? No… Love? Not possible. It’s lust. It has to be lust. And maybe possession. And anger that I’ve beat him at his own game.
Blood blooms at his temple and I fight the urge to run to his side and help him. He bares his teeth, swings one leg over the side and I scream. I bring the oar down on him again, just as the boat’s engine roars to life. Michael’s gaze holds mine. A beat, another. Then his grip loosens, and he falls back into the water. The oar falls from my fingers and hits the bottom of the boat.
I lean over the side, scan the surface of the water, then scream when he surfaces. He thrusts out an arm, and I reach for his hand, only the boat leaps forward as Luca shifts into gear. My fingers brush his, then he’s gone, under the water. The wake of the boat fills the space where he’d been.Text © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.
“No,” I scream, “No, no, no.”
Continue reading for book 2 to find out what happens.