Hunting Her Box Set

My heart lurches. My breathing stops.

I stare deep into those soulless eyes as I twist and tug, finally scrambling from his grip. But there’s no time to close the door. It’s too late. He’s shoving my only protection wide to stalk inside, his shoulders broad and menacing.

I swing away and dash ahead, determined to make it to the panic room.

I don’t even reach the hall.

He yanks me backward by my hair. Pain slices through my skull as he spins me around, slamming my face into the back of the sofa. My cheek breaches the cushioning and collides with the hard wood beneath, the impact buckling my knees to send me toppling to the floor.

Everything vanishes. Thought. Feelings. Consciousness.

Then it all comes rushing back in a tangled mess of panic and agony as my tormentor continues to drag me by my hair.

I kick, punch, and launch my elbows in every direction. I fight, fight, fight, never pausing. Not for a second. Not even when his hand latches onto my neck and squeezes.

The hold is nothing like Cole’s.

This man’s touch isn’t a pleasurable grip. His fingertips dig deep, his strength tightening to restrict my breath.

I claw at his hands, scratching and flailing while fire burns a trail down my throat.

I let my legs fall out from beneath me, becoming a dead weight in the hopes he will drop me.

He doesn’t.

He holds me like a rag doll, choking, suffocating while I scramble to regain my footing and ease the pressure.

“I could do this all day, bitch. But we’ve got somewhere to be.”

I try to scream and only produce a squeak.

I need air.

I need help.

I need Cole.

“Do you want to come willingly or are you going to let me have more fun?” His gaze treks my body, over the exposed skin beneath the gaping jacket.

I struggle for air, gulping with no relief.

Darkness edges into the corners of my vision as my toes grasp for grounding. Everything moves incredibly fast and eerily slow at the same time.

I’m disoriented. Dazed.

I don’t realize I’m dropping to the floor until my ass hits the hard tile and my palms slap against the soothing cold. I fall into a mass of tangled limbs, gasping, heaving, gulping. My chest rises and falls as I clamber to reclaim oxygen.

“Get up,” he demands.

I don’t know how.

“I said, get the fuck up.” He kicks me, his booted foot launching into my ribs. The pain spreads through my lungs, bringing a dose of adrenaline-filled clarity.

He doesn’t have a foreign accent. He’s American.

“Who are you?” My voice is a weak rasp. “Do you work for Cole?”

“Cole?” He scoffs. “That man has no power over me. My orders come from someone with far more influence. Someone who is going to make Cole look like a puppy in comparison.”

Luther?

Oh, God.

“What do you want with me?”

He grabs a fistful of my hair, dragging me to my feet. “I want you to get your ass on the fucking boat and quit wasting my time.” He shoves me toward the glass doors, following a foot behind. “Keep moving.”

I won’t go. I can’t bring myself to willingly follow.

If I get on that boat, I’m dead. Never to be found.

I make another attempt at escape, not thinking, just ru

“Fucking bitch.” He chases me, his booming footfalls tattooing my mind.

I aim for the hall, the archway within reach when he barrels into me from behind, launching me forward.

I can’t divert my trajectory.

I can’t stop the impact.

My head hits the wall. Hard.

Then blackness takes me away.