Stunned by his words, I didn’t react, allowing him to close the distance that remained between us with barely a step. He locked one hand on my thigh and one on my shoulder.
“Are you insane as well as drunk?” I asked, shoving at him, but his fingers were like meat hooks, pushing into the nerve endings until they almost spasmed. It was then the fear settled in, working its way into my entire body, limb by limb, and making the moves my dad had taught me fade from my mind.
He rammed himself against me, setting his repulsively moist mouth on mine, shoving a slobbery tongue against my lips. I recoiled, teeth hitting his tongue and his lip, head hitting his nose, and causing him to swear.
“I’m going to teach you to play nice, Daniella,” he growled. “To crawl like someone should have taught you a long time ago. Teach you your place on your knees with my belt wrapped around your neck.”
I shoved him, using what arm strength I had as I tried to get some leverage, but he simply slammed me back against the elevator wall. One hand held me there while the other squeezed my breast as his knee crashed into my pelvic bone, sending a wave of pain through me.
I reached up and raked his hand with my nails, and he grunted in disbelief and displeasure. It caused him to loosen his hold just enough that I could elbow him in the side and try to sidestep him. He grabbed me around the waist and slapped me with such force that my head flung backward and hit the wall. I kicked out with a stiletto-clad foot to hit his knee, allowing me enough space to reach the controls and unstop the elevator. I hit the mezzanine button just as he grabbed at me again from behind.
“You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that, you little bitch,” he said as his fingers tore at my dress, smashing me face-first into the door. He leaned his body and his erection against me as he reached for the buttons again.
Fear and anger and panic pounded through me as I tried to pull my body and his away from the control panel. The doors dinged and slid open, a startled couple standing there…
I escaped while he shouted out from behind about me trying to mug him.
I ran to the bathroom and called Mac.
I’d been pale and shaky in that bathroom mirror, just like now. I hadn’t even realized I was crying that day until I’d seen my reflection.
While today I hadn’t been grabbed or kissed or yelled at, I’d been silently attacked. My body had been brutalized, and I’d been humiliated. My legs started to give out, and I sank onto the edge of the tub, a cold numbness invading my body and mind.
The door opened, and Nash walked in carrying my heavy suitcase. It was heavy enough that I always dragged it on the rollers. Not Nash. Not the SEAL. Not the best of the best of the best. He carried it like it was nothing more than a bag of bread.
He saw me sitting and did a double-take. He came toward me.
“What happened?”
Nothing. Everything. Nothing. I shook my head.
“You look even paler than when I left.” He stepped closer.
Pale. Yes, I was pale. The word “victim” was spinning around in my head, sliding over my body in a way I wanted to shrug off. I was unsure how to incorporate that word into my self-image.
“Why don’t you stay here? I’ll go talk with Brady and the team.”
I shook my head. Victims became survivors. Being a survivor wasn’t a word I wanted tied to my name either, but survivor was easier for me to shoulder. I had survived. I would survive again.
“No, I’m going,” I said.
I pulled myself up and walked past him to where he’d left my suitcase. I unzipped it, found the items I needed, and then went back into the bathroom. I put a hand on the door and waited for Nash to leave.
He stopped in front of me, cupping my cheek. “You’re gonna be okay.”
It was the same statement he’d made outside my room the night before, as if he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that when I got to the other side of this, I’d be whole. But I’d just realized, I wasn’t. I’d already been burnt into pieces. Images of Nash and the SEAL team documentary flew through me. I wasn’t ringing any damn bell yet. I wasn’t going to go down without a fight. I could come out of the charred ash stronger.
Nash stared into my eyes for a long time, as if he wanted to tell me something else, but then, he pulled the door from my grasp and shut it behind him.
I pulled on my underwear, strapless bra, and the sundress I’d pulled out of the suitcase. It was October, but it was still warm in Florida, and better yet, it was loose, which I needed on my stomach that still felt bloated and sore.
I slid on a pair of flat sandals, brushed my teeth, and washed my face to remove the remaining makeup that had smudged under my eyes with my half-hearted attempts at the restaurant and in the shower earlier. I looked at the mess that was my hair but didn’t have the energy to even put it up in a ponytail. There was a numbness dragging at my insides as unfamiliar words still swirled through me and around me. They’d have to take me as I was at the moment. Victim. Survivor. Dani.
When I opened the door, Nash was right there, as if he’d been listening to make sure I didn’t hit the ground. I was grateful and annoyed all at the same time. But it was hard to work up the wall of hatred I’d been presenting
