I’m still rinsing my hands when I feel eyes on me.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I raise my gaze to the back-lit mirror in front of me.
That’s when I see his reflection in the mirror.
He’s standing right behind me, leaning against the doorframe with a scowl on his face.
It’s the man from the bar, the one who offered to buy me a drink just before Tamara threw up.
Boulder Man.
7
Esme
I whirl around to face him. “What are you doing in here?”
He looks perfectly relaxed as he stares at me. There’s even a smile on his face.
But it’s not a nice smile. It’s the kind that makes your legs heavy with fear.
He looks even bigger in this small, fluorescent bathroom than he did out by the bar. His head nearly brushes against the ceiling.
He flexes his hands like he can’t wait to tear me limb from limb.
“Our conversation was cut short,” he rumbles acidly. “I wanted to finish it.”
My heart thunders painfully in my chest as instinct tells me to run. To scream. Get away from this man as fast as I can.
But my eyes slip to the partially closed door of the stall Tamara’s in.
I can’t leave her.
“Please,” I say. “I need to get my cousin home.”
“Cousin, huh?” he says conversationally. “You two don’t look related.”
I haven’t moved an inch. But he takes a step toward me and I turn slowly on the spot.
“Yeah, well, she’s my cousin, and she got sick, so…”
He nods. It’s almost convincingly sympathetic. “Yeah, you should probably get her home quickly.”
“Exactly—"
“The sooner you suck my cock, the sooner that’s gonna happen.”
A gasp catches in my throat. No fucking way did he just say that.
But his grin widens a notch, and I know that he very much did.
I can’t deal with all this right now. The fear of Papa, of Boulder Man, of every drunk faceless horny moron out preying on the club floor right now—it’s all piling up, choking me out, clouding my brain.
I pray for someone to enter the bathroom. Anyone will do—beggars can’t be choosers.
The fear is worsening. It’s choking me. Making me dizzy. Making me weak.
Do something, Esme! screams the voice of self-preservation in my head.
“That’s never going to happen,” I snap at him with strength I don’t actually feel.
He chuckles. “I’m not really giving you a choice, darlin’.”
Then, all at once, he lunges forward.
A scream rises in the back of my throat, but nothing comes out.
I stumble to the side in an attempt to get away from him.
Not fast enough, though.
Boulder Man seizes my hair and pulls me back-to-front against him. His breath is sticky against my neck as he brushes my hair aside and licks from my collarbone up to my jaw.
He stinks of alcohol and sweat and cheap cologne.
The rapist trifecta.
Worst of all, I can feel his nasty erection pressing against the fabric on the back of my dress.
For some reason, that does it—releases the scream in my throat.
The tiny, tiled bathroom echoes with the sound of my fear.
And my instincts switch from flight to fight.
I jab my elbow as hard as I can back into his stomach. He’s got easily a hundred or more pounds on me, so it’s not like I do any real damage.
But the move startles him so much he actually loosens his grip on me and I wriggle free.
Released from his grasp, I try to run again. If I can just reach the door, call for help…
But my legs are shaky and he’s three times my height and ten times my bodyweight.
With one huge hand, he slams me back against the closed door of a stall. The impact sends stars shooting across my vision.
The man’s eyes narrow to ugly slits as he moves towards me.
I’ve succeeded mostly in pissing him off, apparently.
Well, buddy, there’s more where that came from.
When he’s close enough, I jam my knee upwards into his groin.
He grunts in pain. Unfortunately, my aim was off, so he doesn’t go down like I intended him to.
Instead, I have just enough time to see his palm slice across the air towards me.
In the next second, pain erupts on the side of my face. The shooting stars double and my vision goes black at the edges.
By the time I process that he just slapped me—hell, he might’ve given me a concussion with how hard he swung—he’s got his hands on me.
He yanks up the front of my dress and rips it in the process. All that’s left is my panties between him and me.
I continue to fight even though I know I can’t win. Writhing, screaming, thrashing with all my might.
At this point, it’s a matter of pride.
I will not just lie still.
I will not just accept being assaulted.
I will fight him every step of the way. He’ll have to knock me unconscious if he wants me to lay back and take it.
He seems to realize exactly that as his hands close in around my neck.
“I will break every bone in your body, you little bitch,” he snarls at me. “Fucking cut it out.”
“Go ahead!” I scream back at him. “Break every bone in my body. It still won’t make you a fucking man.”
His eyes go wide with anger and his meaty fingers tighten around my neck. My vision blurs more.
His other hand is scrabbling at his fly, trying to unzip and pull himself out so he can finish what he started.
I feel the sting of incoming tears, but I squeeze my eyes against them.
I refuse to let him see me cry. Maybe I can’t stop him from taking my body.
But he doesn’t get to take my dignity with it.
I gasp in pain as his nails scratch my thighs. His hand on my throat is so tight I can barely breathe.
Don’t you cry, Esme. Don’t you dare cry.
“Get the fuck off her.”
My eyes fly open. I look towards the door, in the direction of the deep, commanding voice.
And I see him standing
