Page 73 of Romi

Moaning into his mouth, pretending it was from lust and not horror, I shifted forward in a way that I hoped would make him think I wanted more. He obviously believed it as he groaned and started rubbing my nipple through my T-shirt. Puke! I was going to be sick.

Forcing all thoughts of vomiting into his mouth to the back of my mind, I pushed at his shoulders and pressed my body against his. He got the message, lifting me and setting me on his lap. I really didn’t want to be perched over the cock I felt hardening underneath me, but it was a better position to be in than underneath him.

It also gave me the opportunity to feel more of him as I ran my hands across his body and around his waistband. I made noises that I hoped sounded lustful as I kissed him back while I searched for a weapon, trying not to let him suspect what I was really doing.

When I got out of this, I’d need to brush my teeth and gargle with salt water for hours to rid myself of this man’s taste.

My fingertips brushed the top of a knife he had hidden down the side of his trousers. Unfortunately, he pulled back before I could reach the handle. Damn!

“You taste as good as you look, babe!” he said, and I held back a grimace and forced myself to smile at him.

“Don’t you want to taste me again?!” I asked, licking my lips.

He chuckled.

“You are going to be so much fun!” he said before leaning down and grabbing me again.

Holding back a shiver of disgust, I let him kiss and tongue fuck me, all the while thinking how I would stab the bastard in the throat as soon as I got my hands on his knife.

Unfortunately, he got his hands on my boobs first. Lifting my T-shirt up, he pulled the cup of my bra out of the way and latched on to my nipple. I almost threw up there and then, but instead, I gulped the bile in my throat back down, gasped in feigned desire and grabbed onto his head with one hand. As I held him close to me, I reached around behind him with the other hand, and as soon as I touched his knife, I pulled it free.

Ivor was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn’t even notice. I’d never killed anyone before, but I didn’t hesitate. I thrust the knife into the side of his neck, ripped it downwards and pulled it back out before he even knew what was happening. Blood spurted everywhere as I realised I had gotten his carotid artery.

He reared back, gurgling, but I had gotten him good. Leaping off him I moved back. He stared at me in panicked, wide-eyed disbelief, unable to do anything but gasp as he clutched his neck.

Staggering to his feet, he reached into one of his pockets. I wasn’t sure if he was looking for another weapon or not, but I wasn’t waiting to find out. I stabbed him in the chest. He fell onto his back, and I watched as he quickly bled out.

Slumping back into the seat, I sat there staring at him in shock as his life slipped away, and a moment later, he was dead.

Unable to tear my eyes off him, I remained glued to the spot for I don’t know how long as my mind desperately tried to process what I had done.

I’d killed him. I’d taken someone’s life. Even if he deserved it, it was a lot to deal with. My mind blanked, and I must have zoned out, my vision tunnelling, the room disappearing as all I saw was a bloody wound and the knife sticking out of his chest.

Eventually, I became aware of my surroundings again, and I pushed myself up to stand on shaky legs.

As my focus returned, a sense of urgency surged through me. I needed to move.

I was covered with blood, and I had just killed one of my kidnappers. Apart from Siri, I didn’t know how many other men there were. I also didn’t know how long it would be before someone else came to look for Ivor or check on me.

Rubbing my hands on the couch, I cleaned them as best I could before dropping to my knees beside Ivor’s body.

God, I really didn’t want to touch him, but I needed to get out of this collar and chain, so I gingerly reached out and lifted the thumb of this left hand and twisted my neck so that I could place it against the thumb pad. Nothing happened. After cleaning the blood off his other thumb, I tried that. Again, nothing happened.

“Aargh!” I squealed in fury.

The key for the padlock, the little voice in my head cried.

Yes. Of course.

I dug into his pockets, praying that he at least was in charge of that. If not, and it was Siri who held my key, I was in even bigger trouble than before.

Frantically frisking his body, I tried to ignore the sharp metallic smell of the blood that pooled around him; I sobbed with the realisation that he didn’t have the key after all.

Now, what the hell was I going to do?

Pushing myself up from the floor, I grimaced at the feel of my blood-soaked hands and knees. The leggings I had on were soaked through from the knee down, and my T-shirt was splattered with Ivor’s blood. I was a mess, but that was the least of my worries at the moment. I needed a weapon again.

Glad I had gotten over my initial aversion to touching his dead body, I kneeled at his side and wiped my hands on a clean patch of Ivor’s trousers. Gulping hard and grimacing, I wrapped both hands around the hilt of his knife and braced myself to pull it free. The wet sucking sound made me boak, and I covered my mouth to hold back the vomit as my throat stung with the acidic taste.