Page 73 of Triple Protection

Thwack!"Two."

I cry out again, but latch onto the pain to give myself something to focus on to still the panic attack. I breathe deep, slowly, the way Alex helped me those few weeks ago. I can hear his voice in my mind."Deep breaths, sweetheart. Breathe with me. Look at me,"he says to me in his bedroom Dom voice. I imagine his dark brown eyes and how he walked me through box breathing.

Thwack!"Three."

I groan, but don't cry out. The endorphins from the pain help me reach a sense of calm. I remember Liam on our date night. In my mind, he's sitting in front of me, telling me his terrible pick-up lines and laughing with me like we were the only people in theroom. A tear falls down my nose and onto the mattress. But not one of fear, one of love.

Thwack!"Four."

I grunt. I recall my first time with Brick. Being tied up for him, and how much he savored and worshiped me.

Thwack!"Five."

I breathe a shaky breath outwards, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a grunt. I remember the surprise and pride I felt when Alex told his mom I was his woman. The love he showed me in his eyes every time we made love. His stolen kisses and teasing caresses. I saw him in our future, standing in a tux at our wedding. I saw him holding the hand of a little black-haired boy and let out a sob.

Thwack!"Six.

His arm is getting tired now, the stings less painful. That, or my body, has adapted to the pain. I think going on runs with Liam and playing with him in the pool. I remember him at the photoshoot, all cocky grins and flirtatious eyes. How he went down on me like I was his last meal. Then I see him in our future, at Christmases and birthdays, surrounded by his mom and sisters. His family having become mine. A future I wasn't sure was even an option anymore, but one I would hold in my heart for the both of us.

Thwack!"Seven."

I squeeze my eyes shut and think of Brick. My strong, steady warrior. My safety. My home. Of running my hands through his silky hair again. I remember the picture of my pink toes against the steel of his prosthetic from the photoshoot. The way his huge hands could wrap around my entire waist, making me feel tiny, protected.

Thwack!"Eight."

I think about my new family. I think about how seven months ago I was alone, estranged from my only blood relatives. NowI have an entire, large, loud, found family. Hannah, Brian, Ellie and Vikki. Dan, Amy and Andy. Even Isabella. I have people who love me now. Who know me, whoseeme, as more than Angela's Angles. My spine straightens as determination sets in.

Thwack!"Nine."

I have to get out of here. There's no future, no reality in which I will stay in this cabin with this lunatic. I won't be his wife. His soulmate. Whatever. What did Courtney tell me? I can't give in to the fear and anxiety and helplessness. My insecurities and people-pleasing and need to be loved led me to ignoring all the damn warning signs about Marshal. Every time he tap-danced across a boundary, I made up an excuse for him. He was the professional, he was just passionate, he knew what he was doing, he was just protective. How many fucking red flags had I ignored this entire time?

Thwack!"Ten." Marshal says breathlessly. I guess he didn't realize how physically tiring it is, beating someone with a belt.

Game time. I'm getting the fuck out of here. For my newfound family, for my boyfriends, but most importantly, for me.Is this what self-love looks like? I'll have to ask Courtney.I chuckle half-heartedly at myself. Of course, my rock-bottom version of self-love is not being abused by a stalker.

I straighten to standing. Dumbass left me unrestrained, and I took my punishment freely. I wipe the tears from my face and turn to look at Marshal. I remember my self-defense training Alex put me through and watch as Marshal throws the belt down on the bed beside me. I watch as he watches me, his chest raising and falling with each labored breath.

"Now I know that was unpleasant, but you know why I had to do it, right?" he asks me condescendingly. I imagine his mother's voice in his tone and chills skitter through my body.

Quickly, I turn and leap for the belt. Marshal shouts as he lunges for me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders frombehind, one arm reaching around me for the belt. I smile to myself and throw up a prayer of thanks for Alex. This is exactly the position we trained for. I step low, wide, and get my knee behind Marshal's legs, throwing him onto his back with the belt still in my hand. My hip and back protest after the fall. My left leg's still caught underneath his legs. I wrap the belt under his chin and throw myself backwards against the floor, pulling on it with all my strength. I make sure to squeeze my hands together behind his head to cut off his jugular, not his oxygen.

He'll go down faster that way. He sputters, hands clawing at the belt, legs kicking for purchase. Wrapping the belt further around one of my hands to get a better grip, I push my legs until both of our bodies are free from the bed. I don't want him to be able to use the bed as leverage to flip us or stand up.

His choking, sputtering, whimpering noises are disgusting, but I'm in full flight or fight now. I know if he gets free, I'm done for. He'll kill me. Or worse. This is my one and only chance. The belt cuts into my hands, squeezing them painfully, and my arms ache with effort.

Finally, his spluttering stops and his legs twitch once, twice more before he's still. I wait a second longer in case he's trying to trick me. I slowly release the belt. I don't want to kill the man. No matter how sick he is, I just want to get free. Once I'm convinced his unconscious, I push his body off of mine and check him for a pulse. My blood is roaring through my ears and I'm breathing as if I've run a marathon, but eventually I do find his pulse. I breathe a sigh of relief before I realize that that pulse means he's not dead... and that he'll wake up, eventually.

Chapter fifty-one

Angela

Iloop my arms under his armpits, ignoring the waft of body odor that assaults me, and bend my knees to use my weight to drag him to the front door. I need his fingerprint to open it.

"Fat fucker." I groan even though he's not terribly overweight, just heavy dead weight and probably sixty pounds heavier than me. I grunt and groan and strain and push my body past its limits to drag him to the front door.

Nearly there, I drop his body, winded, and pull his arm to see if I can reach the door. The fingerprint pad is just a few inches further, but my arms and legs are shaking and I'm not sure how much more I have in me.

Suddenly, he groans underneath me. A small, barely there groan, but it spikes my adrenaline and I know my time is almost out. I grip under his armpits again, digging my nails into his shirt, before throwing myself backwards and him with me. Finally, I'm able to grab his wrist and pull his arm further and rest his thumb against the pad.