Falling With Grace

Dashing into the closet, I tossed my night clothes to the side and grabbed the first shirt I could find. I pulled it over my head, the bottom trailing below my butt.

Dammit.

Too long.

Tossing off the shirt, I reached for another and spun towards the pants, catching a tall, dark blur from my periphery.

“Shit.”

I threw my hands over my breasts and stumbled back into the wood cabinets, holding dress shoes I could only dream of wearing. My throat tightened, and the sweat on my skin evaporated into a cold chill.

“You scared the crap out of me.” I pressed my hand to my chest to calm my erratic heartbeat.

Elias positioned himself in the closet doorway, a glint of anger ablaze in his eyes. His fist clenched at his side, and his jaw pulsed as if containing unspoken words. The tense cords in his neck strained against his sun-kissed skin.

“Sorry, I… I’m making my way down now.”

He moved nearer, his gait tense, and his narrow eyes glazed over my arms.

“Did he do that to you?”

The color drained from my cheeks, causing me to sway.

I clasped the shelf beside me.

He saw.

“I won’t ask again.”

Elias took my shoulders in his massive hands, his towering frame like a shadowed vestige of the man before, and spun me around. My listless muscles offered no resistance as I exposed my back to him, his fingers tracing the dense, intersecting scars that adorned my shoulder blades and beyond.

“N… no.” I shuddered, his touch sending a searing inferno across my skin.

“Then who?”

His finger traced along my spine, reaching the deepest cut on my lower back. I drew in quick breaths, my body trembling as I struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to escape.

“One of Andrés’ clients.”

“Does he have a name?”

My head spun, the air rushing in and out of my lungs, with my chin tucked into my chest. “Carter Petraeus.”

“Hmm”

His knuckle popped as he squeezed, waves of anger emanating from him.

“When he saw what Carter did, he broke both legs and banned him from returning.”

Elias’ hand fell away from my tormented flesh. “I’ll do better.” His whispered tone enveloped me, an ominous threat lingering as his footsteps faded from the room. “Breakfast is over, but I left you a plate in the refrigerator.”

The door clicked closed, and I crumpled to my knees, the wheezing inhale echoing through the hollowed space.

I lie sprawled on the bed, a sacrificial offering to his depravity. His oppressive weight anchors me down, the bony points of his knees burrowing into my hips. The reek of sweat hangs thick in the air, a palpable vapor of dread.

My wrists, bound to the bedposts, are taut against their restraints, veins pulsing with desperate urgency.

His blade glints out of the corner of my eye, catching the dim light in a sinister dance.