“No!” I screamed, thinking of what he must have done to those innocent women.
He slapped me across the face again to shut me up and kept working. When he edged the jacket off my shoulders, he kept it there for extra restraint and began unbuttoning my plaid shirt, exposing my white tank top. He sighed loudly, grotesquely happy at his progress and the sight before him. His fingers were unusually warm as he lifted the hem of my tank. As it edged up my torso, he pressed delicate kisses to my stomach, stopping at my belly button, sinking his tongue inside. I turned my head and vomited all over the floor next to me.
He sat up abruptly. “Do I disgust you, Harper?” He asked, the hurt evident in his voice. “Do I!?” He roared. “Get up,” he said. “Can’t have you tasting like vomit.” He threw me out the door and I stumbled onto the carpet. He gripped my upper left arm hard as he pulled me up and walked me toward the restrooms on the opposite side of our floor. He pushed me inside over to the nearest sink. “Wash your mouth out,” he ordered.
I obeyed him, rinsing out my mouth but when I raised my gaze into the mirror above the sink, I barely recognized myself. My face was bruised and bleeding. My bottom lip was swollen as well as my right eye from each back hand I’d received. I was surprised to see that the blood vessels in my eyes hadn’t actually burst, that it had been my imagination.
John stood behind me, caressing my hair, straightening out the strays from our scuffles. I shuddered in revulsion. He bent over me and pulled several paper towels from the dispenser at my left. He ran them through warm water, never taking his eyes from my reflection. He squeezed out the excess water and began cleaning up the dried blood around my mouth that I had yet to clean as well as the blood from around my busted brow and neck.
“There,” he said, kissing my temple, “now let’s get out of here before your asshole husband returns with the police.”
I gripped the sides of the sink. “Are-are you going to kill me?” I asked point blank.
“Eventually, yes.”
Chapter Sixteen
Dream is Collapsing
Callum
I’d called the police, briefly spoken with the detective handling our case, and been advised to leave the building. Sure. Now that they were on their way, I was on my way to beat the living shit out of the murderer who had my Harper on the fourth floor. I tipped over one of the reading tables on the third floor not caring if he heard me or not and unscrewed one of the heavy legs to use as a makeshift bat. I knew if he’d touched her, touched a single hair on her head, that I was going to smash that bat in his disgusting face.
I spun open the door, studying the floor I hoped they were still on. I edged up the crosswalk stairs but stopped at the top. I knew I’d have to make a sprint for the door as there was no hiding from all the glass windows but I wanted to know exactly where they were before I did that, knowing John could just shoot through the glass the second he saw me. I desperately tried to see but it was of no use. That’s when I heard the most blood curdling scream come from behind the glass door. Forgetting the risk, I raced through to the door, practically tearing it off the hinges but they weren’t visible. I ducked behind a stack and quieted myself, listening.
“It’s on the bottom floor,” Harper said, terror laced in her voice.
“Where?” John asked softly.
I followed the sound of his voice until I came upon them stuck between two stacks. He had her pressed against the shelves, his hand studying her face like they were lovers. Harper looked beyond frightened and John looked like he loved it all the more because of that. Sick bastard. I bit my heels into the floor when he kissed her neck intimately, making Harper’s bottom lip tremble. He acted like he had all the time in the world which made me wonder if he didn’t care if he was caught. And there was only one reason he wouldn’t care about being caught and that terrified me.
“Walk,” John ordered her toward the elevator, walking right past me. I burrowed deeper into the shadows.
As they walked to elevator, John leaned over Harper and pressed the button. I stalked closer, trying desperately to stay as quiet as possible. The wait for the doors to open was agonizing. Finally, they opened and I made my move. Heaving the bulky table leg over my head, I swung on John and it smacked him square in the back. Unfortunately, the brute was so large, it barely made an impact. I shoved Harper in the elevator and pressed the first floor button, turning back to John as quickly as possible and swinging the table leg toward his head but missed, just as the doors began to close, I jumped in with Harper. The doors closed completely and Harper startled when John began to beat at the doors.
“Harper!” Bang. “Harper!” Bang. “I’m going to kill him for that! And you’re going to watch, you stupid bitch!” John screamed, making Harper tense beside me.
We began our descent but it didn’t last long. John was pressing the button and the elevator began its ascent once more. Harper wisely pulled the stop switch as well as the alarm bell. I didn’t have time to tell her that was useless, that I’d already called the police, because we heard John bellowing out Harper’s name. She sidled up to me and I wrapped my arms around her. Three clear shots rang out, making us both tense.
“He only has one shot left,” I said absently, trying to gauge how much further we needed to go to reach the lobby and if it was close enough that John wouldn't be able to run down the crosswalk stairs before we could make our escape.
“How do you know?” She asked, tucking her arms into herself.
“Because his gun is a revolver. It can only shoot six.”
“Unless he reloads.”
“Yes, unless he reloads but I doubt he will.”