Falling Forward ✔

Chapter Fifteen - Reece

"Reecie!" The loud, slurred word rocks me from my fitful sleep. I bolt upright, stare at the bedroom door, cringe as the footsteps in the hallway grow closer. "Reecie!"

Asher pushes through the door, his foot catching on the corner. He curses, tumbles forward.

I gasp, scramble out of the bed, and kneel beside him. "You're drunk." I mutter, pulling him onto his back, staring into blue eyes hazy with liquor.

"Fuck off," he shoves my arms away.

I retreat as he pushes himself upright, damp blond hair falling forward into his eyes. Asher kicks his shoes off, pulls his t-shirt over his head. His skin is slick with sweat as he leans down and curls his fingers around my wrist. I bite the inside of my cheek, against the urge to withdraw.

He pulls me up, starts messing with my tank top and shorts.

I wriggle in his hold. "No, not tonight." I push at his hands, try to get away. "I'm still sore—"

Scowling, Asher lands a solid blow across my cheek. I wince, whimper.

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do. You belong to me." He seethes, fingers tight on my hips, nails biting into my skin.

Bruises protest, my skin tingles with panic. I shake my head but make no further attempt to fight. He jerks my tank top over my head, pushes me back into the bed. When he tries to climb on top of me, his balance shifts and he hits the mattress on his side.

I breathe out a sigh of relief, scramble backward. Asher groans, flails out a searching hand. I dodge it, kick my feet over the opposite side of the bed and surge away from him.

"Hey! Reecie!" Asher yells, getting onto unsteady feet. We face off across the bed, me cowering against the wall, hands over my chest, legs wobbly and weak.

He clenches and unclenches his fists, tilts his head, leers. "You don't want to fight me, novia." He advances slowly.

I chew my lip, press farther into the wall. "I said not tonight Asher." I whisper, voice quivering.

He growls, pushes himself onto the bed and crawls forward. "Mirame!"

I yelp, lift my gaze to his. There's venom in his eyes. My heart pounds against my ribcage so hard I'm sure I'll bruise. The hairs on the back of my neck rise and I make a split-second decision. Before Asher can reach me, I bolt toward the door.

My fingers bite into the doorframe, propel my body forward into the narrow hallway. Asher screams in outrage. I hear him chasing me, his lumbering body ramming into things, the alcohol doing nothing to help his coordination.

I skitter around the corner, grip the banister tightly as I face the stairs. Asher appears behind me, lashes out with one huge palm. The slap resonates in the quiet of the house, sends my back into the wall with a deafening thump. I yelp, grit my teeth, manage to remain on my feet.

Asher steps closer, his fingers closing around my throat. "I said don't fight!" His rancid breath fills my nostrils, makes me gag.

I twist my head away, fingers pulling frantically at his bicep.

"Okay," I choke out, breath shallow. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I shriek, a sob catching in my throat.

"Sorry's a good start," he hisses, fingers coiling around my throat. "But it isn't good enough, novia." The whisper is pure malicious desire. Rough and chilling.

I gulp, fear slashing through my body like a bolt of lightning. My knee comes up without my consent, slams into his crotch before I can stop it.