The Pink Ghost

Sixty-Three

It had been two hours since she'd been home. She showered, changed into boxer shorts and a t-shirt to sleep in, slid her phone into the back decorative pocket and started making dinner. When the front door opened and closed, she tensed up. Pushing it away, not wanting him to see fear in her, she forced herself to look as if she was focused on dinner.

Grant entered the kitchen without word. He walked to the counter and poured a glass of whiskey. Rose smiled as well as she could at him.

"Dinner will be done shortly if you'd like to relax a bit first." She placed a pan on the stove and turned the burner on to warm it.

"What happened in that room between you and the soldier?"

Rose swallowed nervously, but steadied her voice as she spoke.

"We stitched one another up and cleaned our wounds."

The sound of his glass slamming on the counter made her jump. Turning to look at him, she watched as he came towards her. Walking her back until her back hit the counter, she had to lean back to keep him from getting in her face.

Venom in his voice, he spoke accusingly, "Don't try to be sly. The two of you knew each other before this meeting. Is he who you've been going to see at the café?"

"What?" She feigned shock. "I ran into him that one time. Literally. I told you, I spilled coffee all over the guy."

"The two of you refusing to fight one another before being activated tells me otherwise." He growled.

"Grant, I don't know what—"

Her words were stopped by a hand around her throat, lifting her so her feet barely touched the floor. Holding herself up with her hands on his arm, she tried to beg him to stop. It felt like her head was going to explode. She tried sucking in a breath, but she couldn't expand her lungs. Her ears began ringing, her vision blurred as she started to feel lightheaded.

The hatred and venom in his eyes terrified her more than looking at The Winter Soldier.

"I don't like being lied to."

His hand squeezed tightly around her throat preventing her from talking.

"I told you, I made you. I own you. You're mine, Rose."

Panic rising through not being able to take a breath, she searched desperately for anything to make him stop. Pulling her legs up between them, she kicked with everything she could, knocking him back and forcing him to drop her.

Her hands instinctually covered her throat as she gasped for air. Grant lunged for her, his fist connecting with an already bruising area on her face. Pulling her to the floor with him, he attempted to reach for her throat again.

Kicking him, pushing him back, she scurried trying to crawl away from him. He lunged, throwing his shoulder into her, pinning her against the cabinets. Reaching above her for anything to defend herself with, she grabbed the hot pan and hit him over the head with it.

Pissed off and in pain, he was seething when he ripped the pan from her hands and held it against her bare leg, burning the rings from the bottom into her skin.

Screaming a bloodcurdling scream, though hoarse from her throat nearly collapsing, she fought to get him away from her. He overpowered her. Yanking at her t-shirt, it ripped as he tried pulling her towards him. Pulling out of his grip, she kicked him with the heel of her foot, breaking his nose. Using this as her chance to get away, she scurried across the floor, climbed to her feet and ran for the front door.

In nothing but thin boxer shorts and a torn, stretched t-shirt, she ran. She ran barefoot as fast as she could down the road, refusing to stop for anyone who tried to ask if she was ok. She pulled her phone from the pocket of her shorts, the screen was cracked, but she was still able to pull up her contacts.