Sweet Revenge thriller

Chapter Twenty Five

HE'S LAUGHING. A sinister gravelly chuckle. 'Well, well. So our little kick boxer isn't street smart to get out of this hold. So much for your training.'

With a deft move he frees my wrists but one arm is now wrapped around my throat and he pulls me backwards. I'm off balance. Fuck these bloody stiletto's. I try to grapple him behind my back...I can feel him tugging my skirt up my thighs but he pushes me forward and unless I want my ribs to crash into his coffee table, I need to keep both hands in front of me.

I'm sweating now. This. Is. Not. How. It. Ends!

He's leaning forward. I can feel his hot breath on my neck. 'ZZZIIIPPP' His trousers. I can smell his perverted lust. I know what he's thinking and then he says it, 'No one will believe it's rape. Look at how you're dressed. You came for it. And you're getting it, babe.'

He's so sure of himself. And by God, at this moment in time, he's every reason to be sure of himself. I've walked right into it. No one's fault but my own. I have but a nano-second to plan and turn the tables.

Think. Think. Think.

I'm a liar, a bloody good one, so for once use it to literally save yourself!

A nano-second put to good use and I feign a sob. My shoulders move in harmony as his fingers grab the top of my G-String. I cringe for myself and all his victims.

He laughs as I knew he would. He's a sadistic rapist, after all.

This is MY moment.

With every ounce of strength—it's just like doing the opposite to a 100 kilo bench press—I push my whole body weight up from the coffee table with a jerk and fling myself backwards.

There's no way I will get hurt, I have the worst of the worst criminal to fall back onto.

And backwards we fly. We land ten feet away, he against a wooden shelf full of ornaments and I land on top of him. Literally sitting on his legs. He is winded. I am not. Within a second I leap up—kick my shoes off, pull my skirt up level with my crotch aware I haven't got the time to reposition my G String and thank the Lords he wouldn't see my lady bits, he's too busy blinking back the tears.

And then I am down on my knees—pulling him back up onto his feet.

I swing my right fist into his jaw with a jab, leap up and kick him in his chest with my left foot with such velocity he flies backwards again and hits the same wooden shelf.

While I land magnificently on both feet!

A quick tug of my skirt back down, then I spring toward him on the balls of my feet and pull my features into pure hate.

'Stop, stop. What do you want?' he yells.

'Reubens real name and details.'

He shakes his head. 'I cant. I cant.' I watch him while he pulls himself up and zips his trousers.

I pick up one of my shoes and hold it in my hand, heel aimed at his face. 'You only need one eye, don't you?' I ask.

He shakes, like every nerve in his body is wired with fear. Tears trickle down his cheeks. 'I can't tell you. He'll kill me.'

'And you think I won't?' I ask.

'I know you. Well, I knew the old you. The old Athena wouldn't hurt a fly,' and he says it, sort of pleading with me.

'But, that was before my family was murdered. I'm not the same girl. Surely you can see that now?'

'Not murder,' he tells me. And of course he's right. Not murder. But, I can pretend!