Love the Way You Lie (Stripped 1)

Something settles over me. Confidence. Recklessness. Sometimes they’re the same thing. So let my hand break. It’s a hard thing to break your own hand, in the same way that it can be hard to die. I have to let go of the survival instinct. I have to break myself.

I pull, using all my strength, straining at my ankles to build this much force. The bed creaks.

Something in my hand snaps.

Now my left hand is free. That gives me enough room to un-loop the rope from the pole, so my right hand is free. My left hand is messed up—broken?—but my right hand still works. I jerk myself up, unsteady on my feet.

And fall, stumbling to the ground. It’s safer here.

“Stay down,” Kip orders before firing off a round.

Safety doesn’t matter anymore.

If anyone will get shot, it will be Kip. He matters.

I crawl to one of the men on the floor and take his gun.

The thing about men is they always underestimate me. Because I’m small and weak. Because I have a pussy instead of a cock. And my father, he kept me locked up. For all those reasons, I am ill-equipped for the world. But one thing I know is violence. I’ve been around violent men all my life. I’ve been around them when they pulled out their guns, when they flicked off the safety. Been around them when they fired. And I was watching.

I aim and fire. The kick is enough to knock me backward, but there’s a brand-new hole in the wall courtesy of me.

And I have Byron’s attention. He’s smirking, of course.

So I walk toward him. Kip lunges for me, but I’m expecting that. I evade him and go toward Byron. I know I don’t have the aim to hit him far away. I don’t have months or years of target practice. And my hand is possibly broken. It feels like it’s on fire. But if I’m close, I can get him.

That assumes he won’t shoot me first. He could. At this point I wouldn’t mind much. But I don’t think he will. Because he underestimates me most of all.

We’re one foot away now. Kip is right behind me, about to expose himself, make himself vulnerable to save me. I can’t let that happen.

I aim the gun at Byron. Now he’s the one looking down the barrel. He’s the one counting.

“You wouldn’t,” he says coldly. Confidently. Not counting, after all.

I fire. I’m aiming for the center of his chest. The kickback from the gun and wrenching pain in my hand means I hit his shoulder instead. And it feels good. After all the times he slapped me, fucked me. Hurt me. God, my hand hurts. But it feels really good too. Sweet victory.

Though it doesn’t feel exactly like victory when he manages to grab me. He spins me around and puts a gun to my head.

He wants to use me as a hostage. And it’s already working. I see Kip’s eyes dark with anger—and fear. He’s afraid for me, because there’s a gun to my head. But I’ve already broken my own hand. I’m fucking invincible. He’s pointing his gun at us both, but I know he won’t shoot. He can’t, not without hitting me too.

“Hello, little brother,” Byron says, and that’s enough to shock me out of my plan.

Kip nods slightly. “I wish I could say I was glad to see you.”

Byron laughs. “Aren’t you? You’ve been searching for me for weeks.”

“Not you. Her.”

“Ah yes.” Byron looks down at me, moving the nozzle of the gun to my side. “She’s a good fuck. But not worth all this trouble if you ask me. Girls like that, they’re a dime a dozen.”

Kip looks furious. His nostrils flare. He’s probably going to say something to defend me. Or maybe he’ll just start shooting. I don’t give him the chance. Because I can defend myself.

I’m only Byron’s captive if I want to survive. I’m done surviving.

I reach down and grab the gun. He could have fought me if I tried to take it from him. I don’t. Instead I squeeze the trigger. I shoot myself. I cinch the trap. He doesn’t have anything left to bargain with now. He doesn’t even have my body to shield himself. I fall to the floor, and I hear the shots that kill Byron—one, two, three—before he collapses beside me.

Then Kip is there, turning me over, pressing a hand to my side, swearing and praying and pleading. “God, Honor. Why did you—Jesus. Please live. Please keep her alive. God, please.”

Chapter Seventeen