Ex Games

But in my bedroom, I saw a man.

“Oh God.” My cold stomach dropped like a brick as the stranger turned to face me, my diamond tennis bracelet in his hand. I turned and ran. I didn’t stop to look for another second. But a scream ripped from my throat when I felt my knees smash into the ground, my jaw bouncing against the hardwood floor as the strange man tackled me and rasped throaty expletives in my ear.

“Don’t fucking move, bitch! Don’t you fucking move!”

A rough voice. Hands gathering my wrists. A switchblade flicked open right in front of my eyes. On my stomach, I let him press my cheek into the ground, tears pooling under my right eye, the outer lashes drowning in them as he continued to curse. Through the corner of my left eye, I saw him pulling a black ski mask back over his face. God, oh God, what the fuck. Didn’t this only happen in movies?

“Now get up!” Disguised, he yanked me up by my dress. I cried out, dread pitting in my stomach as I felt my body exposing.

“Please, no, no, no – ”

“Walk!” he snarled when my knees buckled, tossing me to the ground only to yank me back up.

“Please don’t hurt me, please, I swear to God I won’t – ”

“Shut your mouth, bitch!”

Face-first, I was hurled onto my bed.

“Head down, keep your fucking head down!”

I did as told. Shaking from head to toe, I laid on the bed, my breath hitched in my throat as I prayed to be wrong about what he might do next. Sobbing, my heart slammed against the mattress, beating so hard my insides rattled. It was painful. I cried and ached to simply lie on my side. All I wanted was to pull my knees to my stomach.

But when I so much as closed my legs, he yanked them back apart by the ankles.

I shrieked. “No!” Kicking, twisting, I fought harder than I had with even Gabrielle. So hard that I found myself suddenly on my back again, my wild arms swiping his mask half off.

Oh shit.

For the split-second I had, I stared. Six foot. Black mask. Birthmark. Sandy hair.

“Fucking bitch!”

And suddenly, I was blind. Breathless. Suffocating, my limbs flailed, bucking against the pillow he shoved hard on my face. Laying on me, he weighed me down, absorbing my fight, killing me slowly I was sure.

But then suddenly, I heard Jackson.

“Get the fuck off of her!”

The stranger lifted from me, I gasped for air. Coughing, choking, I rolled to my side, blinking my vision back in time to see Jackson’s muscled six feet and three inches slamming the man to the ground, going beyond just holding him still. Ripping his mask off, he grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head off the ground only to slam it brutally back down. Once. Twice. Three times before the switchblade came out.

“Jackson!”

I screamed and leapt off the bed, just as the strange man brought his knife down into Jackson’s back.

Chapter Six

From the full bar of the yacht, I stared out at the turquoise water. Ibiza was exactly what I needed to escape the madness – specifically Ibiza in July. Clear skies, white sand and a low of seventy-five degrees.

Not to mention a hundred foot yacht on which to drink before the night’s festivities.

“Christ, babe. You look fuckin’ good in white,” Sawyer came up behind me as I popped three perfect cubes of ice into a lowball. I snorted as he played with the fringe on the side of my bikini bottom, the smell of seawater and scotch coming off his skin as he peered over my shoulder. “You know, when you and I get married, we’re going to wear these exact outfits down the aisle.”

I finished pouring my Hendricks and tonic before turning around and bursting out laughing. Stretched over Sawyer’s clearly endowed package were skintight, white trunks with aqua blue stripes up the sides. The prankster as usual.

“You’re drunk, Sawyer, and I’d never marry you in that,” I giggled, swatting his hand when he tried to play with the fringe hanging from my bikini top. “Hey. Nice try, buddy.”

Mischief twisted his lips. “Can’t blame a guy.”