Picture Perfect - Page 163

This is it, I realize with a chilling clarity. If I don’t fight with everything I have, I’ll lose more than just this battle. I’ll lose myself. So I scream, a primal sound ripped from the depths of my being, and I fight back with every ounce of desperation that’s been building since the day I stepped into this cursed place.

The room trembles with distant shouts, the vibrations of their fury reaching me through the floorboards. Pops echo, gunshots maybe, and they’re getting closer, but their promise of salvation is drowned out by the imminent threat above me.

“Stop!” I gasp, the word a mere whisper from my parched throat. William’s hot breath reeks of malice as he leans in, unyielding to the chaos that begins to unfold outside. My vision blurs, a searing pain radiating from where his fist had collided with my skull moments before. “Please…”

His weight shifts forward, and I use the last of my waning strength to twist beneath him, desperate to evade his touch. But I’m like a wilted flower caught in the merciless grip of a storm, too weak, too broken. He’s relentless—my resistance only fueling his dark desire.

“Adelaide, so sweet and defiant,” he mocks, his lips brushing against my ear, sending shivers of revulsion down my spine. “But it’s game over for you.”

I can scarcely breathe, let alone scream, as I muster what’s left of my will and push against the hardwood. Splinters bite into my palms, but the pain is nothing compared to the terror that clenches my heart. Clawing desperately, I inch away, any progress insignificant under his looming shadow.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His grip tightens in my hair, yanking me back toward the hell I’m trying to escape.

“Help me,” I whimper, knowing it’s futile, that no one can hear me over the crescendo of violence drawing nearer.

Then, suddenly, the world erupts into chaos at the doorway. The banging below us crescendos into a deafening roar of forced entry. I dare to lift my head, eyes wild with fear and fading hope, as the commotion reaches us, invading this very room, this very moment of despair.

In the periphery of my fading consciousness, shadows move, a dance of light and dark, and the grip in my hair loosens ever so slightly. I keep clawing, dragging my body across the floor, inch by painful inch, away from the monster that looms over me.

I don’t have much left in me, but those words ignite the tiniest spark of resolve. I will not go quietly into the darkness that seeks to consume me. Not now, not ever.

Stale air catches in my throat, fear clenching my heart like a vice as the doorway fills with a towering figure clad in tactical gear. My pulse hammers in my ears; every instinct screams to flee, but my body is leaden, unresponsive. The figure’s gun is raised, steady and ominous—a harbinger of more violence or perhaps an unlikely salvation.

“Snowflake!” Dre’s voice slices through my panic, sharp and desperate. His silhouette materializes from the shadows behind the armed stranger, a dark angel manifesting from my most fervent prayers.

“Let her go!” The command is a thunderous boom, a sound that carries with it the weight of authority and an unspoken promise of retribution.

William’s vile snarl cuts short as Dre barrels into the room, a force of nature unleashed. He collides with William, tackling him with a wrathful ferocity that sends them both crashing to the ground. I’m free from William’s grasp, but I can’t move, can’t look away from the carnage unfolding before me.

Dre’s fists fly, each blow punctuated by a curse or a growl, his rage palpable and terrifying. William grunts, tries to shield himself, but he’s no match for Dre’s relentless assault. Blood spatters, and I see crimson stains on Dre’s knuckles—William’s blood.

“Get what you deserve,” Dre snarls, each word a venomous strike as he pummels William without mercy. His ice-blue eyes blaze with a fire that chills me to my core, revealing the scars of his own battles, the pain he’s carried.

“Stop… Dre,” I rasp, the words barely escaping my lips, but he doesn’t hear me. Or he does, and he can’t stop—not yet. Not until the threat is utterly vanquished, until there’s no question that I’m safe from the monster who dared claim me as his own.

I feel the weight of the man’s gaze before I dare to look up. The figure in tactical gear lowers his weapon, steps towards me with a cautious grace that belies his bulk. My muscles coil, ready to recoil from any touch, but he stops short and kneels, keeping a respectful distance.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, voice muffled behind his mask. His hand reaches out, hesitates when I flinch, then slowly pulls away the layers hiding his face. Goggles first, then the mask, revealing a ruggedly handsome face etched with concern. “Name’s Ranger. I work for Mason,” he explains, eyes softening. “Your boys have been tearing the city apart looking for you.”

Relief trembles through my veins, but it’s laced with an ache for the faces not yet seen. That’s when Chess bursts into the room, Saint right on his heels.

“Enough!” Saint bellows, but it’s white noise, lost in the maelstrom of fury that Dre has become. Still, I watch, transfixed by the violent grace of his retribution, the righteous anger of a man pushed beyond his limit.

“Addy!” Chess exclaims, his dark hair a wild halo around his head, eyes frantic until they find mine. He wraps himself around me, rocking. “Thank God,” he breathes, his heart hammering against my cheek. “I’m so sorry, Addy. We’re so sorry. I love you, and I swear—I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

Saint’s hands are iron clamps on Dre’s shoulders, pulling him back from William, who lies motionless and bloodied. Saint’s dark curls seem to absorb the dim light, his presence a force field of protection as he works to restrain Dre’s fury.

Dre breaks free of Saint’s grip, his movements wild and erratic. There’s blood on his knuckles, a testament to the violence he’s just unleashed. He storms over to me, his ice-blue eyes blazing with an untamed fire, a stark contrast to the dark tattoos that crawl up his arms like tendrils of smoke.

“Addy,” he breathes out, his voice laced with a frenzied edge. He cups my face with his bloodied hands, staining my skin crimson. I flinch at the contact, the world spinning as he presses his lips to mine in a bruising kiss. My mind screams to push him away, to fight back, but my body betrays me, too dazed to resist the chaos of sensations.

Saint’s voice is a thunderclap that shakes the foundations of the hellish room. “Sign it, William!” His fingers dig into a stack of papers, thrusting them toward the crumpled figure beneath him. William’s face, a canvas of bruises and defeat, glares up at Saint, defiance flickering in his swollen eyes.

“Addy, stay with me,” Dre pleads, and I realize he’s not just speaking to me—he’s speaking to himself, too. “Stay with me.”

And I do. I stay, because somewhere in that tempest of darkness, I see the light of Dre’s love for me, fierce and unwavering. And I cling to it, even as the world blurs at the edges, even as I wonder if this, too, is just the prelude to another kind of darkness.

“Chess, get her out of here,” Saint commands, his voice rough with urgency, but also something else—fear? Concern?