Spent - Part Two (Bad Boy Fighter Book 2) by Elise Holland

Baby,” Derrick finishes as his hulking body barrels towards me.  
    Adrenaline pushes my fear aside long enough to direct my reflexes into action as I try to sidestep him and rush towards my desk. My stomach sinks as he catches me around the waist, tripping me up enough for him to secure me in his arms like a rag doll. Fear overwhelms me when I realize I’m unable to react quickly enough to wrestle free.  
    The world pivots as my body slams roughly into the wall, sending a stabbing pain through my backside. I gasp as the air gets knocked out of me. Derrick’s forearm is suddenly pushing against my chest. Looking up, I stare across the void that is my former boyfriend’s eyes, but I see nothing of the man I once knew in the dark orbs that stare back at me. All I see is madness, and hate.  
    My mind flashes to the last time I saw my father. I felt the same terror then. The same pain in my back when he’d thrown me into a wall. I’d seen the same insane look in his eyes. The difference between now and then is my mother isn’t here. She isn’t here this time to jump on my attacker’s back and scream at me to run.  
    Tasha, RUN!  
    I can still hear her blood curdling scream, but this time I’m alone. My legs want to run, just like they did all those years ago, but I’m pinned against the wall by someone far stronger than I ever imagined.  
    “Do you get wet for him, Tasha?” Derrick slurs as one of his hands trails down along my torso, the other keeping me pinned against the wall.  
    Derrick moves his hand around behind me and begins to feel my bruised backside. Terror fills my loins as I realize his intentions are far worse than just sheer violence. This is a sort of crime I’ve never felt before and it’s far more terrifying than anything my father ever did to me.  
    “Fuck off!” I spit out as I drive my knee upward as fiercely as I can.  
    It’s not a clean connection with my target, but Derrick wails and momentarily releases me from the impact. I shoot to the side, trying my best to move past him as quickly as possible. Hands follow me and rip at my shirt, forcing me to turn about. I back away as quickly as I can, managing to catch myself from falling, as I break free from his grasp.  
    My legs suddenly remember what to do and quickly carry me towards my desk. I tear open the drawer and grab my pocket knife just as Derrick’s massive hands close in around my other arm.
    Closed.
    My phone rings loudly on the desk in front of us, the screen alit with a picture of Luke and I. I use the momentary distraction to bite down on the tiny pocket knife bevel and open the blade with my teeth.  
    Hurry, Luke.  
    I swing the blade frantically in unpracticed arcs, making contact with Derrick’s arm twice before he even realizes I have a weapon. Blood drips from the blade as I draw it back. The wounds are shallow and weak. Derrick spits out incoherent words as he glares at me. His eyes are filled with the bloodlust of his rage.  
    “You little cunt,” he snarls.  
    I realize that I’m going to have to make him hurt in order to survive this. My body flexes to thrust at him in a stabbing motion. Derrick is a professional fighter though, and despite him being drunk, it’s impossible for me to outmaneuver him.  
    His fist flies into my jaw with a sickening crunch before I can react. Pain spreads throughout my face as blood fills my mouth. I feel myself falling down. Derrick’s body quickly jumps on top of me as I make contact with the ground. He twists the tiny blade out of my hand. Tears begin to fall down my cheeks as I stare up into his vicious, dilated eyes.  
    Derrick shifts his gaze to stare incredulously at the sharp blade in his hand. An ocean of fear overcomes me. Even though I used to sleep with this man, and at one point, even thought I loved him, I have no idea what he’s about to do to me. I realize for the first time, I might die here.  
    My thoughts drift to the people I love. My