Bitter Angel by Megan Hand Page A

yourself.”
    In less than a second, his face was at my shoulder, the blade pressing to my neck, moving slowly up my jaw. He spoke in a near whisper. “I would really hate to ruin such a pretty face, but I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again.”
    The dark truth in his words made me gulp. With the sharp end of the blade still shoved against my skin, he began kissing my neck. The tub was filling with icy water, and I was sure my breath was rancid. He must’ve lost his concentration.
    “So worth waiting for you to wake up,” he mumbled. “Fighters are much more fun.”
    My mind went to work, panicked but swift. I let his lips work around my ear and waited for his grasp to loosen on the knife. Weak as I am, I might be able to get out and shut him in the bathroom, then I could—
    As I felt my window opening, I retched again, vomiting what little liquid was left in me but mostly dry heaving. It all landed on Alpha. Startled, he leaned back and lost his footing. The knife sliced across my cheek. My eyes stung with fresh tears as I gasped and pressed a hand to the cut. It wasn’t deep, but it was long.
    Alpha’s bloodshot eyes were wide and enraged. “Shit!” He wiped my spit off his face and sneered at me. “That’s what you get.” He stood up. The knife hung at his side. “Screw this. I’ll go fuck your friends.”
    At the thought of him on top of Heather or Nilah, I leapt to my feet, grabbing the rotting shower curtain for support. “No!” I swiped at him with my free hand, the other still clamped to my face. “I’ll do anything.” I meant it this time. Sort of.
    “Sorry, baby, you missed your chance.” His grin was back. “When I come back later, it won’t be fun.”
    As he pulled away from me, I slipped and toppled over the porcelain side of the tub, taking the shower curtain with me. My entire left side smacked against the cheap tile floor that looked like it was a hundred years old. Grime from the floor scraped the unwounded side of my face.
    “Please,” I begged.
    But he was already turning, his retreating figure swimming in and out of focus. The volume of the music and voices amped up, a thundering bass under me, then it went quiet again as the door slammed shut.
    On the floor, tears ran fast and hard down my good cheek and the hand covering my bloody cheek. As much as I wanted to retreat to a nice, numb spot in my brain, I wouldn’t let myself. I had to stay here, in the now. I had to escape.
    Hearing the door squeak open and softly close again, I silenced myself. The bed creaking was the only sound for a minute. I twisted around to see Trigger sitting there, hands folded in his lap. He wasn’t looking at me. Another zip tie hung from his fingers.
    I let go of my face, hoping the blood was clotting. I didn’t dare catch my reflection in the cracked glass of the bathroom mirror. On my knees, I braced my fingers against the wall to stand. Weepiness was just under the surface. I felt sick, weak, pitiful, and stupid. Maybe taking the tough girl approach wasn’t so smart after all.
    “What did you give me earlier?” I asked him. “What did you give my friends?”
    I was treading carefully in the bathroom doorway. Maybe if I could get him to tell me what it was, I could rewind to freshman chem class. As a pre-med major, I should know something! If you were to ask me what all the branches and nerves of the nervous system are, I’d tick them off in seconds. But chemistry? I’m not inept, but I’m sure there’s a word close to that with a picture of me next to it.
    Still…
    He remained silent, whipping the zip tie around like a lasso.
    I had to know what was going on, but I didn’t want Alpha coming back in, so I kept my voice low. “What are they doing out there? What the hell is this?”
    He didn’t speak, didn’t move.
    In the stillness, I visually measured the distance from where I was to the window that was to the left of the bed. One look out showed me a wall of windows recessed