Page 196 of Breaking Rosalind

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t know.”

Rosalind is naked, save for the scraps of fabric still clinging to her limbs. I scan her body, looking for signs of damage, but see no visible injuries. Not that it makes any difference. Sometimes, the worst injuries are on the inside.

“Don’t touch him,” she growls. “Dr. Daniel is mine.”

A noisy gasp pulls my attention back to the old bastard writhing in a puddle of his own blood. He curls in a ball, clutching his hemorrhaging crotch.

Rosalind grabs the man by the hair and drags him off him to the floor and onto his knees.

“You groomed me.” She delivers each point with a punch. “Manipulated me into thinking I was special. Stole my innocence.”

My brows pull into a frown, and I study the man’s bleeding face. This can’t be Miranda’s father. He’s supposed to have died in an explosion.

A flash of light pulls my attention back to the parking lot, where cars stream in from its entrance. I glance back at Rosalind who rains blows on Dr. Daniel with ruthless precision. Her words drip with years of resentment and repressed rage, each syllable a punch to the gut.

At this rate, someone will call the police. Getting arrested isn’t a big deal, but I don’t need the Moirai knowing that Rosalind is no longer my prisoner. After activating the Lamborghini’s central locking, I step into the back of the van and secure the door.

By now, the man is no longer recognizable

Rosalind pummels his face with a defibrillator paddle. “I’m not a cum dumpster. I’m not a toilet. I’m not a table or a plate. I’m not a toy. Not a pet. Not a pawn.”

The last two statements make me flinch. Is Dr. Daniel a proxy for other abusive men? Men like me?

Any other time, the sight of a beautiful woman splattered in blood would get my cock straining against my zipper, but there’s nothing arousing about Rosalind’s trauma. I’m one of the bastards who contributed to it, and she’s still my captive.

The man hangs limp within her grasp, his body swaying with the force of her blows, which are losing intensity. I step forward with my palms raised, hoping she understands I don’t mean her any harm.

“You’re getting tired, love,” I say, my words soft. “Let me hold him up for you.”

She casts me a weary look, as though considering whether to attack. I don’t want to fight. Rosalind may have more agility, speed, and fighting experience than me, but I have more raw strength. Strength is what it takes to subdue her, but I don’t want her to get any more hurt.

I hold still, waiting for her to decide whether I’m a threat. Instead of lunging at me, she nods, releasing Dr. Daniel to the expanding pool of blood.

Resisting the urge to snap on a pair of gloves, I pick him off the floor and hold him up with my arms hooked beneath his shoulders. Rosalind continues her rant, punctuating her words with blows.

The impact of each strike reverberates through Dr. Daniel’s limp body, but it’s her words that make me wince. The man she’s describing is me.

I abducted her.

I drugged her.

I restrained her.

I cut through her clothes.

I subjected her to sexual torture.

Hell, I’m worse than Dr. Daniel because I went deeper than just her body. I used Rosalind’s daughter as a pawn to manipulate her into obedience. The only reason she’s hanging around is to secure her freedom from my family’s wrath.

The monster she needs to escape is me.

Rosalind pauses mid-punch, crumples to the floor and convulses. Froth bubbles from her lips, and her eyes roll to the back of her head.

I drop the dying man to the floor and trample over his body.

It looks like she’s been drugged.

SEVENTY-EIGHT