I’m going to fall. Oh hell, he’s going to kill me.

Panic overrides every inch of training, every rape, every time that prod was set off inside me as I struggle against him, grasping desperately to keep my weight off the railing. It makes another unholy sound as I thrash against it, the fabric of my dress tearing as the metal scrapes and digs into my back. That laugh, oh God. That quiet anger is raging in his eyes as he watches me struggle. There’s no warmth in his hazel depths, no mercy, no life.