Less than Perfect, S. J. Evans [classic literature books txt] 📗

aching to retaliate. She wanted to be saved, with every last nerve she had.
Before she could move away or object, Johnny leapt off of the bed, tugged her to him by her wrists, and grabbed something out of his jean pocket. Shaking his head, he muttered curses under his breath and pulled on the wire that was now in his hand.
Skye, having lifted her head up to see what he was doing, gasped and mumbled incoherent apologies. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the wire, fear and desperation keeping her in a chokehold.
“I—I’m not going to fight you anymore, Johnny,” she whispered. “I swear. Just please, please don’t hurt anyone I care about.” Her words were quiet, desperate pleads, desiring for nothing more than a little mercy. No one else deserved to get hurt because of her actions.
“I won’t,” he confirmed, gruffly. “But that doesn’t mean I still don’t trust you anymore. I want to be sure you don’t fight me, Skylar. And this,”—he held out the wire, stooping down to her level with the crafting tool spread in front of her face—“this

is my assurance that you won’t escape me.”
She bit her tongue, fighting screams, as he flipped her over and yanked her arms behind her back, tying the wire around her wrists as a restraint. She cried into the sheets of the bed, her whimpers and pleads muffled from the silk. Her heart pounded with fear, the beat pulsing against her neck. He was about to get what he wanted.
Once the bonds were strong and tied around her wrists, she closed her eyes as he let go of her, the pain and humiliation unbearable. She could feel his hot breath against the skin of her back, ragged and heavy. Faintly, she heard a zipper and cried into the sheets in agony, understanding what it meant came next for her. She tried to move away from him, but it was a lost cause with her hands bound behind her.
There was a voice behind the door again, loud and anxious, but she couldn’t decode who it was or what he was saying. Desperate, she managed to move into the middle of the bed, her wobbly and weak legs struggling against the bedding. She didn’t make a sound, even though every part of her wanted to scream and cry out.
Before she could get any further away from Johnny, she felt strong, cold fingers grabbing her shoulder and pushing her into the mattress as it moaned from the new weight on the bed. She squeezed her eyes shut, tightly, and avoided looking him in the eyes. She couldn’t look at the monster that was tearing her world apart, piece by piece of it.
Off in the distance, she heard loud thudding, unable to place where it was coming from. Against her own better judgment, knowing that she wasn’t supposed to fight against Johnny, she tried to squirm under his weight, digging her back and hips into the bed as far as she could. She didn’t want him to do anything more, he’d already abused her enough. But he confirmed her fears when he grabbed her hips, crushed his lips against hers, and pulled her upwards, closer to him.
She whimpered at his harsh movements; the agony of guilt, humiliation, and pain, all overwhelming her into a dark abyss that was her reality. That was all she could take—there was no more fight left in her. She gagged, tasting the bitterness of alcohol in his breath, and fell limp in his arms, her body betraying what her mind now wanted. She wanted to fight; but it was all too much to handle for her beaten and invaded body.
His lips parted from hers, retreating down to the crook of her neck, nipping at the flesh. Skye squirmed a little, discomfort and pain crawling in her skin, and let the tears pour down her face. She wasn’t ashamed of her tears. They were, in her mind, a sign that she’d tried all she could and was only too overpowered by the beast to hold them back. She was sure she’d done everything she could to fight him.
“Now you’ll be mine,” Johnny whispered against her cold, slightly damp skin. “Forever.”
His voice gave her chills, her body shuddering in his tight grip. She felt his fingers slide into the elastic of her panties, his “punishment” about to be fulfilled, and let out another quivering sob. This is it, the beginning of an end, she thought bitterly, choking on the distaste in her mouth. Uncomfortable

couldn’t explain how she felt in that moment, waiting for the extent of his assault. No, she felt miserable

—used, empty, and utterly disgusted. Nothing could heal what he’d battered.
And just when she thought he was going to do it, strip her of her innocence, something else happened.
Her bedroom door crashed in, along with her knight in shining armor.
Johnny, surprised by the incident, let go of her hips and pinned her to the bed by her shoulders instead, looking over his shoulder for the knight. His body tensed up, the grip he had on her shoulders tightening. He cursed, sneering at the boy who’d seemed to fall to the ground upon impact.
Skye tried to move, tried to get a look at the boy’s face, imagining Jules’s bold emerald eyes searching frantically for hers, but she couldn’t, Johnny’s grip was too firm. Pain flared in her arms, causing her to cry out a little. She felt the muscles tearing, breaking under the pressure of a position that was never meant to be used. She wanted to say something, whether it was to be a cry for help or another plead for Johnny’s mercy, she didn’t know, but also didn’t have the chance to find out.
Before she had time to even gasp for air, Johnny’s hand covered her mouth and nose again, cutting off good air supply. She squirmed, trying to maneuver her way around for air, but her bound hands were keeping her at Johnny’s hand. The pain became too much and she screamed in agony, the sound muffled but high-pitched.
Johnny still wasn’t looking at her, only the boy she couldn’t see. “If you don’t leave now, her death will be at your hands,” he warned the boy. And in one quick movement, he rolled off the bed, grabbed Skye by her bound wrists, and tucked her in a chokehold between his arm and chest.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he spat.
Skye could see him now, the boy that had come to her rescue, dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt. Behind her tears, she saw the dark, tousled hair, the pale skin, the bright blue-grey eyes staring back at her. He didn’t look frazzled or nervous, only thoughtful. He didn’t seem to fear the situation around him at all, something she could only imagine Jules would do.
“I wouldn’t think about it,” Victor said. His eyes lingered on Skye for a moment before flicking back up to Johnny’s. “Let her go, sir, you wouldn’t want to hurt her any more than you already have. She’s your stepdaughter, practically yours.”
“Don’t be giving me orders, pest!” Johnny bellowed, tightening the hold he had around Skye’s neck. “If you so much as come one step closer I’ll kill you, and then her. But not before I get what I wanted from her. She’s mine, I own

her, so you better stay away before I do something you’ll regret.”
Skye couldn’t breathe—her neck and body throbbing in pain as the air in her lungs started to deteriorate. Her mind grappled onto what Johnny had just spoken, fear, betrayal, and humiliation overwhelming her. She tried to think of an escape, before it was too late and someone got hurt. As much as she didn’t like Victor, she couldn’t stand by and watch him get hurt too.
Doing the only thing that came to mind, she used every ounce of strength she had to stomp on Johnny’s feet. She felt his arm release a little, just enough for her to wiggle out of his grip and sink to the floor. Stumbling to her feet, she managed to get a short distance away before someone slammed her against the foot of the bed, sending her crumbling to the ground. She was gasping for air, sobbing, and had to use what little strength she had left to manage consciousness.
Everything else happened in a blur for her. She heard groans, grunts, growls, sneers—all sorts of sounds, vaguely, as she sat on the floor and wept. Many times, she’d tried getting up to run away from the chaos, but her weak body only failed to follow along. They were fighting, Johnny and Victor, fighting for her

. Victor was trying to protect her, while Johnny was struggling to cut Victor’s life short so that he could “claim” her.
They cursed at each other, grunting in pain many times, and managed to destroy the majority of her room—dressers, lamps, tables, all broken or battered. Eventually, after what seemed to be forever in Skye’s mind, there was a loud crash—a shattering of glass—and someone fell to the floor.
She couldn’t bear to look, afraid that Johnny had taken away her only chance at escape, and instead squeezed her eyes shut and waited for a beating to come. She would have tried to get up again but she knew her body was too incredibly weak to handle it and it would only result in further pain as the bonds at her hands would rub more of her skin raw.
But a beating never came.
Instead, she heard someone’s heavy breathing in the otherwise silent room, and knew by the steadiness of it that it wasn’t Johnny’s. A sob caught in her throat as she felt the sickening presence of him dissipate.
“Victor?” she breathed. She still wouldn’t open her eyes, fearing what lay before her.
Victor made a small sound, one she couldn’t quite decipher, and sighed afterwards, his breathing calm and slow again. “Don’t worry, Skye, he’s out; everything’s going to be okay now.” His voice whispered in the room, the words crisp and clear.
He’s out

, she sighed. I’m safe from him. At least for the time being.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and gasped at the sight before her. Johnny lay on the ground, blood leaking from his nose and sliding down his head as his chest barely moved up and down. There were glass shards all around him, the result of Victor’s strikeout with a jar that once had been beside her dresser. She shivered, frightened yet amazed by the scene before her. Victor came through for her, saved her, even though she’d doubted him.
“Thank you, Victor,” she sobbed, sinking against the cold, hard floor. Restrained and traumatized, she couldn’t do anything more than sob, sob for everything that had just happened to her.
Part of her still couldn’t grasp and fathom that she’d escaped his clutches, Johnny’s dark, powerful clutches, and found safety from someone else. She’d really thought those moments, stuck in Johnny’s grasp, were going to be the end of her. If he had taken the one thing she had left away from her, she figured she’d rather be dead than his victim, the weak damsel that