His Dirty Massage Secret - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading His Dirty Massage Secret, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of His Dirty Massage Secret.
I feigned a sprint forward, then ducked sharply into the restroom on my right, slamming the door shut and twisting the lock.
Damian Royston's voice thundered from the hallway, raw with fury: "You think you can run from me tonight, bitch?"
Vincent Lowell descended the stairs, murmuring something to his cousin—no doubt filling him in on the chaos upstairs.
A brutal kick rocked the door, the wood groaning under the force. Damian let out a guttural snarl before his footsteps stormed back up the steps.
I exhaled—shaky but relieved. With the key in my grip, they couldn't just barge in.
My cheek pressed against the baby's, tears burning my vision.
Then Damian's voice cut through again, sharp with alarm: "Gwendolyn's phone is gone!"
Vincent's suspicion was poison: "That little slut must have it."
Panic edged Damian's tone: "Did she call the cops? What the hell do we do now?"
A beat of icy silence. Then Vincent's voice, colder than steel: "Break the damn door down."
The assault began—each crash against the wood sent shockwaves through my ribs.
The upper glass panel fractured first, cracks spreading like veins under the relentless pounding.
Damian's threats slithered through the splintering wood: "You really think you're walking away from this?"
The bathroom was tight, but there was one way out—a narrow window above the toilet. I climbed onto the porcelain tank, my elbows just reaching the sill.
I bundled the baby against my back, securing her with my jacket, then heaved the window open. My muscles screamed as I clawed for the ledge.
Then—crash.
The door's glass shattered inward.
I was halfway out when Vincent's arm shot through the broken pane, twisting the lock.
I braced to jump—but his fingers clamped around my wrist like a vise.
His face twisted as he hauled me back, my arm scraping against the rough windowsill.
"The police are coming," I gasped. "Give up now, and maybe they'll go easy on you."
Vincent's laugh was hollow. "After all this, you think we're letting you walk away? You caused this mess!"
A prickle of dread coiled in my gut. Where was Damian? His absence from the doorway screamed danger.
I whipped my head around—just in time to see him charging from the shadows outside.
My breath locked in my throat. Trapped between them, inside and out, there was no way out.
So I bit down—hard.
Vincent howled as my teeth sank into his hand. Blows hammered my skull, but I held on until the metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth—then tore free.
His recoil sent me tumbling to the ground—right into Damian's path.
He loomed over me, lips curled in disgust. "Look at you," he spat, his saliva hitting my cheek. "Not even worth the dirt on my shoes. We gave you everything, and this is how you repay us?"
Behind me, Vincent's silhouette vanished from the window. I knew he'd be outside any second.
Damian Royston's voice thundered from the hallway, raw with fury: "You think you can run from me tonight, bitch?"
Vincent Lowell descended the stairs, murmuring something to his cousin—no doubt filling him in on the chaos upstairs.
A brutal kick rocked the door, the wood groaning under the force. Damian let out a guttural snarl before his footsteps stormed back up the steps.
I exhaled—shaky but relieved. With the key in my grip, they couldn't just barge in.
My cheek pressed against the baby's, tears burning my vision.
Then Damian's voice cut through again, sharp with alarm: "Gwendolyn's phone is gone!"
Vincent's suspicion was poison: "That little slut must have it."
Panic edged Damian's tone: "Did she call the cops? What the hell do we do now?"
A beat of icy silence. Then Vincent's voice, colder than steel: "Break the damn door down."
The assault began—each crash against the wood sent shockwaves through my ribs.
The upper glass panel fractured first, cracks spreading like veins under the relentless pounding.
Damian's threats slithered through the splintering wood: "You really think you're walking away from this?"
The bathroom was tight, but there was one way out—a narrow window above the toilet. I climbed onto the porcelain tank, my elbows just reaching the sill.
I bundled the baby against my back, securing her with my jacket, then heaved the window open. My muscles screamed as I clawed for the ledge.
Then—crash.
The door's glass shattered inward.
I was halfway out when Vincent's arm shot through the broken pane, twisting the lock.
I braced to jump—but his fingers clamped around my wrist like a vise.
His face twisted as he hauled me back, my arm scraping against the rough windowsill.
"The police are coming," I gasped. "Give up now, and maybe they'll go easy on you."
Vincent's laugh was hollow. "After all this, you think we're letting you walk away? You caused this mess!"
A prickle of dread coiled in my gut. Where was Damian? His absence from the doorway screamed danger.
I whipped my head around—just in time to see him charging from the shadows outside.
My breath locked in my throat. Trapped between them, inside and out, there was no way out.
So I bit down—hard.
Vincent howled as my teeth sank into his hand. Blows hammered my skull, but I held on until the metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth—then tore free.
His recoil sent me tumbling to the ground—right into Damian's path.
He loomed over me, lips curled in disgust. "Look at you," he spat, his saliva hitting my cheek. "Not even worth the dirt on my shoes. We gave you everything, and this is how you repay us?"
Behind me, Vincent's silhouette vanished from the window. I knew he'd be outside any second.
End of His Dirty Massage Secret Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to His Dirty Massage Secret book page.