Chapter no 13

The Housemaid's Secret (The Housemaid, Book 2)

“Hey.” Xavier’s meaty hand is wrapped tightly around my arm. “Hey!”

I squirm, but his grip is like a vise—he’s stronger than he looks. I open my mouth, ready to scream, but he presses his palm against my lips before any sound can come out. The back of my head slams against the wall, rattling my teeth.

“So now you got something to say?” He smirks at me. “Before you thought you were too good for me though. Isn’t that right?”

I try to shake him off, but he’s pressing his body against me so that I can feel the bulge in his pants. He licks his cracked lips. “Let’s go inside and have some fun, okay?”

He made the mistake of grabbing the wrong arm though. I pull out the can of mace and close my eyes as I empty it right in his face. He screams, and then the second I let go of the nozzle, I shove him as hard as I can.

I’ve always complained about how steep the stairs are in this building, but for once, it works to my advantage as Xavier tumbles down the flight of stairs. At one point, I hear a sickening crack, then a thud as he lands at the bottom. And then silence.

For a moment, I stand at the top of the stairs, staring down at the body sprawled out at the next landing. Is he dead? Did I kill him?

I sprint down the steps, skidding to a halt at the bottom. The can of mace is still in my right hand as I bend down to get a closer look. His chest looks like it’s still rising and falling, and then he lets out a low groan. He’s still alive. I didn’t even knock him entirely unconscious.

Too bad. If anyone deserved a broken neck, it’s this guy. No. It’s probably better he’s not dead.

Impulsively, I pull back my foot and then kick him as hard as I can in the ribs. He moans louder this time. Definitely still alive. I kick him one more time for good measure. And then a third for the road. Every time my sneaker makes contact with his ribs, I smile to myself.

I look down at the next flight of steps. He survived the first flight. I wonder what would happen if he fell down a second flight of stairs. Or maybe a third. He doesn’t even look that heavy. I bet I could roll him over and…

No. God, what am I thinking?

I can’t do this. I spent ten years in prison. I’m not going back there.

I take out my phone and dial 911. I’m going to get my justice, and it won’t be by killing this man.

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