Brawler by K.S. Adkins

he brings the knife back into play by running it between my breasts. Between the pain, frustration, and waiting for a cut that never comes, I whimper.
    “Stay silent like a good bitch and listen. Christ, you got an answer for everything,” he says, spitting in my face. “You think a guy like me would ever want anything to do with someone like you long term? Not fucking likely. I mean, you’re hot, but you think you’re better than me, and if I wasn’t getting paid a fuckload of money for what’s in that brain of yours, I would have bounced a long fucking time ago.”
    Running his hand through the blood dripping from my shoulder blades he’s too stoned to stop fucking talking, which works for me, I need to come up with a plan anyway.
    “You think I’m stupid, but I’m not stupid. I paid attention and by doing that I’m getting compensated, so even after the bullshit you pulled having that bitch turn me in, I’ll still sit large. So one last time, where’s your safe?”
    “I don’t have a safe, Briggs.” I start “You know —”
    He punches me square in the chest, causing me to lose my breath. Just as I start to go down, he lifts me back up.
    “You keep your shit in a safe, Macy, I know you fucking do,” he says. Then you can see the wheels turning. “Fuck it, you’re coming with me, then.”
    Grabbing me by my hair he attempts to drag me upstairs to where he thinks my safe is, only it isn’t. Anything to do with my research is stored in the one place no one can take it; inside my head.
    Looking over at Venessa I see she’s still out, so having no other choice, I allow him to take me upstairs.
    Back to my room, my room that he recently destroyed and when he couldn’t find what he was looking for, he jacked off on my 400 thread count sheets, which alone is punishable by death. I don’t have to dig deep to find the hate I feel for him. It’s right there, just below the surface. I’m so sick of being stepped on. I want the chance to be happy, I want Venessa and Rogan to be happy, and I want Jonas in my life, period. That’s all I want, all I need.
    Entering the room he throws me ahead of him, and as I get my balance he’s behind me, grinding. That’s so fucking sick that I had to ask myself what I ever saw in him, then I remind myself he didn’t start out this way. Memory lane is a moot point; he isn’t getting anything tonight, which includes the two things on the menu: my data and my body.
    What he is going to get is a reality check, the second I have an opening.
    “Get on your knees, slut,” he whispers, licking my ear. “You know, for old times’ sake.”
    “Fuck you, Briggs.” I spit at him, a direct challenge
    “You call me Jacob! Jacob! Not Briggs! Jacob!” he yells, tackling me.
    We collide so hard we fall off of the bed with my body landing on his, causing him to lose air, and lucky for me the knife. Before he can recover I scramble, picking it up at the same time he gains his footing.
    Now, we’re both standing, but what do you know? He isn’t charging me.  Maybe it’s the blade resting in the palm of my hand now?
    “Put the knife down,” he says gently. “Give me what I came for and I’ll leave, Macy. I’ll leave and you never have to see me again.”
    “Sure,” I offer. “I’ll put the knife down, but first why don’t you get on your knees so I can utilize my new position, followed by my lower center of gravity when I stab you in the heart. Because Briggs, that’s where this knife is going.”
    “Put the fucking knife down,” he growls. “Open the goddamn safe, bitch. I don’t have time for this.”
    “I didn’t have time to bleed on your behalf either, Briggs,” I spit. “But you know, sometimes you just have to make time. Get on your fucking knees, now!”
    He must have noted the seriousness of my tone because he goes to his knees. Then I instruct him lay down and to put his hands behind his head, he does. Approaching him slowly in case he plans to make