What
do you do when the man who raped you has the entire police force in his
pocket? When you’re called a slut, a whore, and a liar? You get your
own justice.
My
name is Nami DeGrace, and six months ago I was a normal college
student. I was volunteering on the campaign of a man I believed in, a
man I thought to be good and noble. Then one night that man forced
himself on me and everything changed.
The
media reviled me. The police didn’t believe me. My friends abandoned
me. I dropped out of college and only have one mission in life: make him
pay. That is, until Nick Law came in to my life.
Indomitable, infuriating, and irresistible, Law is complicating things.
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Another knock sounded on the door and I burrowed farther into my couch. If it couldn’t hear me, then it couldn’t get me, right?
“Nami
open your door! It’s me, Law!” I perked up a bit, looking at my door
with less hostility and more interest. Why was Law here? Still, my
interest was not enough to get me off the couch. Law was persona non grata in the DeGrace house.
“Go away!” I yelled, curling myself in blankets.
“I will stay here and wake up all of your neighbors if you don’t let me in!”
“Go
ahead!” I yelled back. “They hate me anyway!” Silence radiated through
the wood, and I hoped that Law had decided against staying. When I’d all
but settled back into my alcohol-induced comfort, I heard something
truly disturbing.
Singing.
Loud, operatic singing.
I
could hear Law clearly through my door, though the language was
unknown. He was bellowing the notes, his voice getting higher and
louder. It was beautiful, but it was also incredibly annoying. I didn’t
mind him waking up my neighbors—they’d been less than kind to me; I did
mind, however, my neighbors calling the police. I didn’t want to deal
with the police. Ever again, if I could help it.
I
opened my door, angry, slightly tipsy, and using my blanket as a cape.
Law didn’t stop singing even though I opened the door. He continued, his
voice an operatic majesty that did not belong in my hallway. He even gesticulated with his hands.
“Stop!”
I yelled. Law continued to sing, gesturing at my apartment that I
blocked with my body. I glared furiously at him as I let him enter my
apartment. He only stopped his song when I closed the door behind us.
“What
the hell was that?” I fumed, trying to block him farther entry into my
apartment. If I could keep him contained to just the entryway, then I
technically hadn’t lost.
“Puccini. Madama Butterfly.”
I scoffed and, remembering why I hated Law, got to the point. “Why did you come here?”
“I
decided that I do care what you think of me.” Before I could respond,
Law pulled me in both arms and kissed me on the mouth, hard.
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