He’s a bastard, not the sweet, easily manipulated older man he seemed to be, and he’s bloody strong. I’m thrashing about to fight him off, but he chokes me with a sudden grab, and I grasp at his fingers around my throat, clawing to catch my breath, instantly unable to swallow or breathe. Half coughing in a bid to get some air into my lungs.

Being held by the throat seems to be the universal way to control a woman, and it triggers more of my fight-to-the-death instinct.

I ...