Page 56 of Defiant
I had no smart remarks left. There was nothing to say, and no way to get out of this. Don’t get me wrong—the moment one of those goons stepped closer to me, I’d lash out, try to fight, but being realistic, I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep them off me.
I was fucked, and I hated everyone at this fucking school. Where was Dante when I needed him to kick some ass and stab some jocks?
His two friends came at me, on both sides. I took a few steps back, my spine slamming into the lockers behind me as they each grabbed an arm. I pulled, I struggled, I did everything I could to break free, but there was no getting out of this. There was no escape. I could scream, but that was assuming someone would be walking by in the hall, hear, and actually care enough to come in.
No one in this school cared about me. Not really. Not about the real me, and knowing I was so alone hurt.
They held onto me with a strength I simply could not match, and even with the adrenaline, the fear pumping through my body, I was no match. How could I be? This was a game nature had rigged in the opposite direction.
I should scream. I should call for help. I should do something besides futilely struggle against Jock 1 and Jock 2.
The blonde who’d dragged me here flashed a smile as he walked closer, and I met his smile with one of my own, though I was pretty sure I looked more like a rabid animal than anything. He sauntered over to me, eyeing me up appreciatively, like he’d hit the jackpot of victims. A pretty girl, all alone, his friends nearby to help him and then take part after he’d had me first.
“Awe,” the blonde spoke, “loosen up. This is going to be fun.”
Maybe for him, but not so much for me.
He stood less than two feet from me, and as his friends chuckled beside me, I did the only thing I could think of to do, given my proximity to the blonde. His friends might’ve been holding back my arms, but my legs were still free. I wasn’t on the ground yet.
With everything I had in me, I swung a foot off the ground, lifting my right leg up as fast and as strong as I could, putting everything behind the swing. The blonde jock hadn’t expected that, and the moment my foot collided with his precious jewels, he fell back and buckled over, almost immediately turning blue in the face as he winced and generally failed to shake it off.
“Fuck,” he muttered, grasping those precious bits between his legs. His look turned murderous. “Get her on the ground.”
The two behind me complied with the blonde’s order, and I was forced down. The other jocks knelt over my arms, pulling them taut. It took a few moments for the blonde to overcome the pain in his sack—and I bet it wasn’t truly gone yet, but he’d power through the pain like a trooper to make sure I knew my place here.
Hint, it was apparently on the gross and grimy floor.
“You’re going to regret that, bitch,” the blonde muttered, kneeling over me as he worked on his pants. All of my struggling was for nothing; the two guys holding me down would not let up. Within a moment, his pants were down, just his boxers left.
My eyes stared holes in the ceiling when I felt his grubby fingers move to start working on my pants. To be honest, never did I hate the feeling of my pants being yanked down more. Even when I was with Archer, it didn’t feel like this. It wasn’t like this. That was me making a mistake, but I’d wanted it, wanted him.
This? No one in their mind would want this, save for the three rapists holding me down.
A cold blast of air swept between my legs when my panties were pulled down, and I fought the urge to shiver and squeeze my thighs shut. No amount of thigh-squeezing would stop this.
“What?” the blonde sneered. “Not going to scream? Not even going to try to cry for help?” His shoulders shook with laughter. “Not like anyone would come—”
I swear, the next few seconds took years to pass by. My eyelids shut, and I wrestled with the feeling of helplessness, knowing there was nothing I could do. All I knew was, I was literally going to kill that bitch.
But then, before anything could happen, before the blonde jock could stick anything in me, someone else burst through the locker room door—two someones, actually. One concerned face, and another trying to keep him out. Another jock who was supposed to keep guard just outside, apparently, and someone who thought it was his business to get in here, anyways.
I’d give you one guess as to who the intruder was, one guess to pick who it had to be. Not Vaughn, not Dante and his switchblade—the one person I didn’t really care to see ever again, not after what he did to me, and certainly not after dismissing me this past weekend yet again.
Archer. He’d looked better, bits of his face bruised from his little tiff with Dante. Still, even though I shouldn’t be, I was happy to see him. Happy only in that he had interrupted something terrible.
“Man, just leave,” the fourth boy was telling him. “Isn’t your girlfriend waiting for you?” He tried to block what was happening, but Archer pushed him aside.
“What the fuck, Ryan,” Archer swore as the blonde on top of me—apparently Ryan—fumbled to get off me.
Ryan was hurriedly trying to put himself away. “Look, this isn’t any of your business. Just turn around and walk away—”
Archer’s hands were fists at his side, and he managed to sound ridiculously intimidating as he growled out, “The only way I’m going to walk out of here is if Jaz comes with me. It’s over, dude.”
It was a moment before Ryan rolled his eyes, gesturing for the two holding my arms down to get off me. The minute my arms were free, I yanked my pants up and buttoned my jeans, still caught between Ryan’s buddies and Ryan himself.
“The bitch has it coming,” Ryan spat out. “This isn’t over.” And yet, even with his whispered threat, he stepped aside, letting me away from his friends. Me. I was the bitch he was talking about, as if I’d done something personal to him and his friends.
Goddamn it. I hadn’t done anything except hook up with Archer. These insane kids needed to get a grip on reality and realize shit happened—that didn’t give them a right to try to rape me. I was furious.
