Page 14 of The Game

Emmeline

Terrified, I kicked out, my other leg constrained by a horrible, brutish man. I caught him in the chest with my heel, but he only laughed and grabbed that shin, too, using the motion to spread my legs wide.

His reddened eyes gleamed. “Look at that, lads. Look at the sight of my woman’s pretty pink cunt glistening for me.”

“Who says she’s yours? Got your dick in her yet?” one of his cronies jeered.

“Give me a fucking chance.”

He grappled me and took a fistful of my dress, wrenching it so the material tore in a sharp split up my thigh.

A shove rocked him from behind.

He whipped around to push back.

It was enough for me to free my leg and twist over. Not that there was anywhere for me to go. Horror and disgust almost froze me up, but I couldn’t submit. I couldn’t just lie there and let him or any of them take me.

I’d lost my mind in signing up for this thing. It only worked if the right man was the one doing the catching. This bastard clearly wasn’t.

Another man dove at him and caught him around the throat with his forearm. I couldn’t see him. Couldn’t make out anything about him, only that his act meant my captor released me entirely to take on his attacker. This helped me none. He still blocked my recessed doorway with his bulk so I could do nothing but scuttle back as far as I could. I tugged my shredded hem down and fought to control a wave of sheer dread.

Suddenly, my attacker stumbled and fell, out of sight of me, but revealing my curled-up body to a pack that had formed outside.

A skinny, shaven-headed man launched at me and grabbed my wrist. In a second, I was over his shoulder, and he whirled around. He didn’t get two steps away from my hiding spot before someone else sucker-punched him in the belly.

He dropped me.

I landed on my backside, unhurt and determined to run.

Several things became apparent at once. A huge gang of what had to be every remaining man had filled the corridor, shouts and arguments filling the air. My red-eyed attacker was on the floor being pummelled by a bigger contestant even than him. One with rage in his eyes. One who made my heart sing and hope bloom in my chest.

It was Malachi. Somehow here. Somehow in the fight.

He was so big. His thick arm muscles rippled under inkwork that spread over his bulky torso then disappeared beneath the waistband of soft blue jeans. Though his face was hidden under a skeleton bandanna, I knew the tattoo at his temple and how it connected to his throat. I’d studied his features so well.

Just as quickly, my hope died.

Hands grasped me from the melee, pulling me in several directions at once. I bucked and kicked. Fingers dug into my arms, pain resounding. With a rip, my black dress was torn from me, and I wrenched at the constraining grips to hide my nakedness, but I had no chance against one man, let alone five or ten.

Finally, I found my voice. “Malachi,” I screamed.

He raised his head from his furious beatdown.

“Malachi Hunan?” someone breathed. Whoever said it dropped his hold on me.

“Thought he wasn’t taking part,” another added.

A face appeared over mine. Another determined stranger. “Hold her legs,” he ordered the others as he unbuttoned his jeans.

“No!” I yelped.

He couldn’t. If he managed, I’d be his, and everything would be wrong.

Malachi gave a roar and came up swinging. An avenging angel, he shoved through the mass, throwing a guy who blocked his path aside like he weighed nothing.

“Mine,” he snarled.

Yes. His. Only his. I tried to free myself and managed to get to my feet, my ruined dress falling away altogether and leaving me completely naked. Three men fought over the shredded material like a pack of wolves over meat while others grabbed for me, pawing my hip, my waist, my breast. I should’ve felt shame at my nudity, but every other emotion, the fear, the terror, all left me.

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