Page 63 of Vendetta

I don’t know what Dom and Stevie have up their sleeve, but I need to figure that out, and soon. Stevie isn’t loyal to Devon, and that pisses me off. Devon deserves better, and he needs to know what’s going on in his own ranks. That he can’t trust anyone.

“I need to pee,” I tell George. I haven’t seen Dom at all since he left me here with them, and so far they’ve listened to him, taking shifts to watch over me, bringing me food and water. It’s usually George that I ask to go to the bathroom. Even knowing he’s a rat, for some reason I trust he’s not going to do anything to me.

The looks Danny throws my way every now and again are disgusting. And right now, it’s just the two of them here.

To my horror, Danny says, “I’ll take her.” The intent in his voice is more than obvious.

I shake my head violently. “No, George, you can’t let him do this.”

Danny grasps for the gun at his waist. “I’ll take her.”

George looks at me, swallowing hard, and then he looks away. Fucking low piece of shit. He has known me my whole life.

I steel myself as Danny unlocks the handcuff holding me to the wall, and I get up from the chair, shoulders squared, rubbing my painful wrist with the other hand. I give George one final look of betrayal, and then Danny pushes me toward the door and out of the room, a gun digging into my back.

We walk in tense silence toward the small stuffy bathroom with only one stall, no windows. My head is reeling, trying to figure out how to get out of this. I can’t let him do this to me. I look around the small bathroom, my eyes finding nothing that can help me.

I open the door to the stall and I’m about to close it when he says, “No. Leave it open.”

I slam it shut and turn the lock quickly. His ominous laughter booms through the room as I make use of the toilet.

Okay, think,think,Leighton. There must be something I can do. I curse under my breath as my eyes dart around the bare stall. There’s not even a mirror I could smash and use against him, just plain grey walls.

A knock on the door startles me. “That’s enough time. Come on out, Leighton.”

I turn around and open the door, coming face to face with his gun pointed at my head. He steps back and lowers the gun.

“Now,” he says, approaching me slowly, and I notice the sweat beading on his forehead, “time to play.”

I jerk my hand when he grabs my wrist tightly, bringing it to his crotch and rubbing it over the bulge in his jeans.Oh my God, is all I keep thinking.This is really happening.

“Oh yeah, that’s good, baby,” he says, looking down at my hand as he moves it faster and faster. I’m literally backing away, trying to get put as much distance between us as I can, so much my shoulder starts to hurt. But his grip is too tight and he’s too strong for me. “Do you like that, Leighton?”

I shake my head, unable to speak of terror. The hand holding the gun comes flying out, and he punches me across the face. I can feel my cheek pulsating where he hit me.

“You love it, don’t you, you little whore?”

I nod. What else can I do? If he hits me again, or something worse, there’s no way out. I could pass out. I could get seriously hurt. At least this way I’m conscious, and I can still figure out a way to protect myself.

“Get on your fucking knees!” When I don’t move, he brings the gun under my chin and digs it into my flesh. “I said, get on your fucking knees.”

I get on my knees.

He starts unbuckling his belt, looking at me with disgusting lustful eyes. How can he take pleasure knowing he’s about to rape me?

“You know, when I realized what was going on, that you were fucking that son of a bitch, I was so disappointed in you, Leighton.” He unbuttons his jeans, one excruciating button at a time. ““I really thought you were better than that. But I can’t hold it against you. I know you girls fall for that brooding shit. God knows how much pussy he got just because he’s depressed.” His laughter comes out strangled as he pulls the jeans down together with his boxers and his cock springs out, just inches from my face. “But you should have known better. Now suck it, bitch. See what a real man can give you,” he says, guiding his cock with his hand toward my mouth.

I don’t want to do it. I don’t.

In a desperate move, I reach out with my hand, covering his to stop him. I make eye contact, letting him know I’ll comply with whatever he wants. He moves his hand away and I fight vomit as I grasp his length into my fist.

“That’s right, baby,” he says through a groan as I stroke it one time fast.

And then I snap it sharply, crushing his balls with my other hand. He screams like a fucking girl, the gun clattering to the floor as his hand flies out to hit me again. I scramble away on my knees for the gun, and just shoot, without thinking. Once. Twice. Three fucking times, each echoing in the small space of bathroom. He slumps over me, his jeans around his ankles.

I move his heavy body off me, knowing I’m running out of time before someone comes to check what the gunshots were. I scramble to my feet and punch him in his exposed groin anyway, just for good measure. Fucking son of a bitch rapist asshole.

The gun still in my hand, I run out of the bathroom. I have no idea where I am, what this place is, where to go. I run across the suffocating hallway, and then George comes out from the room they held me in. I raise the gun, grasping it in both my hands and aim it at him.

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