Page 86 of Knockout Queen

“No!” I cry out. I think of every move I know. I twist and turn. I buck my hips. I struggle. I fight like I’ve never fought before. I rebel against the pain radiating from my hand and the scrapes on my thigh. Every class I took comes down to this. Every tear I shed from the pain comes down to this. Every win in the ring means nothing if this happens to me.

“Look at her go, boys.”

Humiliation slaps me. I have nowhere to go. I have nothing else to give. I’ll never stop, but it’s useless. There are three of them, and I’m only me.

Only me.

I sob. Choked breaths burst from my chest.

“Now I’m really disappointed,” K says. “I wanted that smart mouth.”

I yank at my hands. I move my feet. They’ve done this before. They know exactly where to hold me so I won’t move, but more to their advantage, where K can do his thing and there’s nothing I can fucking do about it.

K rubs his thumb over the apex of my thighs. I stare up at the ceiling. I’m still thrashing. I’m still trying. I’ll never fucking stop, but I allow myself not to feel. I retreat within.

K moves off me, yanking at the top of my joggers. I kick out, hitting him solidly in the gut. He roars and lunges for me. He punches me square in the jaw, but I keep kicking despite the new shock of pain. I know for sure I hit him in the dick at least once because he punches me again and again. The two guards tag team to help. They hold my hips down as K tears my joggers down, taking skin with it.

I whimper when the fresh air hits me. I know it’s done. It’s over. The last barrier between this not happening and it definitely happening was just removed.

“Fuck!” K screams.

Everything stops. I blink. The guards stare down at K, so I slowly move my gaze that way.

“You bitch!”

He throws my feet to the side, but not before I see what made him so angry. I got my period. Blood stains the crotch of my panties.

He punches me again, and my head lulls to the side, and my vision darkens. He drags me off the bed, and I drop unceremoniously to my ass. My joggers are around my ankles, and my shirt is wide open, still revealing my bra.

“Fucking women,” K fumes. “Get her sorry ass out of my sight and bring me Victoria.”

The two guards come around the side of the bed and haul me to my feet. They drag me from the room. All I can manage are tiny, agonizing footsteps with my clothes around my ankles, so they end up taking all my weight. Pain blooms over my face in different areas, and I can’t help but be grateful. I’d rather have gotten the shit kicked out of me than been raped by that fucking— Scratch that. Than raped at all.

“Take her to the fucking cells,” K roars after us. “And I want Victoria now!”

I’ve never been happier to be a menstruating woman than this very moment.

And what a fucking bastard. Scared of a little period blood. It’s no wonder Johnny’s mom left him.

The guard on my left opens K’s suite door and they drag me out. Other guards line the hall who don’t mind taking their fill of my bare ass, bloody underwear, and bruised face. None of them make a sound, and I’ve never wanted to burn down the Crew’s world more than I do right now.

Magnum had better come up with a plan.

36

Iwake on the floor of the cell in the basement with stiff bones and a sore face. Last night when they brought me down, it was dark, and I was too emotional to look around. This morning—or whatever time it is—a single light blinks on and off, revealing where I spent the night.

Outside the cell I’m in, it looks like a regular basement. Cement block walls. The furnace is off to the right. There are tubs of brightly colored storage containers stacked ceiling high next to it. I pull myself off the stone floor and scramble back when I notice the stains. Bleach has definitely been poured on these floors over and over again, but the ring right in front of me is unmistakable. They probably brought Glo here, and this is probably where she died, too.

Now, I’m here.

I look around to gather my surroundings because at one point, I’d been interested in where they were taking Glo, but not anymore. Literal metal, cylindrical bars are spaced six inches apart from ceiling to floor all around me, giving me a six by six-foot space. There’s no bed. No toilet. No sink. In the corner though, I spy a package of sanitary napkins, a fresh pair of underwear, and two pills.

My heart warms. Magnum did this.

I can only imagine what kind of mess I’ve made of my clothes, but I swear as long as I live, I’ll never fucking bitch about my period again. It’s a fucking gift.

I crawl to the package and lower my black joggers. Thankfully, they’re a dark color. Yanking them off, I quickly pull on the new underwear, place a pad on top, and then pull the joggers back up. I stare at the two pills before popping them one-by-one into my mouth and swallowing them with a mouthful of spit. I can only hope the pain reliever kicks in soon because I feel like I’ve been through a garbage compactor.

---