Page 70 of Dealing Dirty
He releases a guttural moan.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, followed by a wash of sorrow. Hazel stuck her neck out for me tonight and this is how I’ve repaid her. Placing us both in the arms of rapists. Or worse—murderers.
Then I think, if Ethan is going to force himself on either of us, I’d rather it be me than Hazel. I’m strong enough to take this. She’s survived one near-raping. I’m not going to let these idiots get their hands on her. There’s nothing I won’t do to stop them.
Ethan’s hands slide over my inner thigh toward the hem of my shorts.
Pendejo.He won’t have me without a fight, even if that means I fight him with arms numb and flailing. I’ll give him hell.
Seconds before I’m about to make a move, a crash sounds from the next room. I nearly rejoice when he snatches his hand away. It’s not clear what the commotion is, but I’m thankful it’s enough to startle my captor.
“I’ll be back,” he whispers to me, caressing my cheek.
The stomp of his boots echo as he swiftly leaves the room, followed by the sound of a bolt and chain sliding home on the other side of the door.
Finally cracking open my sore eyelids, I’m met by a plain white room. The weight of my phone is absent—my one lifeline to the outside world gone. There’s no way for me to know how long I was out once we were taken from Lucky’s, but I try to refresh my scattered memory.
When Hazel and I left The Pound, it was still early evening. Ethan was doing his set, we ordered shots, he ordered more, and then… things get a little hazy.
I count to five hundred twice before I’m able to crane my neck. It takes repeating the count two more times before I’m able to attempt to sit up.
“Ugh, my head,” I groan, pressing weak fingers to my forehead after adjusting my bra and tank top. That was way too close.
The room is barren, save for a lamp and a small cot against the far wall. There’s a pile of clothes by the door and a stack of magazines beside the cot. A skinny door across from the bed opens to a small bathroom with a mirror, but there’s not a single window in sight. My gaze flies straight to the exit. Multiple locks align with the doorjamb, solidifying my hopelessness.
“You fucking idiot!” Someone’s muffled shout crosses the barrier of the space. It’s hard to make out what they’re saying when each sentence collides with other sporadic crashes and bangs.
More pounding has me scooting my ass back into the farthest corner of the small space.
There’s a final cry of pain and then silence.
Sweat gathers under my arms and over my brow. The effects of the alcohol and the other foreign substance subside cripplingly slow. At this rate, I won’t be able to walk for at least another thirty minutes.
The heels of my palms press into my eyes as big, heaping sobs rack my body. “I don’t want to die,” I cry to no one.
Lowering into the fetal position, I hug my knees and gasp for breath while the salty tang of tears floods my mouth.
Why didn’t I just stay?
Derrick would never have let this happen. He would have protected me with his life, exactly as he was trying to do. Because I mean something to him, and whether I want to admit it or not, he means something to me.
And he was right. Alfonzo knew what he was doing when he cornered me. He had every intention of taking advantage of me right under their noses, and he would have worn a smile as he did it.
I swipe at my nose.
He was provoking me. No one in their right mind would try something like that in Jack’s domain. With the gangs, the guys, and the regular muscle walking in and out of there daily, Alfonzo had to have known someone would come swinging.
They didn’t stick around for long the first night I met Alfonzo and Ethan at The Pound. Were they scoping us out and getting eyes on who was friendly? Derrick’s posturing at the fair was awful incriminating, too. Perhaps the two of them recognized him as a threat and knew exactly who to antagonize.
It’s Hazel’s involvement that baffles me.
“Gotta get up, Jules,” I whisper, raising back up to sitting.
Ethan’s whispering promise to have his way with my body ignites a deep fury. I glare a hole through the door as a subtle roar fills my chest. It rises in volume, blaring in my ears and behind my eyes before sewing itself into every muscle fiber.
Juliana Ramirez does not back down.
I am a lioness, I am fierce, and I am going to get us the hell out of here, no matter what it takes.
