Page 19 of The Immortal's One
I can make it. I know I can.
I'm ten feet away from the sidewalk.
Ten feet from finding someone who can help me when thick, calloused hands wrap around my ankle and pull me to the ground.
“No!”
6
A heavy bodylands on top of me, forcing the air from my lungs and cutting off my scream. Pain rips through me as gravel cuts into my skin.
I’m trapped.
"Help!" I shout, my voice muffled as the man forces my face into the ground. Breathing becomes a struggle. Panic sets in.
I jerk my body from side to side, but every movement only grinds me against the ground, worsening the pain. The weight crushing me doesn’t budge.
A voice I haven't heard before hisses in my ear. Its raspy tone makes my skin crawl. "You hurt my friend. I think he’s ready to return the favor."
The weight above me shifts as the man presses his knee into my back. My ribs protest the pressure, but I can’t do anything but groan. The hand clenching the back of my head continues to press my forehead, nose, and lips into the ground.
“That was a close one,” the man on top of me huffs. “She almost gave you the slip, Sid.”
“Like hell she did,” bad breath, who I surmise is Sid, growls.
A kick connects with my left side. I cry out, but the hand presses me further into the ground, stifling the sound.
I can’t breathe!
“Don’t fucking hurt her, you idiot,” raspy voice barks. “We aren’t supposed to hurt her.”
They aren’t?
What the hell is happening?
The pressure on my head eases slightly. I lift my neck just a fraction, gasping for air with desperate, shallow breaths.
“Sorry, boss. I lost my temper.”
I'm yanked upright by the back of my neck, my head snapping painfully as my vision blurs, disoriented by the sudden motion.
My body sways. I blink hard, trying to clear the haze clouding my sight. Gradually, the three men come into focus, their figures taking shape like dark, menacing silhouettes.
Before I can think to scream, the man behind me shoves a filthy rag into my mouth. I gag as sweat and grime coat my tongue, the rough fabric choking off my shouts. Desperate for air, I breathe through my nose. The scent of sweat and something worse burns my nostrils.
The massive man in front of me whistles, his eyes scanning my face with cold curiosity. "You sure did a number on her face, Ace."
"But no lasting damage," comes Ace’s voice, a little too calm, though there’s a thread of concern in it. "Just marks from the street."
The bigger man grunts, stepping closer, his heavy boots crunching the gravel. "Let’s hope the big guy sees it that way."
I fight back the tears threatening to spill, the pain searing across my skin, sharp and relentless. Terror clenches my chest, but I can’t afford to let the tears fall.
I need my vision clear.
My eyes dart to the man on the left. He has thick, bushy eyebrows that meet in the middle. Another has a jagged scar cutting across his upper lip. Both have tattoos snaking up their necks, thick black lines that twist and curl like thorny vines—or maybe barbed wire, wrapping around their throats with a viciousness that matches the look in their eyes.
I focus on every detail, every flaw, every mark. I need to remember. The police will need this information if I escape.
