Page 137 of Degradation
Only, he’s not a stranger because I know him. I know that voice, that tone. Another man comes up behind him, then another.
I shift back, realising exactly who they, who all these men are.
“Jesus.” I whisper under my breath. It’s them. The guards. All the men my husband let abuse me. They’re here, they’ve been witnessing this, watching it, no doubt enjoying every moment of this torture.
My body trembles as one awful memory stirs after another. Of being there, in their guard house, of being thrown about, of being forced to service them all, to suck their cocks, to endure their hands and their mouths and…
“Why is that bitch free?” The man snarls again. “We agreed…”
“It’s not her.” Devin states while I move to stand.
“What?” One of the others splutter.
“It’s not her. She thought it was me, she thought…” He starts rambling, pacing, acting so far removed from the controlled beast I know him to be.
Someone strides towards me, grabbing hold of me and they throw me back onto that metal trolley.
I scream out, throwing a punch but unsurprisingly I miss.
He slams his own fist into my side in response and I double up in pain.
“You said she’d pay.” He hollers. “You said she’d suffer.”
“It wasn’t her.” Devin snarls louder.
I know what he’s going to do, this other guard, I can hear it, the sound of metal, and plastic. As he grabs the prongs, I throw myself at where I’m certain he is, using all my weight to bring him down.
We land in a heap but it’s my hand that somehow wrestles the gun from his, my hand that rams it against whatever part of his body I can find and before he can register what I’m doing, I pull the trigger.
He explodes. His guts are like a tsunami jetsoning out from the hole. His blood splatters my face, bits of his flesh cling to the walls.
I take my hand, wiping the mess from my face, but it only seems to smear it more.
When I get to my feet, I keep my fingers still wrapped around the trigger, and I wonder how many more I need to kill. Yeah, I know it’ll be tough to do it, but if they come at me, I’ll at least hear their heavy boots. I know there aren’t that many bullets, but surely, I could take a good few of them out before I ran out?
“She wasn’t involved.” Devin states again.
I hear him move to block them. To block me too. I think he has his back to me, and I wonder how he trusts me enough not to put one in his spine. He bloody well deserves it considering what he’s done.
“This…” Devin says, and I hear the crumple of fabric telling me he’s gesturing in some manner, “this is over. We’re done with her. Now we need to figure out who really did it. Who really is responsible.”
Devin
The water trickles down onto her body.
She’s tense. Alert. Clearly on the verge of panicking.
Maybe this wasn’t as a good an idea as it seemed in my head, but she was filthy, and I thought getting her clean would at least sort one problem out.
Her head keeps darting to the door like she’s expecting all the others to come bursting in. Like she thinks they’re going to disobey me.
Well, more fool them if they do.
I grab the sponge, lathering up the soap enough that it gets foamy and I start wiping away the muck. Each swipe reveals thatperfect, beautiful skin beneath, reveals that intricate pattern I carved into it.
She tries to step away, but I won’t let her.
I lift her chin, force her to look at me with those fake eyes. “Who gave you them?” I ask.
