Page 58 of Purgatory
The one in the middle brings his meaty hand to his chin, looking me up and down, assessing me. Even though I'm fully clothed, his look makes me feel naked and the thought makes me want to crawl even further into the wall.
This man has obviously been beaten with an ugly stick. Multiple times. Broke that one and was then beaten with another one. Holy fuck. The man’s face looks like it’s melting off. His sweat’s dripping profusely down his neck and collects on his shirt, staining it yellow and gross and ick. Paunchy does not even come close. He would need a roadmap, flash light and a hazmat crew to find his dick, his belly is that large. Andoh my gravy, the yellow teeth. I count maybe seven. Not even sure they’re all real. At least he’s doing better than the Evander Holyfield lookalike over there. Mike Tyson, eat your heart out. I look, reluctantly, back at Mr. Potbelly. His tongue sneaks out to lick his lips and I have all I can do to not vomit on myself.
“Mmmmm. She does look rather delicious, Sam. I think I might have a taste. Anyone else want to join me for some dessert?” His Southern drawl heavy and deep. He looks back to the others as they all nod their heads excitedly.
“Thanks, Earl. I always did say, sharing is caring,” the first man, Sam, says. A disgusting grin taking over his face as his eyes take my helpless form in.
“Well, FUCK OFF! I get her first. Then, you bastards can do what you want with her,” the middle man, I guess Earl is his name, says, sending a shiver of panic through my body.
He takes a step toward me, then another, holding his hands out to grab me in case I tried to fight or escape. As ifI could. The bindings on my wrists and ankles are enough to almost paralyze me. Almost.
I’m not dead yet.
I draw my legs close to my body, coiling them in nice and tight and wait for Earl to get close enough. It might not stop him or them, but at least I won’t go down without a fight. They’ll never take me without a fight if I have any say about it.
Earl reaches down to grab my upper arms and I see that as my opportunity. I strike without delay, hitting Earl square in the chest, making him fall back on his ass. His heavy landing probably sends enough of a ground vibration to create an earthquake all the way in Nevada. The sudden blow startles his crew, drawing all eyes to me on the floor, ready and waiting for another one to step forward.
“You mother fucking cunt! Allen, Troy grab her. Hold her legs.” Earl says to the other guys as he stands up and looms over me. “You’re gonna regret that, you little bitch. I’ll treat you like the dog you are, even if I have to beat you to submission.”
“I told you she was scrappy, boss. Bitch needs to be shown who’s in charge here,” Sam says to Earl. The other guys approach me cautiously, steering clear of my flailing legs. One guy, who seems about as big as a damn truck, manages to dive onto them, while the other two take me on either side by my arms, effectively rendering me fully and completely immobile. Shit!
“Now be a good little girl and let the boss take a look at you.” Sam says in my ear. The hot stench of his breath covers my face, almost making me retch in their hold. His stumpy fingers grab ahold of my chin and wrench my face up, towards Earl’s prying eyes.
“Fuck you and your missing ear, Van Gogh. You can all eat a bag of dicks,” I manage to grunt out of my clenched teeth. “And you...,” speaking to Earl, “can sit on the biggest dick ofthem all and fuck yourself all the way to Hell.”
Earl smiles at my insult as he crowds over me. The gesture so small but terrifying all the same. In a quick motion, he rears back at the same time Sam lets go of my face. The back of Earl’s hand connects with my face with a loud smack, eliciting a grunt of pain from me as my head cranes back.
I feel the slow drip of blood from my cut lip, and probably busted nose at this point, and look back at Earl. Training my eyes on him and trying to look as if I'm not afraid of him or his violent tactics. Truth is, I am afraid, but even more so, I'm pissed.
I’m pissed that he hit me. I’m pissed that people like him still exist when good people, who deserve to, no longer do. I’m pissed at the fact that even now, when over half the population is dead, that I still can’t walk alone at night without the fear of being abducted and attacked. I’m pissed at myself that I left Cole and Hawk and the safety of the house. And I'm pissed that I wasn’t even able to find Jax, after all. Finally, I’m pissed at my own fucking stupidity. At my casual approach to everything even when I know, and have been told, I shouldn’t be, especially nowadays. Fuck, Jax even talked to me about that very thing when I tried to pick raspberries. And here I am, doing the same stupid shit.
The thought of the guys makes my breath hitch just a bit. I should have never left them. I should have just listened to them and stayed rather than go off on my own. I don’t deserve them. I don’t deserve their company, the safety they bring or the selflessness they have. I don’t deserve their affection.
I don’t even know if they found my letter yet. Even if they did, they’d have no idea where I was right now. How would they? I’m miles from the house and I don’t even know exactly where Jax was camped out. I was just going to make my way down to the area the guys said he was and wait him out. Maybe see him walk around one day. Stupid. So stupid. Whydid I think that would work?
I didn’t think. That’s my problem. I only saw Jax and how much I missed him. How much the guys missed him. Saw my guilt in his leaving everything behind to get away from me. Why couldn’t I listen then?Stay out of the West Wing.The rules were simple.
- Stay at the estate unless you had backup
- No fires outside at night because they’d draw the dead
- Drink the damn water Cole places in front of you so you don’t pass out again
- And don’t go into Jax’s room.
That’s it. And I fucked it up. Again.
Earl bends his knees to peer down at me. His meaty hand grabs my chin roughly, moving my face back and forth, analyzing the damage he created like an artist critiquing a painting. While still looking at me, he indicates to the guys holding me.
“Flip her over and get those pants off. Leave ‘em by her ankles for all I care. She’s gonna learn there’s only one thing she’s good for.” He reaches for his belt and moves behind me as the other guys follow his commands.
I struggle with each of them. Kicking out as best as I can while still being restrained, biting, flailing my body back and forth. Moving in any way I can to avoid what can almost be seen as inevitable at this point. But I will not go down without a fight. These fucks will know I will not take this willingly.
They get me into position and I feel so powerless that I let out a deafening scream. A scream for help. A scream of frustration. A scream for everyone that is close enough to hear my pain and know it intimately.
Earl moves closer, his hands gliding up my bare thighs tomy hips before he jerks them up awkwardly. My head remains on the cold, concrete floor, pushed down by Sam’s rough hands, one on my scalp, the other between my shoulder blades.
There’s nothing I can do. My legs and wrists are still bound. I’m overpowered by these four large guys. There’s no way I'm getting out of this. The defeat is soul-crushing. Overwhelming. I’ll never be the same after this. I do the only thing I can at the moment. I wring out the words through a sob.
