"Say hi, and good-bye." His slick voice almost cackles. "Bet he hasn't had you here yet." His hand runs over my ass and I buck away. "You always were a boring lay."
Releasing my hair, his hand smacks my ass, sounding like a crack of thunder. He's relentless in his strikes as he delivers one after another until I'm begging him to stop.
"Shut up!" The knife in his hand slices across my back and I yelp. "Keep fucking screaming and I'll shred you."
I feel him at the opening of my ass. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming, tasting my own blood as he surges into me, making me feel like I've been ripped open. I can't hold the scream that comes out but he doesn't yell. When he starts to pump in and out of me I feel a warm liquid on my skin, and I know with certainty it's blood.
His movements start to slow. I don't understand why until I feel the pain shoot up my lower back, the knife moving across my skin almost like he is writing something down. I writhe in pain and try to fight the little bit that I can, but with his weight on top of me, all I do is make the knife sink deeper. Within a few minutes, the knife stops and he stills with a groan as he finishes inside of me.
"That's a nice piece of work I did right there. Maybe I'll need to match the front somehow."
He eases off of me and stands. His foot kicks out at my ribs and as the crack reverberates through my chest, all the air leaves my lungs, the force of his kick sending me over to my back. My vision blurs as my fresh cuts touch the floor and I arch my back.
"You know I like things to be symmetrical."
He stalks over to where his boots are, slipping one on his right foot before walking back over to me. Over and over, he stomps, kicks, and grinds his foot against me. The screams that rip through me leave my throat raw. I move to cradle my injured arm but any touch only creates more pain.
I fight the urge to throw up. My eyes close. I don't want them closed. Closed means I can't see what's coming, but it's a struggle to just open them again. I feel a slap against my face and my head lolls to the side. As a second and third slap connect, my eyes flutter open.
"Oh, we aren't done yet. Don't you pass out on me."
He straddles me, his thighs caging me in, pinning my hands against my sides, and his rough hands grip my breasts as I wince and try to keep my eyes open.
He traces the knife across my chest and as it cuts through my skin, blood runs down my ribcage and onto the floor below me. Fog creeps in at the edges of my vision.
"I think I'll tear you apart one more time before the asshole ends up here. Not that he'll ever have the opportunity to take you again."
He forces into me. Pain consumes me from the inside out. It's like there is something inside of me, tearing me apart. My mind cannot focus on anything other than the burn that ravages me, the rough wood rubbing against my back.
There is nothing left of me. There is nothing more I can do. So I just start to scream as loud as I can. Someone has to be around.
They have to hear me.
Dylan's face twists and he drops the knife. His fists start to swing wildly, making contact with a new piece of skin each time. After the first few punches, I lose the resolve to fight back. My body goes limp as I become his human punching bag. He starts to drive in and out of me, still landing blow after blow, and as he stills on top of me, his hands grab at my breasts, twisting the bloodied and bruised skin as he finishes.
I can feel myself slipping away. The promise of nothingness, of a place where everything doesn't hurt, is too great for me to fight.
"Not yet. I have one final surprise for you, and it's a killer."
His words chill me. And the accompanying smile lets me know that there is a good chance I won't make it out of this house alive.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cutter
The warehouse is in complete darkness. Not even the moon is out. There are about fifty fuckin' windows but nothing to see; at least, not from this distance. Hidden down the side of a dumpster, Whip and I wait for the signal from Pres. When he got a tipoff early last week that this is where the guys who hijacked us are staying, the brothers immediately set to work on a plan of attack. It couldn't have been more perfect: abandoned warehouse, four access roads, no neighbors. It was like they were asking for us to come after them.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Pres: Side door.
I signal to Whip, moving swiftly down the side of the building, my gun in my hand, two backup rounds tucked into my waistband. They may be stupid, but that doesn't mean they won't be armed.