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So I only have to worry about the other men. My mouth is dry as the Sahara, but I just swallow when the whole group of men begin to advance on me.
My chin lifts, my expression haughty. I look the balding stranger in the eye, smirking.
The puzzled expression that crosses his face for a moment eggs me on.
He grabs me again, hauling me against him. I let him pull me close, still smirking. Inside, I’m trying to remember what I read about self-defense.
Something like: go for the eyes and the soft, fleshy bits of the face first.
As soon as he opens his mouth, I hit him in the face, raking my nails down in a diagonal swipe. I claw him as hard as I can, no holding back a single ounce of effort.
He rears back, uttering a cry, trying to get away. My nails skim one of his eyes and land in the fleshy part of his cheek. I dig in so hard that I not only pierce his skin but actually break through his cheek with my forefinger.
I can see the slippery blood flowing into his mouth for a second before he clutches my shoulders and flings me away with a great deal of force.
My head pounds. My heart skitters. I put my hands out to break my fall as I crash to the concrete basement floor. It’s everything I can do not to retch as I scramble to find my feet.
“Fucking bitch!” the man wails.
The guard’s heavy boots approach me first and I turn, reaching for the heavy black gun. He stops with a surprised grunt, confirming what I thought might be true.
His purpose is to keep me in line, not to hurt me.
The man I attacked is leaning forward, his face obscured by his hands. Another man in a tuxedo sneers at me and lunges toward me. I hear a quiet snick as he waves a blade at me.
“Get on all fours!” he booms. “Or I’ll cut you up so bad that your momma won’t recognize you.”
I spit at him, taking him by surprise. But that doesn’t stop him from tackling me and pressing his knife to my throat. He sprawls out on top of me, and I panic.
This can’t be how I die.
Struggling against the man’s hold, I wonder if I can make the same assumption about him as I did the guard.
Will he have been given instructions not to hurt me?
Trying to surge up with all my strength, I soon find out. I feel the sharp, hot press of the blade against my skin. Then I feel a heated trickle of my own blood welling up just above the line of the blade.
“I’ll kill you,” the man growls into my ear. “Stop moving, you cunt.”
I grit my teeth, pushing against the heaviness of his body. “I’d rather die.”
“Gladly!” he hisses back.
He’s much larger and heavier than me, easily restraining my arms and legs. I can smell his vile breath, like rotting meat covered with a wash of bourbon. I gag a little when I realize that he’s fully erect, his cock grinding into my hip.
Tears prick my eyelids as I writhe under him. I look back at the room for some kind of help.
Surely one of these men has a soft spot. The man on top of me cuts off my breath, so the best I can do is huff out a strangled question.
“Don’t… any… of you have… a daughter?”
Two of the men stiffen. But the other ones, including the one whose face I ripped up, only seem encouraged by my words.
The wounded man grips his cheek, spittle flying as he lets loose his invective. “When I come back downstairs, I’m going to show you all the things I would do to my daughter if I thought no one would ever find out. And then I’m going to watch the light drain from your eyes?—"
A soft whizzing sound cuts off his words. His eyes bulge. He clutches his neck, where a perfect bullet hole begins to gush dark red blood. He falls to the floor with a muted thump.
I make eye contact with him for a second, watching with wide eyes as he bleeds out onto the floor. His rheumy eyes go dead; one second, he’s there, the next second… he’s not.
