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Gasping and choking, Bianca tried to think—she had to get away, she had to get away. If she were only stronger...if she weren’t so frightened. If he hits me again I shall pass out, she thought; her face ached with bruises, tears welled behind her lids.
The room was shadowy; the sun had gone down now and he had not put on the electric light in here. She could only just see his face, the lank black hair, the oily skin, the parted, panting mouth, the glitter of his excited eyes, the vicious intention they held.
He grabbed her dress and ripped again; the whole front of the dress came apart, leaving her almost naked, wearing just a bra and tiny black silk panties. His black eyes moved over her; she saw sweat on his upper lip, his tongue-tip.
‘Si!’ he muttered, and sick terror filled her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The most terrifying thing about it was that Bianca blanked out; she couldn’t think, wasn’t even able to fight for a moment, her blue eyes stretched as wide as they could go, her breathing very rapid, each breath painful. It was as if she had known this would happen for a long time; the threat in his eyes had been there the night he’d tried to mug her in Marbella—a threat whic
h was vicious, a desire to hurt and humiliate which had nothing to do with her at all. This was not personal—he simply hated women, all women.
He wasn’t intending to rape her because he found her attractive; he didn’t desire her body. He wanted to make her suffer; there was cruelty in his grin, in his black eyes, a sadistic enjoyment of her fear and helplessness. He was almost young enough to be her son and yet he made the hair stand up on her head.
He begin to unzip his trousers and the movement unfroze Bianca’s brain. She went crazy, her body heaving on the bed, fighting him like a trapped animal, hoarse, muffled cries in her throat.
He drew back his arm to smash his fist into her face again, and at that second someone banged on the front door of her apartment.
The boy stiffened, was still, his head turned to listen.
Hope flooded into Bianca; someone was out there; someone might hear her. While the boy’s attention was fixed on the bedroom door she managed to wrench down the scarf enough to yell.
‘Help! Help!’
The boy’s head swung back to her instantly; she saw his arm move and then there was an explosion of pain so terrible that she didn’t even cry out; her head fell back on the bed and her body went limp, sprawled on the sheet.
For a moment all she could think about was the pain throbbing away in her face. Blood filled her mouth with salty wetness. Semi-conscious, she was hardly aware of what happened next, although she heard sounds and movements vaguely, as if from a far, far distance.
A key turned in the lock of the front door, the door burst open and there was a stampede of feet as men came hurtling into the apartment. The boy stumbled off the bed and darted towards the bedroom door, either to run out or to bolt the door, but whatever his intention he was too late. The doorway was already blocked. He looked round wildly for a way out but two armed security men grabbed him, wrenching his arms behind his back with such force that he gave a strangled cry of pain and began to swear in Spanish. The security men frogmarched him out of the room, ignoring his shouts and struggles.
Gil went straight to the bed, to Bianca. He winced and went white as he looked at her bruised, swollen face, the blood trickling from her nose. Lifting her head with great care and tenderness, he untied the knot in the silk scarf, unwound it from around her neck, tossed the scarf to the floor.
‘What did that bastard do to you? My God, I wish I’d got to him before the men did—I’d have torn him limb from limb, the sadistic little swine...’
She heard his voice and tried to lift her lids; it hurt but she managed it and looked at him dazedly. She had never in her life been so glad to see anyone; tears welled into her eyes.
‘Gil.’ Her voice broke. ‘Oh... Gil...’
‘I’m here,’ he said, gently stroking the torn, tangled hair back from her face. ‘I’m here, Bianca; you’re safe now.’
She shuddered helplessly. ‘He...’ Her voice sounded thick and strange; blood was trickling from the corner of her mouth.
‘Don’t try to talk. Your mouth must hurt badly. You should be resting, Bianca.’
‘He was going to rape me!’
‘Shh...’ Gil soothed her as if she were a child, patting her hair, her shoulder.
She was trembling violently, her teeth chattering like castanets. ‘I’m so cold. So cold.’
‘Shock,’ Gil said from somewhere a long way off, and lifted her up off the bed, into his arms.
‘Don’t...’ she cried out, panic surging back, fighting him off.
‘OK, OK,’ he said, and then she felt warmth surrounding her as he wrapped a quilt around her whole body, then lowered her to the bed again. ‘Better?’
She shut her eyes, still shivering. ‘Better,’ she whispered.
