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A smirk crosses his darkly handsome face, and I gasp sharply when he shoves the barrel in that last bit, ripping through my hymen, taking my virginity.
I writhe against the wall, and it’s more pain than anything at first. I’m wet, but the gun is big and oddly shaped, pressing against my walls and amplifying that tender, sore feeling inside me.
The longer Malice keeps fucking me with the barrel, though, the better it starts to feel. I stop wincing and start moaning softly, heat building between my legs.
He keeps working it in, going as deep as he can, and eventually, I can’t stop the moans that pour from my lips. My hips roll against every one of his thrusts, heat building low inside me. I’m so close to coming, so close to falling apart, riding the knife’s edge of adrenaline and euphoria, desire and terror.
Then, just as my legs start to shake, Malice pulls the gun out, leaving me empty.
The barrel of it is covered with my arousal and smeared with small streaks of blood from where he tore my hymen, and Malice looks right at me as he drags his tongue up the length of it.
My mouth drops open, disgust and a strange, sick sort of arousal churning in my stomach. That’s wrong. That’s so, so, so wrong.
But why does the predatory gleam in his eye and the animalistic way he licked the gun make some part of me feel drawn to him?
His pupils dilate as he watches my reaction, the pitch black color overtaking the gray of his irises. The other two men have been standing behind him this entire time, and now they step closer, their gazes just as intent on me as his is.
They surround me, boxing me in as they move as a unit, and I don’t have anywhere to go. I’m stuck between them and the unyielding plaster of the wall, my heart pounding and my chest heaving as I try to remember how to breathe.
The one named Ransom cocks his head, his bright blue-green eyes seeming to see too much of me.
“You’re bound to us now, little bird,” he murmurs, his tone oddly gentle. “You have to keep your mouth shut.”
“I will,” I promise, breathless. “I swear. I won’t say anything. Please.”
Malice grips my chin and closes the remaining distance between us. His dark eyes scan my face, like he’s looking for any trace that I’m lying or holding something back.
He’s so close that our noses are almost touching, his muscled body looming over mine.
“If you don’t keep your word, we’ll find out. And we’ll wreck you,” he tells me, running his thumb along the line of my jaw. “Do you want to be wrecked?”
I gasp, surging up in the bed, my heart beating so hard in my chest that I can hear the blood rushing in my ears over the sound of my ragged breathing.
I’m soaked in sweat, and my hair is a tangled mess. The sheets are wrapped around me, twisted in a way that makes me feel trapped. Adrenaline is pouring through my veins, and I have to force myself to take deep, even breaths to calm the frantic race of my heart.
“It was just a dream,” I murmur, shaking my head as I press the heels of my hands to my temples. “Just a dream, Willow. Just a dream.”
Finally, the tension in my shoulders and chest starts to ease a little, and I glance over at the clock. It’s earlier than I would normally wake up, but not by much. I’m grateful the dream didn’t wake me up in the middle of the night, because I know there’s no way I’d be able to go back to sleep now.
After a few more moments of trying to gather myself, I get up, dragging my exhausted ass to the shower. It’s not blood and dirt this time, but I need to wash the sweat off me. Plus, I still don’t really feel clean from last night.
I let the shower run a little colder than I usually would, trying to shake off the last of that… nightmare and clear my thoughts.
After everything that’s happened, it feels weird to be doing anything normal or mundane, but after my shower, I force myself to pour a bowl of cereal. Each bite tastes like sawdust in my mouth, but I have to eat.
Besides, the milk is on its last legs, and I need to finish it before it goes bad.
Thoughts like that are still there, still in the back of my mind like they usually are, but overlaid on top of them, glowing like a neon sign in my head, is the fact that I watched a man die last night.
“Stop thinking about it, Willow,” I mutter to myself. “Just get up and go to school.”
My school bag is right where I left it yesterday, before everything went down, and I grab it, hurrying out of the apartment to catch the bus to campus.
It’s the same route I take every day, but I feel so disconnected from it. From everything. My stomach is in knots, and I’m glad I didn’t eat more than cereal.
My skin flashes hot and cold and then hot again, the waves of anxiety making me feel like I’ve got a fever or something.
It’s like I’m a different person now. Like everything that happened before last night happened to someone else, and I’m trying to step into this new person’s life and figure out how to navigate it.
