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I guess I should be happy at the sight of the used condoms littering the floor around each of the beds, but it makes fire ignite in my veins. The fact that they’re being safe comes secondary to the hatred I feel for any of them thinking they could touch her in the first fucking place.
I count two other men in addition to the fucker that just arrived back here.
A sinister grin spreads across my face at the possibilities, but this isn’t about vengeance. This isn’t an opportunity to let my blood-thirsty demons out to play. My goal is to get Lauren away from here as fast as humanly possible. Drawing as little attention to what’s going on is key. I’m going to need to pay attention to her on the drive back to my house, not spending my time looking over my shoulder, wondering if I’ve been followed.
I twist the silencer on the tip of my weapon, checking and rechecking to make sure I’m locked and loaded.
Three men, meaning three bullets, but it won’t hurt to use a couple extra on these guys.
There’s no tremble in my hand as I make my way around back. These guys aren’t even smart enough to have a dog in the fenced yard to alert them. Either it’s inexperience or cockiness. Either way, it’s going to make killing them that much easier.
The climb through the open bathroom window isn’t a graceful scene, but it’s a silent one. I consider waiting for one of them to come in here, but a woman’s scream draws me out.
The room is brighter than it looked from outside. It’s as if these guys want spotlights on the damage they’re causing.
I shoot the man standing over Lauren’s bed first, wanting to believe that right now is the first time he’s pulled out his dick in front of her, because that would be less painful than the truth. Next is the guy who I followed back here. The bowl of cereal he made while I was climbing through the window sprays the room in milk after falling to the floor.
If he was the last one I needed to take down, I’d spend a few quiet moments watching the milk mix with the blood draining from his body. The swirl of red always intrigues me.
The guy raping the other woman in the corner dies last because he’s the one that posed the least amount of threat to me. His distraction only allows for a few seconds longer in this world.
She screams when he falls forward, pinning her to the bed with more force than he was using to hurt her.
A decent guy would help her, but that woman isn’t my focus.
Lauren’s eyes flutter as I inch closer to her, and I can immediately tell she has no life-threatening injuries, but she’s not herself either.
The used needles discarded on the floor near her bed mean either some form of paralytic or possibly heroine.
But it doesn’t matter right now.
A lot of things shouldn’t matter right now, but the way I want to grip her fucking neck and warn her of what’s coming from me is trying to beat all other emotions out.
The urge to fuck her right into this dirty mattress hits me pretty hard.
It’s beyond fucked up, absolutely fucking terrible to think of something like that, but that doesn’t stop my eyes from drifting over her battered body. Doesn’t keep my mouth from watering at the need to reclaim her as mine.
When she sees my face, she tries to speak, but it comes out a mess of syllables that make no sense.
A thump across the room draws my attention, but my weapon trains on the woman in the corner who finally managed to get the dead man off of her. She stares at me in terror, and I’m not shocked by it. It’s not unheard of for one group of traffickers to raid another’s location to steal their product. Sometimes it’s easier because collection is usually the hardest part. It’s what brings the most heat, depending on where they’re abducting women.
She knows not to be relieved because she has no idea which camp I’m in right now.
I turn my attention back to Lauren. I really need to grab her and get the fuck out of here, but she’s fucking filthy, covered in spit and cum. My stomach rolls at the sight of her.
For good measure, I walk around the room, putting two more bullets in each of the dead men. It’s fruitless. It makes no difference. Each of my first shots were true, ending them quickly, showing a mercy they didn’t deserve.
When I drop low beside Lauren, she tries to lift her arm. I know what she wants. She’s pointing at one of the other beds, but those women aren’t my focus.
She’s relentless, however, managing to wiggle and growl as I reach down to lift her up.
I glare at her eyes, and even in her drugged state she manages to glare back. I’m ready to refuse, but it’s the sight of a single tear rolling down her temple that forces me into action.
With frustrated steps, I make my way across the room, pulling a knife from my pocket. I make quick work of cutting through the ropes tying two women down. Each of them shies away from me, terrified of what I might be capable of.
I don’t open my mouth to assure them they’re fine. I don’t urge them to get away. They have to make those decisions on their own. I’m not their fucking savior. I’m making a mental list of what Lauren will owe me for forcing me to waste my time.
The woman in the corner, the one who was actively getting raped isn’t tied up at all. She’s curled up in a ball in the corner. It seems these guys liked their women in different states of captivity.
