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"Hi," she breathed, smiling down at him. Giggling softly, she took his big hand in hers and placed it inside her panties. "Hmm."
"Oh shit," he groaned, hips bucking upwards. "The whore friend is batshit, too."
From a young age, I had learned to take my chances when they arose, so, like Patrice's rising cock, I spotted the opportunity to escape.
I waited until Tanya had her lips on Patrice's mouth, with his attention riveted to her body, before making my move.
Shrugging on the jacket that Patrice had recklessly cast aside, I slid his wallet into the pocket, along with his keys.
Then, with his gun in my hands, I ran from the room.
Come at me now, bastards.
I fucking dare you.
13
As I scurried through the maze of corridors in the underground of the compound, I allowed my mind to flirt with thoughts and images of all the ways in which I could be punished if this went badly.
When, Ashton, not if.
This won't end well.
Not even the promise of more beatings and ice showers could veer me off my path of self-destruction. I was too fucking lost in my own head to think rationally. I knew I was losing grasp of my logic, and, if I was being truthful, my sanity.
I supposed it had been slowly slipping for years now, but the impact of having Trigger thrust back into my world after a two-year absence, along with the brutal way he had taken me, and then fucked me until I screamed out for more, had tossed me into a dangerous downward spiral.
I wasn't sure if I was scorned or wronged, raped or ridden, in love or in loathe. I couldn’t be sure of my thoughts anymore and the more time that passed without seeing him, the more frantic my thoughts grew.
I was fifty percent sure that I was going to use this gun on him when I found him. The other fifty percent was resolute to the idea that I would drop to my knees and suck his cock like the good whore I was the minute I laid eyes on him.
Six days writhing in purgatory, Ashton.
Six nights burning in hell.
No.I shook my head, lip curling up in disgust.
There would be no sucking cock of any kind.
Forcing all thoughts of Trigger to the back of my mind, my legs broke into a clumsy run when I reached the staircase and found it unguarded.
A part of me realized that this was too easy.
It shouldn't be this easy.
Still, I kept moving, scrambling up the steep concrete steps, my fear and anger propelling me into taking action.
My chest heaved when I reached the ground level, head spinning, eyes seeing stars. I was weak and hungry from my vacation in the whorehouse, but once again, I pushed those feelings aside, needing something more than nourishment and a clean bed.
I needed fucking answers.
And maybe some bloodshed.
In nothing but my bra, panties, and Patrice's jacket, I moved like a fucking lioness, prowling the corridors for my meal, my taste buds craving something foreign.
SomethingSpanish.
He's going to kill you, Ashton.
