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I duck between two trailers on the far side of the lot near the edge of the woods that surrounds the track. The foot that sticks out doesn’t register until I’ve tripped over it, my hands crashing with a stinging pain into the asphalt. A breath hisses through my teeth as pain zips through my knees, an odd crunching feeling making me cringe. That can’t be good.
I roll onto my back with a grunt. The pain is too much right now that I need a moment.
I expect to see a young kid, to hear their laughter, but when I look up, two lanky men loom over me with snarling expressions as if I’ve done something wrong to them. Nothing in me recognizes them except for the part of the brain that drives fear. That part quickly realizes that something is wrong.
Forgetting about the pain in my limbs, I keep my mouth shut and scramble backward as best I can. Another set of legs stops me and I cry out. Three of them? They need three of them to do whatever it is they’re going to do?
“Sorry, just a dead end here,” he taunts in a baritone voice that forces a chill down my spine. I don’t have time to look back at him because he grabs me by a handful of my hair and drags me up. I scramble to get my feet under me. When I do, I twist around as if dancing with him. The move isn’t exactly comfy on my scalp, but I’m trying to survive. It’s awkward, but I drive my knee into his groin, making him howl in pain and his hold loosens. I yank myself backward out of his grip and take off around him.
I’m too slow, though. Pounding footsteps are right behind me. Along with them, heavy breathing is the only thing I hear. They grab the back of my shirt and I’m flung back on my ass as a gasp escapes. I go to yell for help when he places a calloused, scratchy palm over my mouth. Instinct drives me to bite any part of flesh I can get. He grunts out his annoyance, but it doesn’t go as planned and only makes him buckle down his efforts as he snickers in my ear.
As fast as he can, he pulls his hand away, then shoves a rag of some sort into my mouth. The dry fabric sticks to my parched tongue. The weight of his fingers making sure that it’s as far in as it can go makes me gag.
“The bitch bit me,” he tells his friends as he moves away from me. He delivers a swift backhand to my cheek and I bite down on the rag in my mouth against the stinging pain. The area swells before he can make it to his feet. I kick my legs and feet to roll me over so I can get up, but they’re detained. Next, they snatch my wrists off the ground and pin them above my head.
I scream as loud as I can, only for it to be muffled by the fabric that refuses to get out of my mouth. My saliva is soaking into it, making it a lead weight that won’t budge. I have to keep forcing back my body’s urge to gag at the feel and thought of it.
Pain explodes through my torso when a booted foot threatens to break through my ribs and reach my lungs. I scream through the pain at the top of my lungs and give my best effort to free my hands and legs so I can curl in on myself. Another kick. Then another and another and another.
Who are these assholes and what do they want? People have heckled me before, but this feels like something different. These men intend to do harm. The way they’re holding me down, hitting me… I have a feeling that is screaming at my brain to move as much as I can and get out of this because they have no plans of letting me live.
They say nothing and I can’t ask questions. After another kick, he straddles my ribcage, squeezing tight with his thighs and forcing a whimper out of me as the pieces of my no doubt cracked ribs shift. He slaps me again, this time splitting my lip. Warm liquid trickles from the cut over my cheek. I dig my heels in and buck my hips to get him off of me, but it’s no use. He’s too far up my body for it to go anywhere.
When his hands wrap around my throat and a devilish smirk tilts one corner of his lips, my life flashes before my eyes.
I see every part of my time on earth, all the fantasies I’ve dreamt since I was a little girl. Graduation that is coming soon. Benny proposing to me while I’m wearing my favorite leather riding jacket, because all of our good moments happen while I’m wearing that jacket. I was in it the night I met him. He said it made me look bad ass, and he knew he needed to talk to me. Because anyone who could rock worn leather like I could is someone he needed in his life. He had on a similar jacket with patches cut from it. I know now that those patches were places where Devils paraphernalia resided.
Riding for Moto GP. Taking home the championship. Marrying Benny and walking down the aisle in a studded white leather jacket that matches my dress, but leather because leather makes everything better. Eventually settling down.
It all flashes before my eyes, but the visions disappear before I can enjoy them. Like my life. It’s just getting started. There is so much I want to do, so much I want to see. I want to travel the world with my team and win a race at every track in the circuit with Benny by my side.
But I won’t get to do that because he’s cutting off my airway and if he squeezes his legs any tighter, he’s going to puncture my lung.
A deep roar fills the air and hope sparks. I know that bass-like voice.
He wrenches the body from me and I gasp for breath, crying out when my ribs flex and stretch. God, that hurts. Small breaths from now on, but I can’t help it. There is so much fear and adrenaline running through my system that I have little control over what I do.
The sound of flesh beating flesh meets my ears and I pray Trace is okay.
“Finish her!” the one fighting Trace calls out and the asshole at my feet leaps onto my body and grabs me by the neck again. He lifts me and slams my head back into the concrete. I kick and thrash, stars jumping through my vision as I try to blink them away before I black out. My head throbs and my neck aches from his grip.
He’s not holding as tight as the last guy. I’m guessing he plans on killing me by slamming my head into the concrete instead of choking me. Maybe that’s quicker?
It feels quicker.
My breaths are coming slower, my eyelids heavier. The pain is stronger though and I wonder for a moment which would be the easier way to go. Strangulation or having your head bashed against concrete.
With the next slam of my skull, the skin splits wide open and the pooling of blood is immediate. Trace lets out a cry of pure fury and a swinging tennis shoe knocks away the one holding my hands.
The guy on top of me doesn’t stop. He gives it one more bit of effort as a new crunching sound makes my skin crawl with the next beating of my head against the rocky surface. Blissful relief pours over me when my eyes go black and my body falls prey to his attack.
CHAPTERNINE
BENNY
My head,weighing nearly a hundred pounds with pure exhaustion, slams against the armrest of the chair when it slips free from the palm of my hand. I groan and rub at my cheekbone.
A deep rumbling chuckle filters through the room, and I look up to find Trace with mirth dancing in his eyes. My glare is meant to be menacing, but I’m sure it packs no proper heat. Not that he cares anyway. Trace, being a cocky rich kid, isn’t scared of a reformed thug.
