Page 86 of Riff

There was a suitcase on the floor, but it was zipped, its contents hidden from view.

The walls were metal, at least, as was the floor that wasn’t covered by the mattress.

It was always good to have a hard surface to slam someone against or into.

It was something.

It would have to be enough.

Heartbeat tripping into overdrive, this time more with adrenaline than fear, I watched as the driver turned in his seat, his beady eyes roaming over me.

Luckily, this time, he wasn’t seeing much.

I wasn’t even feeling much, thanks to the layers I had on. Bulky, wide-leg jeans, a sweater under my bulky, fluffy jacket.

Something about those layers helped give me perspective, helped me not let the panic overwhelm me.

My abductor’s hand slid across my face, seeming to delight in slowly removing it, like he was just itching to hear me suck in a breath to scream and beg.

He would be disappointed.

I waited until the tips of his fingers were almost off of my lips before I pulled open my mouth, turned slightly, and bit down with everything in me.

His howl was masked by the music.

But I heard it.

You’re going to be the one screaming, asshole.

Taking advantage of his surprise and pain, I twisted away, putting the wall of the van to my back, facing my attacker head-on.

“Bitch,” he said, and I think I was reading his lips more than hearing him. “You’re going to pay for that,” he said.

He yanked back his arm.

But I was watching.

So I ducked before he could strike, the backs of his knuckles colliding with the unyielding wall, making pain shoot across his knuckles.

A growling sound moved through him as I inched away, mind on getting around this van in a half circle, reaching for the door handle, sliding the door open, and running away.

Maybe slamming my abductor’s hand in the door in the process.

My stomach clenched as my shoe met the edge of the mattress, everything in me screaming to move in the other direction, to get the hell away from the makeshift bed.

But the other direction would put me in the reach of the other man.

While experience told me that my abductor wouldn’t let him actually take advantage of me, that in some sick way, he believed I did belong just to him, to be abused strictly by his hands.

But the driver would happily grab me, hold me down for the abductor. He would watch, egg him on, even pleasure himself.

I knew.

I’d experienced it all before.

And I refused to do so again.

So I moved further onto the mattress as my abductor charged toward me again, hands outstretched, trying to grab me, wanting to drag me down onto the mattress.

---