Page 25 of Whispers of My Skin

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Walter Delgado.

The foreman of Redlands.

I’ve always done my best to avoid him and his lecherous glances, but even so, I’d know that disgusting stench of whiskey and sweat anywhere.

“I’m guessin’ you know all about your new husband firin’ us. He just strolls in this morning, cool as you like, gives us some fuckin’ sob story about cutbacks, how he’s sorry but he has to let the three of us go, gives us till the end of the day to clear our things out. Now that’s not a nice way to treat us after everything we’ve done for this place, right?” he whispers menacingly in my ear, his fetid breath making me gag. “So it seems only fair you’re here to sweeten our farewell.”

“Walter, I can understand this must have come as a shock and that you’re upset, but taking your anger out on me isn’t going to make things better. Joel won’t take kindly to you threatening me, so just let me go and we’ll forget about it.”

“I don’t think so, beautiful. You’re a tasty little morsel that me and the boys are mighty keen on samplin’. But don’t worry, we’ll be out of here just as soon as we’ve taken our fill of you.”

With a sinking heart, I realize I’m wasting my time trying to reason with Walter or the other men, since they’ve been drowning their sorrows all day. Just my bad luck that I happened to come by and provide them with a convenient outlet for their anger and resentment.

Time to scream like there’s no tomorrow.

“Joel! I need some help here!” I shout. I may look small and weedy, but I have a decent pair of lungs, and one of the guys looks at Walter nervously.

“No sweat,” Walter chuckles, “I happen to know her darlin’ husband is busy occupied with that redhead with big tits he’s been hangin’ around with all day, so he’s not goin’ to come running anytime soon.”

“Help! Joel, for the love of God, I need you here right now!” I scream again, making my throat raw.

And still, he doesn’t come. Perhaps he really is too busy getting up close and personal with her in my father’s den—that’s where I left them cozied up together isn’t it?

“Somebody help me... anyone… please help me…please…” I keep repeating this mantra, for all the good it does me.

Then something cold and sharp presses against my neck.

“I suggest you shut the fuck up, unless you want me to slit your throat,” Walter growls, clenching my arm in a vice-like grip. He has a knife, which I have no doubt he’s capable of using, and that I could be about to die.

“Let me go, Walter! Don’t do this, just let me go.” I give pleading one more go, even though I don’t think he has any kind of better nature to appeal to, or at least any there might have been is now drowning in whiskey.

Blood trickles down my neck when he runs the point of the razor-sharp knife over my skin.

Panic threatens to engulf me, but I’d rather die than be gang-raped, so I’m not going down without a fight. I kick, I struggle, I scream and yell, so no one who might be within earshot can be in any doubt that nothing going on here is consensual.

“Grab hold of the bitch and hold her down for me,” Walter shouts to one of his cohorts as he forces me over the edge of a hard-wooden table and starts unbuckling his belt. “You can be next in line.”

“That’s it, give her what she deserves, Wally,” the third guy urges as he grins and starts playing with himself, right in front of my face where I’m being held down on the table, and I can’t help but notice the evidence of how much the sick pervert is turned on by watching me struggle.

I hear Walter unzipping his jeans.

“Don’t you dare touch me, you sick asshole,” I yell with renewed panic, using every last bit of my strength to kick and struggle.

“LET. HER. GO!” A voice suddenly roars from behind us.

Thank God. Joel’s finally turned up, just in the nick of time.

But Walter doesn’t seem deterred, he even has the nerve to laugh, as he roughly grabs my hair to twist us round and face Joel. The ice-cold fury in Joel’s eyes certainly intimidates me, yet doesn’t seem to worry Walter. The excessive amount of alcohol in his system must be skewing his judgment.

“Johnny! Milton!” he calls to his buddies, and out of the corner of my eye, I see them lining up opposite Joel.

“Cassandra, call 911! Get the law out here, now!” Joel shouts, twisting his head but not taking his eyes off me or Walter. So, she’s with him. I don’t understand why, but at least she can make herself useful.

As Cassandra steps into my line of sight, I see her making the call on her cell phone and begin explaining the situation to the dispatcher.

“You better tell that red-haired whore to hang up or I’ll slit this little lady’s throat,” Walter threatens, holding his knife up to my neck again.

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