Page 33 of Sacrifice

"I can see why Vincent wants her. She has luscious skin." So much for not being panicked.

"Stop touching me." I move my legs up and down, but a hand comes to my throat and squeezes until I choke.

"Keep it up. We like them feisty," the man on my left whispers. "Spread your legs."

My heart rate goes from calm to too high in a matter of seconds. The pounding in my head worsens as I scream. The last thing I hear as I lose consciousness is cruel, ringing laughter.

"Why the fuck isn't he dead?"

Pitch black encompasses me, but I don't feel dizzy, like I'm about to pass out. Why is it dark? Trying to move, I feel the restraints. Oh, God. Think Aribella. Closing my eyes, I count to ten and breathe until I'm steady. I feel the scratchy material around my face and realize that the sack is still on my head.

My arms aren't behind my back anymore. They are above my head and I feel the cool touch of metal around my wrists. I'm still in my clothes because I feel the material of the hoodie touching my chest. Thank goodness they didn't strip me.

Alright, they didn't take advantage of me. That's something to be thankful for. Right?

"You know that Alfonso would have our heads if we killed him. Besides, we did the next best thing. We killed his guards."

On no. Did they kill Mossimo too? My head swims with the knowledge that I may have caused Vincent to lose his men. No. I can't think like that. This isn't my fault. I keep trying to tell myself that I'm not the cause of all this drama. There's no way I would have known this would happen if I tried to leave the house.

The door opens and I hear four distinct voices. This is the one thing I was afraid of and always have been. I thought it was an irrational fear, but now it's coming true. Men surround me while I'm rendered helpless.

"Well. Well. Well." A man with a thick hispanic accent says. His cologne is so strong, I want to cough.

"It looks like Domingo was holding out on us." The person touches me and I flinch away. Not being able to see who or what is coming at me makes me angry.

"Don't you dare move away from me!" The person grips my neck in a hard grip and it's the first time I realize that Vincent may have grabbed me, but it was never like this.

Staying as still as I can, my body trembles with fear as the bag is removed from my face. The light blinds me.

"Ah, I can see why he would want you." The man in front of me is in a suit, hair slicked back, and has a mustache. He looks like an older version of Vincent. But this man has a jagged scar that goes from his right eyebrow, across his cheek, over his nose, and down to the left portion of his chin.

Taking a deep breath, I squint my eyes at him. "And you should know better than to take something from Vincent."

The man's hand comes out so fast that I don't see it until after he slaps me. My head snaps to the side with a force that causes my neck to jerk painfully. Trying not to cry, I keep my eyes averted from his.

"That son of a bitch will learn who runs Texas before this is all over." He straightens his jacket and turns to leave.

"Work her over, but no one fucks her until I do."

A nightmare. I have to be in a nightmare. This cannot be real. Surely, I'm going to wake up at any moment and I'll be in Vincent's arms. But the door slams, leaving me with three men looking at me like I'm a piece of meat.

"Yousef, you take the left. Carmichael, take the right. I’ve got the front." The one in the middle says as he gets closer to me. He stinks of alcohol, cigar smoke, and sweat. The other two don't smell good either, and I gag. They laugh right before the guy on my right punches my boob.

I cry out in shock at first, but then the pain radiates into me. The guy on the left does the same thing as the first one.

"Beg us for mercy and we may stop," the middle man says.

The pain is horrible as they keep hitting me. If I wasn't trussed up by my wrists, I'd have already fallen to the ground. But, I won't beg. Not for these men, anyway. "Not in a million years." I wheeze, and the middle man punches me in my mouth.

My head bounces back and lulls to the side as my eyesight goes blurry. The metallic taste of blood makes me sick to my stomach.

"Bitch, you'll learn not to goad me." The man on the right side of me hits me low in my back as the man on the left punches me between the shoulders.

"Ready to be a good little bitch?"

Tears run down my cheeks as snot runs down my nose. My lips burn and my body aches, but I won't do it. "Never," I whisper as someone hits my stomach. Whimpering, I know without a doubt my mind is going to shut itself down at any moment.

The floaters are back to the point where I can't see. I thought at first it was the tears, but it's the amount of spots in my eyes. It's the only thing I see before my vision turns back from one of the men hitting me in my head.

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