Page 3 of Lamb

I reached for the side pocket, and a small flash of metal caught my eye. I barely got two fingers in the pouch before a weight slammed me back down.

My chin bounced off the concrete once again, water filling my mouth and nose, pain jolting through my skull. The noise rang in my ears, and I choked on a groan, water spluttering out of my mouth.

A hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled. The motion churned vomit in my stomach, head spinning and ears ringing as my back slammed into the hard ground and the blurred night sky stared back down at me. Water pooled around my hair, seeping into my scalp as hard concrete cupped my head.

“Don’t worry.” A familiar sharp prick pressed into the underside of my chin. “I won’t kill you. Not yet.” The man bent his knees into the ground on either side of my hips, washing me in his rancid scent. The crotch of his thick jeans pressed into my hips, a portion of his weight pinning me in place and embedding the grit of the concrete into my skin. “The bonus I’ll get when your father gets to see his little girl’s face once again makes me want to come all over you.”

I wished for the ringing to rise, to drown out the vile words coming from his lips. His face was too far to make out details, but I knew I wouldn’t need them. He was just another facelessmob in a crowd of carrion, pecking at my bruised and broken body.

“Hurry up, man,” the other jumped in. He had moved closer, the water in my ears sloshing at the touch of his boots. “We ain’t got all day.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jimmy.” The man above me seethed, his thighs clenching in a punishing grip around my frail frame.

“Once she starts screaming, the police will be here faster than your mother can unbutton her pants.”

“Keep my mother out of your mouth,” Knifeman growled, the pressure under my chin vanishing as pink light bounced across my vision. The neon light waved through the dark alley shadows as Knifeman manically waved the blade through the air. “I ain’t dragging this bag around with us.” His position shifted, his weight moving down to my thighs to better hold me in place. I groaned at the bow in my knees as they fought under the pressure. “Not in one piece, anyway.”

My skin turned frigid, my body a statue as the man grew still with calm. He moved his head up and down, perusing his prey with unnerving focus.

“Now,” he purred, “which bits do we need?”

Hot lines traced down my arm, the point of the knife digging into my flesh, a pebbling line of blood speckling over my skin.

My twisted muscles flexed as my nails dug into my fist. The small pocketknife burnt in my grip as the open blade wetted warm blood between my fingers.

Oblivious, the man reached the crook of my free wrist and pulled up my arm like a child with a doll. His slimy eyes admired the angry red line he had made. “Such pretty skin,” he mused. “Shame to waste it.”

I bit my cheek, eyes straining for an opening.

The chest?

It would be too hard. The man wore a layered leather jacket, the material zipped tight over his chest, and his bulked body would make it hard for my little knife to cause much damage.

The hand?

A hard-moving target, it’d be difficult to land a hit properly, and if I missed, I would be revealing my card with little to show for it.

The neck.

My assailant was hunched, chin tucked into his chest as he stared down at me. It was protected by the angle, but that meant little; angles could change, and if they did, I would have the element of surprise. The reach would be difficult, but if I played my cards right, it could be a deadly hit at best and, at worst, it would be a shock and might buy me the opportunity to get out of here. It was worth a shot.

“Ki—” I choked, the noise cut off as hot iron blood swelled in my mouth, a sharp split on the inside of my cheek rubbing against my teeth. I swallowed as much as I could, the metallic taste bitter. “Kiss me.”

The man looked surprised, as I was sure anyone would have been. He looked away from his knife, leering eyes glazing over me. “What was that, princess?”

“Kiss … me,” I struggled.

A lecherous leer overtook his face, drool coating his fat lips. “I knew you were just a loose bitch,” the man jeered, the bait sinking into his smooth brain.

He wiped his mouth against the back of his hand before leaning towards me. A finger and thumb grabbed my chin with a punishing grasp. Whatever wound was filling my mouth throbbed in retaliation.

He could not hide his greed as he leaned his body forwards, stale breath lathering my cheeks.

Time slowed down. I adjusted my grip, the pocketknife slippery between my bloodied fingers until the handle sat snug in the crook of my palm. I ignored the harrowing monster as he leaned closer, my eyes sliding past his face towards the thick, ropey neck moving within range.

I can do this.

His fat lips pressed against mine, cigarettes and stale beer overpowering, mixing with my blood as his grip tightened on my chin and the back of my head burrowed into the concrete behind it. I could not decide whether it was bile or more blood that filled my throat as I swallowed hard to force it back down.

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