Page 13 of Obsessed

"See, you don't want to mess with me," I say. "I'm sick with a deadlydisease."

He pulls me against him. The rank odor circling around him brings me close to throwing up again. "Right, doll, like I don't know what fucking withdrawals look like." He pulls my arm so hard, it feels as if it might separate from my shoulder. "You've got pin pricks all up and down those pretty arms. You're a fucking junkie, and now I'm going to give it to yougood."

His words temporarily stun me, making me forget my grim situation. I'm a junkie. I stare down at my arms, both covered with tiny red marks. How can I go back and not die with shame? How can I face Clark or Maddox with needle scars all over myarms?

The guy I smacked with the bottle is sitting on the ground, wiping the blood off the back of his head with his hand. "That bitch deserves to die," he snarls as his friend tightens his grip on my arm and drags mepast.

All my self defense moves seem impossible now. I'm as frail and helpless as a kitten. I'm a junkie. The phrase repeats in my head again and again. Despair, shame and a bleak cold creeping sensation shudder through me. It's part of the withdrawal effects I tell myself. I can't let it get hold of me or I won't make it outalive.

While still holding my arm, my attacker kicks in the dented door. It breaks off rusted hinges and falls into the room. The walls have only shreds of plaster left, exposing the stacks of cinderblocks beneath. Walls sturdy enough to withstand a hurricane but not the test of time. I stumble over the fallen door as he drags me ruthlessly into the vacant space. Vines hang down through the holes in the ceiling. Abandoned birds' nests clutter up every corner of the room. The floor is littered with plant debris. I have no doubt there are creatures hiding out, watchingus.

The other guy joins us. He still looks a little wobbly from the blow to his head. And he looks mad enough to take it out on me. I search frantically around for something, anything I can grab to defend myself, but dried and decayed palm fronds make patheticweapons.

My head has started to pound and shards of pain shoot through my limbs. I'm feeling dreadfully sick from withdrawal. The pain and nausea coupled with the dread of what is about to happen to me makes me consider death as the best way out. It's the lack of nectar which allows the dark thoughts to seep in and take hold, but I don't have the strength or will to fight them off. An hour ago I was nervous and thrilled about the possibility of going home. Now all I can think is I hope these guys are the kind of perverts who prefer to kill mefirst.

My kidnapper releases my wrist for a moment to clear some debris away from an old cot. His friend steps in to give him a hand. I turn and run, only to stumble over the fallen door. I slam to my knees. Tears fill my eyes as I push to my feet. Before I can take another step, the guy grabs hold of my hair and wrenches me back. I fall hard on the ground, jarring my teeth together. Stabbing pain shoots up my tailbone and back. Detective Tennyson would have had both these guys tied up with their own fucking balls by now. Shit, where is she when I needher?

He pulls my hair again causing my already pounding head excruciating pain. I scream and reach back to take hold of the hair close to my scalp, lessening the bite of his grasp. With one good yank, he pulls me through the debris on the ground. Grit and rocks scrape the back of my legs as I struggle to get my feet underme.

"Less defiance and we'll all be better off," he mutters. He whips me onto the dust drenched cot. Musty clouds of dirt puff up around me, making my eyes and throat burn. The unexpected dust storm makes both men cough. I push up from the cot and try and bolt for the opening. In the middle of his cough fit, the asshole sticks his arm out. I smack face first into his fist and fall back onto the cot. The room and their monstrous faces go out of focus. I close my eyes and hope for a blackout. My shorts being wrenched from my body brings me quicklyto.

I make a last effort to bring my foot up into the guy's balls as he drops his pants, but my aim is off and I smack his leg. "Tired of this, bitch," he sneers. His hand comes across my face so fast, I never see it coming. Pain explodes through my head and things go blissfullydark.

A roar echoes around me. In the blackness, I visualize a giant, angry beast. There is no other explanation for the sound. The hands that were holding me fall away. I can only reason that I'm dead and can no longer feel my attackers touchingme.

My lids are heavy but I manage to open my eyes. Everything is a painful blur, but I'm sure I see more than two people in the room. They've brought more friends, I conclude and quickly close my eyes to get back to that death-like state of mind. It's no use. I open my eyes again. My vision is clearer. There are three more men in the room. The small space is packed withthem.

Oscar and Jason come into focus as they step back and cross their arms. The guy I hit with the bottle is crumpled in a heap on the broken door. I pull my bleary focus around to the adjacent wall. I sob instantly at the sight of him. It's a reaction I would give anything to erase, but seeing Kane's confident, strong shoulders and the straight set of his jaw, turns me to jelly. I can't, I tell myself. I can't go back to him. But all I can think of now is running to him and jumping into hisarms.

"Kane," I say weakly. He looks back at me over his shoulder. His blue eyes are dark like an angry ocean. The look in his face sucks the wind from me. I sway back and my head taps painfully against the cinderblock wall. More of the scene comes intofocus.

Kane is holding my attacker by the neck. The man is purple and gasping for air. His nose is grotesquely skewed to the side of his face, and both his eyes are swollenshut.

As Kane lifts his bloodied knuckles to hit the man again I'm shaken out of the fog. Due process, law, jury trial swish through myhead.

"No!" I cry out. My shorts are still around my ankles. I pull them up. "Let him go. He's dying," Isob.

Kane ignores my pleas. He's in a fog too it seems, a fog of revenge and anger. A thud echoes through the room as his fist hits bone and flesh. I cover my mouth to stop from puking. My feet land hard on the ground. I stumble towardKane.

"No, you can't," I cry and grab hold of Kane's arm. It tenses beneath my grasp. He turns his face but looks past me. It seems he will do anything not to look me in theeye.

"Get her out of here," he barks theorder.

Oscar lumbers across the room toward me. I make a pathetic attempt to avoid his grasp. Seconds later, I'm tossed over his shoulder like a sack of flour and carried out of the building. He holds my legs tightly against him, but I get in some good blows on his back with my fists. I'm certain I'm the only one who feelsit.

Oscar takes pity on me and drops me off his shoulder and into his arms. He doesn't say anything to me. The nightmare scenario happening in the abandoned building falls into the past. I'm hardly safe and I have no idea what will happen next, but I'm no longer at the mercy of the creeps in thetruck.

I relax against Oscar's chest. The release of tension feels good, but I'm now totally aware of every pain, ache and tingling sensation as I withdraw further from the nectar. I know Oscar probably won't talk to me but it doesn't stopme.

"I guess I'm in a lot of trouble with the boss," Isay.

His deep voice startles me. "We all are,kiddo."

Blake. I lift my head and look around. "Where's Blake?" my voice wavers. "Where ishe?"

Oscar doesn't answer thistime.

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