Page 11 of Still Beating

He doubles over laughing, his voice squeaking and breaking, his butterball hands clasped around his knees. I glance over at Dean, who’s watching the scene with cautious interest, a frown etched between his eyes and his arms still tugging at his restraints.

“Kitten likes to play.”

The man lunges at me, tearing my dress straight down the middle.

God, no.

“You’ve been waiting to play with Earl, haven’t you?” he goads, his slimy hands palming my newly exposed breasts sheathed in a turquoise lace bra.

Earl. The bastard’s name is Earl.

My head falls to the side, my gaze catching Dean’s. He’s watching in horror, helpless, as Earl fondles me like I’m a fucking science project.

Earl is going to rape me. I’m about to get raped, right here, right now, with Dean Asher as my audience. Nausea swells and swirls inside me, and I force it back, tears trickling from my eyes. “Please don’t do this,” I whimper, trying to flail my legs to kick him away.

Earl forces his huge, obese body against me, pinning me to the pole so I don’t move, his hands tweaking my nipples through the lace.

“Such a pretty kitten…” he murmurs, practically drooling all over my cleavage.

Dean starts growling again, slamming his chains against the pipe with immense force. “I swear to God I will kill you if you fucking touch her. I will find a way out of this, and I will put your fat ass in theground.”

Earl chuckles, but doesn’t look up. He’s too focused on my breasts, as he leans down and jabs his thick tongue between them.

I cry out, squirming back and forth, stomping my stiletto heels against his boots. They hardly make a dent. Nothing is going to stop this from happening.

I’ve never felt so helpless.

Earl’s hands reach beneath the hem of my torn cocktail dress, sliding up my thighs. I squeeze them together, trying to resist him, trying so hard to fight back.

“I bet my pretty kitten has a pretty pussy,” he whispers against my ear, his breath curdling my stomach.

I whack my chains around, stomp my feet, twist and writhe and scream until my lungs physically ache. “Please,” I beg. “Let us go. We won’t tell anyone, I swear. Just let us go…” My God, I sound like a terribly scripted crime TV show. I always thought I’d be more creative if I found myself in harm’s way. More convincing.

But there is no reasoning with this man. There’s no bond I can form with him, no carefully established connection I can fake. My instincts tell me he is too far gone. He has no conscience—no soul. No trace of sympathy I can try to manipulate.

Earl tugs the panties from my hips until they fall at my ankles. My entire body tenses up, doing everything it can to resist the vile act that’s about to occur.

Dean is still protesting beside me, screaming and yelling colorful obscenities and idle threats. They fall on deaf ears. Earl pays him no mind.

My eyes make their way back to Dean as everything else starts to fade out. I put up a wall, like a defense mechanism—a mental block. I completely zone out, staring at Dean, who is trying so hard to lunge at us as Earl assaults me in the worst possible away.

“Look at me, Cora. Keep your eyes on me. Listen to my voice,” Dean orders, doing everything he can to maintain my attention. To distract me from the fact that I’m being defiled right before his eyes. “We’re going to get out of here, you hear me? I’m going to get us out of here. Just focus on me. I’m the only thing that’s real right now. It’s just you and me, Cora. Focus, okay? Look at me… focus on my voice…”

Dean’s voice starts to dissolve, my entire mind shutting down and turning to fog. I keep my eyes on him, his movements wayward and clipped. His mouth is still moving, but I can no longer distinguish his words—everything is murky. Confusing. I think I’m underwater, sinking, drowning, fading away…

I think the ocean has finally found me.

I think I like it here.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I listen to the steady drips from a leaky pipe as I lie sprawled out on the hard floor. My head is resting against the stone wall to my left, my legs splayed out in front of me.

Seventeen minutes and twenty-two seconds.

That’s how much time has gone by since I was desecrated. Used up and tossed to the ground like a piece of trash. I’ve been counting the seconds as they tick by in perfect time with the drips.

“Cora.”

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