Page 83 of Property of Fox

Rage blinding me, I wrench against my bindings, feeling the roughness of the chains tear at my flesh. “Brea!” My voice falters.My heart races with a peculiar mixture of fury and fear. She is the focus of this hellish nightmare, and I am helpless to do anything but watch.

Tank grins, removing his fingers and licking them one by one. “She tastes good, no? Bet her cunt tastes even better.”

“Please, no,” she whimpers.

“I won’t let you violate her.”

“Yes, you will. In fact, you’ll get the front seat to the show. It’s not just me who has been itching to fuck her. After years of her parading around in her tiny shorts and skin-tight tops, I can finally do something about it. Then, when I’ve had my fill. My brothers will have their turns. She’ll be our little plaything.”

Tank shifts to the end of the table, pulling a knife from his pocket. It hovers over until he shifts to her waist, hand dipping between her legs before slashing. The rip of her jeans filling the space around us. “Get away from me! Don’t you dare touch me!” She kicks her legs against the restraints at her ankles.

“Stay still,” he orders her, pressing his arm across her lower belly to hold her still as he cuts away her clothes, tossing the scraps of fabric onto the ground as he exposes her.

“Keep fighting, baby,” I roar at her. “Don’t give up.”

“Yes, please do. It’s more fun when they fight back.”

She squirms as if every instinct within her screams for escape. “No, no, no, no!”

He finishes his work on her jeans, leaving nothing but the denim on her calves still intact. I watch in horror as Tank steps to the end of the table, jerking the chains at her ankles and pulling her farther down to the end of the table. Her ass just on the edge of it. He pulls the chains tautly, forcing her legs apart and exposing her wholly.

The sight is a visceral blow, anger amplifying my desperation. "Let her go!" I scream, my voice raw with panic.

Tank chuckles, a sick satisfaction in his eyes as he leans closer to Brea, his breath hot and rancid. “She’ll scream enough for the both of you. Won’t you, sweetheart?”

“Brea, hold on!”

“You think you can save her? Look at her.” He gestures to Brea, whose terrified eyes meet mine. “She’s already lost. Just like you. You’re going to die today, but not before you watch me and my club fuck her.”

I grit my teeth, frustration bubbling beneath my skin as I twist against my restraints once more. The chains bite deeper into my wrists, sharp pain awakening every nerve in my body. But I keep pushing against them. I refuse to fail.

“She’s your fucking stepdaughter, you sick bastard,” I yell. Doing or saying anything I can to pull his attention away from Brea. Away from what he intends to do even for a moment.

“Was,” he admits, listlessly playing

My lungs still in my chest. “You’re married to her mother.”

“Unfortunately, that's no longer the case. Her mother is on a long, one-way business trip to an isolated location.”

"You murdered your wife."

"I did,” he admits freely. “Dolores was simply a tool to my plans. We did have fun at first, but the fun goes away once they hit forty and their tits start to sag. Now that she's gone, I can finally take what rightfully belongs to me."

“You're a monster,” Brea spits, glaring at him through watery eyes.

“Never claimed to be anything else, sweetheart.”

The screech of a metal door scraping on metal echoes through the space. Seconds later, Tank’s club comes into view.

“About time you got here,” Tank orders. “You were about to miss the main event. Raider, make sure her wrists are secure. Wouldn’t want her getting a chance to take a swing at us.”

“You get a taste yet?” one of the other men says, stepping to where he can see Brea’s exposed skin. I can barely process the words spilling from Tank's mouth. He’s discussing gang raping his stepdaughter like he’s trying to decide what to order off a fucking menu.

“Not yet,” he smiles. “I like to play with my food first. You know that.”

“What are you going to do with him?” he says, jerking his head towards me. “Want me to take care of it?”

“He gets to watch. Why don’t you give him a front row seat?”

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