Page 153 of If Our Hearts Collide

Hell?

29

PENNY

My body retracts, as I stretch up to see where the noise is coming from. And then the crowd surges, pressing forward to get a closer look. I feel the masculine energy of several men behind me, molding their bodies to mine. I feel claustrophobic, the air becoming too thick in the small space.

Steadying myself, I anchor my feet to the ground, careful to not be pushed over in the excitement.

SMACK.

I shiver at the sound of flesh meeting flesh.

A few men in the group of spectators chuckle, grabbing their crotches and pulling on their dicks. A hiss slips out through my teeth. Are they for real?

Just as I’m about to call an end to this blind show, I hear a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

“Stop. Please, I can’t take anymore.”

The sweet feminine voice of panic just makes the men surrounding me even hornier. If this is what a sausage party is called, get me the hell out of dodge. They make me want to be a vegetarian.

The room is becoming too warm. Too…sweaty?

Too many ball sacks…

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I won’t do it again.”

I’m sorry.

I know that voice.

Dammit! I know that voice!

I pull away from the crowd and push through the wall of concrete standing in front of me, urging them to let me to the front. The barrier of men parts ways, allowing me through, and it is then that I get a front-row view of the fiasco.

SMACK.

I flinch. But the victim endures it—leans into it.

Why is she not fighting and thrashing and cursing?

And then I see the restraints.

Bastard.

My eyes glare daggers into the back of his skull, as I plot his murder. There will be a lot of witnesses, that’s for sure.

The perpetrator rotates the bench to show the work of his hands. It’s as if I’m seeing myself lying helpless on that bench, with not a soul brave enough to help me.

Color blooms along her backside, as the abuser circles his hand along her reddening flesh.

Her inflicter manages to angle himself to remain anonymous to those watching, never turning to glare out into the crowd.

Coward.

And then the people around me roar to life again with reckless excitement as another hollowing smack cuts through the buzz from the audience.

The bench turns again and my eyes soak in the harrowing scene.

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