Page 7 of Cam Girl

I swing for him again but this time he knows what I’m doing and grabs the end of the bat before I connect. Airevaporates inside of me and a sharp pain splinters between my eyes when the dude yanks the bat right out of my hands.

He shakes it side to side like a warning as another set of meaty arms wraps around my waist and hauls me backward off my feet. My legs kick out against open air and I try to scream, but the second dude squeezes, cutting off the sound before it squeaks past my lips.

Shit.

My back molars grind, my head at an odd angle. Before I have a chance to wiggle free or do a little donkey kick to his testicles, he throws me down.

My hip cracks against the coffee table and the cheap material folds underneath my weight. The hit leaves me breathless.

I somehow scramble to the side, hands scraping over the broken shards of the table. Both men round on me and their fury is the fourth presence in the room.

The air goes thick as I struggle to my feet.

The first dude tosses my bat over his shoulder and it lands against the counter, scattering dishes I had drying in the rack. His friend reaches for me and I haul my ass to the side to stay out of his grip.

He has a much longer reach than I do. He grabs me by the wrist, wrenching me forward so forcefully I cry out. Pain ripples up from the area as tears burst from the corners of my eyes.

“What do you want?” I demand, not expecting an answer but certainly not expecting a backhanded slap.

Skin connects.

Stars dance in front of my eyes and I’d have fallen if the dude hadn’t held me up. Pain has nausea painting bitterness over my throat.

Goddamn, did he have to hit so hard?

I lift my free hand to my jaw and the already swollen area where he made contact. These guys don’t know me but they hate me. Or maybe they hate all women and Ihappen to be the unfortunate one they’re looking at tonight.

The one holding me lifts his hand for another round of assault and battery but I duck low, avoiding the hit. He swings and grabs my hair.

Time for the knee.

I bring it up and he twists out of the way but the movement throws him off balance. I crack down on his wrist with mine, bone grinding over bone, and it’s enough to get him to loosen his grip.

I’ve made a terrible mistake by engaging. Rather than wait for it to cost me everything, I fumble for one of the broken table legs and come up ready to channel my inner Van Helsing. The jagged piece scrapes against the side of the guy’s neck.

His roar of pain is gratifying.

But his friend wastes no time before grabbing me again. I’m not fast. I’m not athletic or graceful. I’m just scrappy.

There are things you have to learn, growing up the way I did, and one of those things is resilience.

I will always come up swinging.

I will always do what I need to do in order to survive.

Both men move in tandem like twin snakes prepared to strike. I face off against them with the table leg between us, the end dotted with something dark. At least I’d drawn blood.

My eyes water at the creases. “What do you want? Huh?”

They say nothing.

A whisper of fabric sounds from the front door and I make the mistake of turning in that direction as a third man steps into the apartment.

The sight of the newcomer turns my stomach and sends an instant freeze through my blood.

There's no way to win against three of them. Especially if they get tired of my games and pull out the literal big guns.

They’ve got the door blocked now. My adrenaline surges again.

---