Page 99 of Red Retaliation
“People really are stupid to allow their possessions to wander alone around the streets.”
For the first time, I freeze with the chill of the night air. Or is my blood turning to ice?
This isn’t Red’s voice, nor a voice I recognize. I try to turn, but I’m held fast against this man. And he’s a big man - tall and wide, his forearm thick with muscle.
“There’s no point making a scene, little Italian whore,” the voice continues. “No one can hear you.”
Wait! Ihaveheard that voice before, but I can’t think where. And whoever this is knows I’m Italian.
How?
“Right then, my sweet little manipulative bitch, it’s time to take something from Red Batemanandfrom you.”
The voice is raspy; it sends shivers through my body even though I’m held immobile by a vice-like grip from this stranger’s arm.
“Yeah, sweetcheeks, this is payment for what you’ve taken frommyfamily.”
Payment?Bile rushes up my throat.
The Bristonis? This is one of Bristoni’s men?
Panic swirls. Red told me not to go anywhere alone, but I did it anyway.“The threat is real,”he said. And he was right.
Shit. SHIT!
Rapidly regretting bolting from the hotel, I’m paralyzed with fear, silently working out if there’s a way I can get out of this. Will this man - this Bristoni thug - kill me here, or will he take me somewhere to face the wrath of Edoardo Bristoni himself?
Before I can formulate further thought, the arm keeping my back held against the muscular chest behind me drops, fingers now ripping into the top of my dress.
Oh God.
I’m spun around, fingers roughly grasping at my breasts, the back of my head connecting with the dank wall of the alleyway. I barely feel the pain as my skull thuds against the slimy bricks.
I scrabble to focus in the dim light, seeing a man’s face shrouded by a baseball cap pulled low and a necktie pulled over his mouth. But those eyes...
I recognize the eyes...
“Okay, Eyetie whore, let’s see what you’re made of.” The man hoists my dress up, his grubby hand pulling at my panties. Twisting, I kick out, this time connecting harder with his shin. He winces, but it’s not enough to stop him.
My whole body internally screams in revulsion as his thick, stinking fingers force their way inside me. I twist my head, dislodging his hand over my mouth enough to sink my teeth into the fleshy pad of his palm.
“You bitch!” he roars, snatching his hand away from my mouth.
I now have the chance to scream, but before I can, the man backhands me, knocking the air from me. My head rebounds off the wall again, his fingers pushing higher and harder inside me: grubby fingernails scratching my intimate flesh. Vomit surges, but on hearing a zip undo, my only aim is to get away.
Then I’m on the floor, my dress fully ripped open, his hands everywhere. The back of my head scrapes against the filth of the alleyway floor as I thrash about to push off the weight that’s now on top of me.
I can’t! He’s too heavy and strong.
A forearm shoves against my mouth, acting as a gag and forcing my head back at the worst angle. The side of my face is in a puddle of water or piss, my panic absolute as the thick head of his cock pushes for entrance between my legs.
Whimpering under his weight, I clamp my thighs together, but I’m no match for his brute force.
The clanging in my head gets louder.
This bastard will rape and kill me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Why did I run from the hotel? Why did I run from Red? As much as he freaks me out with his behavior, he wouldn’t let something like this happen. He’d kill first.
