Page 75 of Beautifully Shattered
These arseholes played a part in Bobbi’s death. I shouldn’t be runningfromthem. I should be runningtowardsthem, with a gun in one hand and a knife in the other.
Breaking through the treeline, several Marx security spin our way with guns raised, but when they see it’s us, their aim shifts behind us to the swarm of Rebels closing in.
The Marx team starts firing into the trees as Ringo and JD swing their bikes around the SUV and pull to a hard stop.
Jumping off quickly, they draw their guns and start shooting into the treeline, using the SUV as cover.
“Abbey!” Jols hurries to my side, helping me off the bike, my legs shaking so bad I can barely stand. “Keep your helmet on. Let’s go!”
She drags me across the road, into the other line of trees, and I panic when we get further and further from my husband.
“I don’t want to leave Ringo.” I snatch my hand back when we’re a few metres in, the forest ahead looking pitch-black and unforgiving.
“We won’t,” she promises. “We’ll just hide back here.”
Drawing her own gun, Jols holds it steady in front of her, scanning the chaos unfolding on the road.
Suddenly, rough hands grab me from behind, and I scream as I get dragged backwards into the shadows.
Jols is right there, her gun trained on whoever has me.
“Let her go or I’ll shoot!” she snarls, and the man scoffs.
“I’ll take my chances you’re not that good a shot.”
I claw at his hands, but he’s wearing gloves, and it barely fazes him. I’m too preoccupied trying to get myself free to notice until it’s too late, when a man comes crashing into Jols from the side.
I scream again, the arsehole dragging me deeper into the darkness, my heart thundering in my chest.
They said they wouldn’t kill me, but they also said they might “play” with me.
I know what men like them consider play, and I’d rather die than let another man use my body for his sick pleasure.
Suddenly, the man stumbles, and we start falling backwards. We hit the ground hard, a loud “umph” ripping from him as he takes the full impact.
I don’t waste the chance, and slam my elbow into his ribs, his grip loosening enough for me to roll off, and quickly scramble to get up, so I can run.
I make it two steps before his hand snaps around my ankle, yanking me back down, my body slamming into the dirt hard. I claw at the earth, digging in to pull myself forward, but he’s strong and fast and annoyingly determined.
I kick back, my boot connecting with something solid, and he roars in pain, making me grin.
I hope that hurt, arsehole.
He’s not done, though, on me again in an instant, crawling up my body as I twist and fight to get away.
Knowing I can’t out-muscle him, I change tactics and stop trying to drag myself away. Gripping my helmet, I hurry to tug it off, holding it like a weapon, and when he rolls me over, I swing.
The crack is loud as my helmet smashes into his skull, and he tumbles off me with a thud.
Rage explodes through me as I straddle him, seeing his glazed eyes blinking at me, completely stunned.
With both hands locked around the helmet, I swing again, driving it down into his face with everything I’ve got.
I scream and I swing. Again and again. The feeling of his bones crunching spurring me on.
I keep going, smashing it down, caving in his face until all I can see is bone and blood.
I refuse to stop. I need to make sure he can’t hurt me. Can’t hurt anyone ever again.
