Page 52 of Bounty
The overhead lights flicked on, and I heard footsteps departing.
“Behave,” Buck slurred. “Dutch isn’t here. I want some pussy from you before he gets back. For now, you’re his leverage.”
“No, no, no!” I squirmed and tried to upend him, but he didn’t budge.
He slapped my face, not as hard as Dutch. Because of the abuse I’d endured, the lick was still painful.
“Behave,” Buck ordered again. “I don’t want to kick your fucking skull in because you piss me off. Dutch won’t be too pleased.”
I made a conscious effort to keep my breathing slow and steady, even when he straddled me again. With the light on, I could now examine the bastard on top of me. He was old enough to be my father, with thinning hair and a messy beard sprinkled with gray. He went back to struggling with his belt, tooimmersed in his task to realize I was watching him, searching for an opportunity to escape, but careful not to give myself away. Older or not, he was still a man who was larger than me, one with foul intent. I wouldn’t blindly hit again. I’d bide my time and wait; the element of surprise would be my best friend.
“Stupid fucking thing,” he grumbled when he finally got the belt unbuckled.
My stomach dropped. He pawed at my tits, and it took everything in me not to flinch.
“Pretty little cunt, aren’t you?” he breathed, his rancid breath washing over my face.
The C-word was one of the most offensive in the English language. It was degrading and belittling. If I allowed it to torture me now, I’d never save myself.
He tossed the belt aside, parting my legs. When his hands touched my panties, I couldn’t remain passive. With speed I didn’t know I possessed, I grabbed the belt and swung, socking him in the eye with the buckle. Luck was on my side because the prong jammed into his eye socket.
“Fucking bitch!” he screamed, yanking the prong out and clutching his bleeding injury. “You’re fucking dead, you hear me?”
If he didn’t shut up, I definitely would be. The arrival of backup would cut my chances of survival. As it was, I knew Rusty was lurking. Thankfully, the building I was in was large and cluttered, so there was a chanceonlyRusty heard the commotion.
Buck reached for me. I kicked at his hand, scurrying back. My mind scrambled to formulate a plan. Attacking him wasn’t the smartest move, but I wouldn’t allow myself to be defiled. That would be a mental scar that’d never heal.
I wasn’t a survivalist. I was a sheltered middle-class girl raised in suburbia, who’d never known what it was to struggle,let alone fight for my life. And yet, as my instincts took over, I managed to inflict another injury on him. This time, I scratched his face. He recoiled, and I put more distance between us.
“I’m going to gut you, you little whore,” he hissed, his hand closing around my ankle just as I managed to stand.
He sent me crashing to the floor and I cried out. Jumping on top of me again, he pinned my wrists above my head.
“Get the fuck off me!” I screeched, panic like I’d never felt before consuming me.
A backhand rewarded my words. My head snapped to the side, dots appearing in my vision as the taste of blood filled my mouth.
“Shut the fuck up,” he ordered, his hand going to his fly. “I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”
No, no, fucking no.
My body pinned under his, my hands disabled, made my situation bleak. The sound of his fly unzipping taunted me. His hands returned to my panties. My mind shut off, my instincts again kicking in. This time, they drew inspiration from a popular zombie show. Before I processed my actions, my teeth sank into the guy’s jugular. I nearly gagged as blood filled my mouth. His scream echoed in my ears, but I didn’t stop. I bit down harder, sank deeper into the vein, and jerked my head back, tearing his throat open.
Time stopped as he went limp. Just like that, the attack ended. As my adrenaline faded, realization set in. I killed someone. A sob escaped; the entire situation overwhelmed me. I wanted to curl up and hide, but that wasn’t an option.
Oddly, I felt no guilt or moral dilemma over taking a man’s life. It was me or him, and I still wasn’t out of the woods. I’d freak out when I was safe and sound.
Thankfully, he’d fallen on the side of me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to move his deadweight. Not wantingto alert Rusty, I held in another sob and turned in a circle, searching for an exit.
Glass was strewn everywhere. True to his word, Dutch must’ve had Rusty break the bottles to hinder me from attempting escape. As if the clutter wasn’t hindrance enough. I’d take my chances and hope a door to freedom stood in the opposite direction from where I’d heard Rusty’s voice.
Standing outside the clubhouse as the first rays of sun broke through the darkness of dawn, I’d never felt more lost and alone. Even when I watched my mother breathe her last, leaving Dad, Drifter, and me heartbroken, I didn’t feel such gut-wrenching pain. It hadn’t come with guilt and hopelessness. Only plain damn grief and heartache.
Mom’s death hadn’t been easy. Asthma claimed her. But it hadn’t been brutal either. Dutch would torture and abuse Effie. If Cash hadn’t brought me outside and ordered me to hand him my fucking keys, I would be almost to Jackson by now.
“Floyd?”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I glanced over my shoulder at the sound of Drifter’s voice. My twin hadn’t calledme by my name since I’d ordered him to stop calling me ‘Pretty Boy Floyd’ when I was sixteen. Riker had shortened it to ‘Pretty Boy’.
