Page 21 of Jagged Souls
The disgust.
The shame.
He’s going to rape me, defile me,dirtyme.
And I can’t stop him.
He trails his hands up from my knees to my hips, then down to my ass. He squeezes me as he presses his hard cock against my pussy.
I’ve never felt more helpless.
More afraid.
There’s a difference between being raped and fighting for your life.
A knife against your skin is a clear attack, and it tells you that death is the darkest outcome. We can’t fight off death, so we don’t blame ourselves when it comes.
But a cock…
A cock makes you feel like you did somethingwrong,like you made the wrong choice, trusted the wrong person, walked home the wrong way.
A cock makes you feeldirtyand dehumanized. It tells you there is something coming that’s worse than death.
A thousand thoughts ram into me – if I should’ve tried to stab the guy who tackled me in the face rather than in his arms, if I should’ve dodged left instead of right, if I should have turned the knives on myself and left them with only a corpse to rape.
Or maybe I should’ve made a better decision all the way back in the Shadow home. When I should’ve screamed for Sau. When I should’ve hid in the basement with my little sister and cowered with the others. Or maybe I should have run after Varius tortured me so badly I lost my magic. Or perhaps when I first learned I was to be sold to him...
How many bad decisions did I make to get here?
How many different choices could have saved me?
How many –
Don’t!
I grit my teeth.
Force those thoughts down.
Pulling on my training as an assassin, I keep my mind sharp, keep it above the fear and shame wanting to drag me beneath the waves.
You are a Black,I remind myself.
And a fucking Shadow.
And if I can get them to hurt me badly enough, Antonio might step in to save my precious womb.
So I close my eyes briefly and breathe out.
He won’t let me die today.
As Sadist grabs my shirt and starts ripping it in half, I snap my eyes open. Determined and prepared for the pain, I rip my right arm up as fast and as hard as I can. It shoots up a couple of inches, agony flaying all the nerves in my wrist. I slide up the bone-knife pinning me to the table, but then my flesh slams into the head of the bone, and I scream as the pain increases.
There is a brief second of resistance as my momentum meets the weight of the embedded knife. Sadist’s head snaps towards my arm, watching it move with a mixture of both shock and lust.
And then the bone is being ripped out of the table. My arm is flying free. Arcing through the air, in front of Sadist’s face. He sneers down at me, but then his eyes widen as I wrap my ankles around the back of his neck and yank his head towards me. I swing my arm back the way it came, and the sharp slice of the bone still sticking out of me stabs him in the cheek.
With a wet slurp, it explodes out the other side.
