Page 9 of Velvet Cruelty

I don’t want to kiss him back but I’m already doing it, pressing my lips to his, touching his tongue with mine. Something in me knows what to do. More than knows. Wants.

A high, awful scream rips through the air and the priest laughs into my mouth. He pulls away and the desire I feel to keep kissing him is a hundred times worse than his hands on me. He leers like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “You kept this pussy on ice too long, Zach. One little kiss and she’s butter.”

The huge man still has Mr. Parker in a chokehold. My fiancé writhes and jerks, tears streaming down his dark red cheeks. “January! January!”

My heart slams against my ribs. “Please let him go?”

The priest ignores me, spinning me around so his hips press into my backside.

There’s another explosion. A thick book bounces onto my foot, but I barely feel it. The priest’s hand is sliding along my stomach, rising to cup my left breast.

“Let’s see what we have here,” he mutters.

“Nnnggijos,” Mr. Parker moans.

“Yes,” the priest says, caressing my breast. My legs go weak. I want it to feel bad, but it just feels wrong. Like saying the alphabet backward. Everything inside me is hot and ringing with fear, but I know it’s not my fault. I don’t want to do this. He’s making me.

The priest nuzzles his face into my neck. “Me and the boys are gonna have fun with her, Parker. But don’t be jealous, you’ll get to watch.”

Mr. Parker makes a high, whining noise like a dying insect.

The priest’s fingers toy with my nipple through my dress. “We’ll break her in, Parker. Fuck her every way a girl can be fucked.”

The man in the balaclava gives a rumbling laugh and I stop breathing. Thinking. I try to disappear inside myself.

“You think you know what’s gonna happen, Zach,” the fake priest says in my ear. “You’re wrong. You’ve got no imagination. The things the four of us have dreamed up to do to your little virgin… you’re gonna blow your brains out just to end it.”

Two loud bangs from behind us. Someone knocking on the hidden door. The fake priest lets go of my breast. “Time to leave.”

Balaclava man raises a fist and brings it down on the back of Mr. Parker’s head like a hammer. He slumps to the floor.

I scream but my throat is too dry for noise. Mr. Parker’s eyes are still open, but he isn’t looking at anything. He’s like a fish at a market.

“The fuck are you doing?” Father Monastero snaps.

I jump but he’s not talking to me. Balaclava man is unzipping his fly.

I cry out and manage a second of sound before the priest grips my jaw and forces it shut. “Hurry the fuck up.”

I watch as the balaclava man pees all over Mr. Parker, the stream running over his face and soaking his wedding tuxedo. I want to scream again but my body is floating apart like dandelion seeds. The urine stream ends, and I’m left staring at a stranger’s penis.

I’ve only ever seen one penis. Paul DeLuca took his out during science class as a joke. But this penis is nothing like that short pink thing. It’s long and fleshy and covered in tattoos. Balaclava man has tattoos on his penis. He shakes his penis, releasing droplets onto Mr. Parker’s unconscious face. The scream that wouldn’t come before makes another attempt against the priest’s hand.

“Shut up,” he hisses, pressing harder against my mouth.

I want Zia Teresa to snap a tea towel at these disgusting men. I want Margot to swear at them. I would even take my stepmom, her face tight, screaming at me as much as anyone else. I want Theodore and Kurt. The police and the army and the FBI. I want this to stop.

The balaclava man looks from Mr. Parker to me. His eyes are electric green, so bright they look fake. And the way he looks at me. He hates me. No… that’s too personal. He nothings me. He could kill me, crush my throat underneath his foot and it would be like swatting a bug. My knees buckle.

“Shit,” the priest snarls, hauling me up. “She’s gonna faint. Are you done?”

“Yeah,” balaclava man mutters.

The fake priest carries me through the secret door and into the cathedral courtyard. It’s empty though the air is full of sirens and screams.

“Margot,” I mumble. “My brothers. My cousins. Is everyone okay?”

The priest ignores me. “Where’s the van?”

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