Page 7 of Promised at Birth

He stoops down next to me. His erection bobbing in my face.

“I am going to fuck you in every hole, Chica!”

I can barely move my arms and legs. The water is drugged. He wants me weak. Compliant.

He leans in to kiss me. He shoves his tongue in my mouth. I whimper. His breath is hot and tastes of alcohol. He smells of cigarette smoke and body odor. I pull away from him. He slaps my face. I see white. I taste blood. My lip is bleeding. I start to sob. He is going to take everything from me.

Villalovos yanks my ankles until I am laying on the concrete floor flat on my back.

“No!” I scream.

He sits on top of me - straddling my hips. He touches a tear on my face with the tip of his knife. My skin is crawling. Nothing will stop him. I am lost.

“Don’t cry Chica, you may like it. Nice tits!”

He sets the knife down. His hands roughly squeeze my breasts through my bra. He pushes my breasts together. Thrusts his erection between them. I can feel the hot skin of his penis rubbing me. I am panicking. He is panting. He picks up his knife. I feel the cold metal on my shoulder. He slices through the my bra strap. He smiles. I scream as loud as I can.

I hear loud bangs. Fireworks? An explosion? The sliding door falls to the floor. Men in suits run into the warehouse room.

Salvador grabs my head. Holds the knife at my throat. His eyes look wild. I struggle.

Another loud noise. Salvador’s head explodes. His blood and brain matter splatter all over me. I scream. Hyperventilate. I see smoke. I close my eyes. Shaking. Panicking. I smell sulfur. I hear footsteps.

Someone pulls Salvador’s dead body off me.

“Somebody get this off of her!” I hear a male voice command.

The voice is deep with a hint of rasp. I open my eyes. I see a man standing over me in a black designer suit.

Handsome.

Masculine.

Alpha male.

Tall – 6’ 4”.

Muscular.

Built.

Broad shoulders.

Cleft chin.

High cheek bones.

Thick, deep brown wavy hair.

Deep brown eyes.

5:00 shadow

He is the best-looking man I have ever seen.

Who is he?He looks familiar. Of course, my tall, dark savior is Bobby Vincenzio. The photos on the Internet do not do him justice. He is gorgeous. He looks like he just stepped off the cover of GQ magazine.

Bobby kneels next to me. He cocks his head to one side. He raises one thick eyebrow. His smoldering brown eyes lock onto mine. I inhale a captivating masculine scent – a mixture of expensive cologne and soap – like he just got out of the shower. He sits me up. Another man unlocks the collar around my neck. I am shaking.

---