Page 128 of I Promise You
I’m on my knees, the plastic water scrunched into my hands, and I look up at him.
He unzips his jeans and pulls out his hardened length.
I quickly start crawling back into the corner of the horse stable, covering my eyes with my shaky, cold hands.
“Death’s little whore. I’ve got something you can snack on,” he mocks me, stalking toward me.
I’m circled into a fetal position, dreading his presence, but he doesn’t stop. I can hear the footsteps getting louder, and he pulls my hair upward.
I scream, clawing his hand, scratching the skin off.
He hisses in pain but holds his grip on my hair. He bends down, getting into my face.
“I always fuck our hostages before we kill them. Tonight is your execution, by the way. I’ve got the green light to have my fun with you before we hang you.”
“Leave me alone, you piece of shit!”
He roars with laughter. This man is easily over six feet, covered in tattoos from his face down to his neck. He’s overweight, and his double chin sticks out the more he tries to get in my face.
“I like her, Omar. Are you sure we have to kill her? I want to keep her as a toy.”
“Are you sure?” Omar reaffirms from a few feet away.
“She’ll be my new favorite shiny toy. Not a pet. A pet gets shelter, food, and water. You’ll get nothing but my cock when I’m ready to play with you and when I’m done using you, fucking every single part of you so bad that the Grim Reaper will no longer want you by the time I’m done, I’m going to cut off your fingers, your toes, one digit at a time for every day that you’re my toy.”
I start screaming. This man is crazy. I’d rather die. The thought of me becoming some sex slave that gets dismembered slowly over time with this psychopath has me craving death over a life of torture.
“Kill me!”
I’m sorry, Danny. I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry, Paul.
He grabs a gun out of his pocket, pointing at me, shoving it into my mouth, and I scream harder.
“Oh, yeah?” He looks over to Omar and Ms. Salem, and they’re amused, as if a sick show is entertaining them.
“We can hang the one they call Bane instead. We can shoot her. I’m getting annoyed by her cries. I don’t want to hear your pets whimper at home,” Omar tells him nonchalantly.
“Kill me!” I scream again through the gun, wailing uncontrollably. He forces it more down my throat, and I feel so helpless.
I’m going to die. At least it’ll be quick and not torturous.
“I’m going to cut your fucking head off, bitch! Keep testing me!”
I scream again at the top of my lungs, howling with agony, the gun rattling back and forth against my teeth before he pulls the gun from my mouth. He strokes the tip of his length, and I cover my ears and eyes with my hands, but it’s no use. He points his gun at me while he touches himself. Getting closer, he plants the weapon on the top of my head.
“Say hello to Death for us!” he snarls.
“Tell him yourself,” a voice echoes through the barn.
I gasp, and everyone grows quiet. Then a shot rings out, and the man that held a gun to my head drops to the floor, his blood splattering all over my face and chest.
Danny.
39
KANE
You know when you fucked up so bad, and you realize it as soon as you commit your own heinous crime? And then you’re desperate to right your wrongs? It doesn’t matter that it’s nearing midnight or the freezing temperature is biting my skin.
