Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
For Hope and Vi and Layna?
Sure.
But for the ‘normal’ girls like me, and Gracie, Luna, and Andi? Not so much.
Well, no. That wasn’t a great example since something similar to this had happened to Andi too. But unlike her, I didn’t have medical training that would help me stitch up an injured cartel member under the watchful eye of their dark, dangerous, yet sexy leader.
I had no useful skills to take advantage of.
But I could still be, you know, taken advantage of.
My stomach twisted hard at the idea as the car took a sharp turn so quickly that it made me lose my grip, and slam hard against the back of the trunk before I threw out my arms and legs to steady myself.
Damnit.
I should have just jumped at the opportunity to go to the clubhouse, stay there for a while. At least I would have gotten to spend my last few days with Rowe. Even if we couldn’t be, you know, intimate in any way with my family all around. We could still be around each other without the dark cloud of disappointment and rejection hanging over my head. It would have given me a few extra bright moments to cling to in case this was going to be the end for me.
No.
I couldn’t let myself think like that.
That was like Rule Number One in the “If You Find Yourself In A Life-Or-Death Situation…” handbook.
You had to have the right mindset. The second you started to let doubt sow itself, you were all but assured to harvest the worst possible outcome.
Focus.
I needed to focus.
Planting my feet and one of my arms hard enough that my joints ached in objection, I freed one hand to grab for the seat pull again.
But as soon as my fingers grabbed it, the car slammed to a stop, leaving me flying forward, knocking my face against the back of the seat, the pain ricocheting up my chin and jaw.
I could barely adjust to the pain when the doors were slamming.
And then the trunk was opening.
Whoever it was, they were still in shadow, their hoodie pulled up over their head, making their face disappear into the dark depths.
A grumbling noise escaped whoever it was, but before I could even anticipate the movement, my attacker was ramming something into my head for a second time.
When consciousness came to me again, it was reluctantly. Like some part of me knew that consciousness had nothing positive to give me. As such, my eyes stayed closed for a long moment as the pain shot through my skull.
I’d had migraines exactly twice in my entire life.
This pain was similar to that, but in both hemispheres since I’d gotten struck on both sides of my head.
Keeping my eyes closed, I focused on watching my breath, trying to control it, knowing that pain management could be achieved with enough concentration. It was part of the reason they pushed Lamaze on birthing moms.
As soon as that started to work enough for me to at least be able to think straight, I tried to mentally push aside all of the expected, but useless thoughts.
The ones where I worried about what was going to happen to me.
The “r” word hung like heavy drapes on my mind, making it nearly impossible to part them, think beyond them. My stomach swirled in response as all those warnings and statistics I’d been told my entire adolescence came back to me.
None of them worked in my favor. Not since I was already at a secondary location. Not since I was outnumbered.
I hadn’t seen my attacker, but there was no way that there had only been one if they got from Brooks to me that quickly. So I was up against two men instead of the one I’d been expecting, the “one” who’d been sending me notes and art.
I ran those notes back to myself, wishing I’d studied them with the intensity of my relatives who took it more seriously than I had. But I was certain they had written as a singular. “I am going to.” Not “we are going to.”
Sometimes, dominant and submissive types worked together in preying on women. One did the passive stalking, taking pictures, doing research, and watching whatever sick acts went down once the woman was in their control, while the other one only performed the torment.
One got off from the act.
The other got off watching it.
It wasn’t as common as just a normal sexual predator, but it happened. It wasn’t unheard of.
God, I hated being a part of that statistic.
Almost as much as I hated the idea of something I placed such a high personal and spiritual value on being used as a weapon against my body.
I knew this wasn’t going to end with me walking away from this situation, either. I wasn’t going to be allowed to live, or…