Slingshot by K.L. Savage

Of course, there’s a line to the bathroom. A long line full of swaying drunk people. I don’t even want to know what the restroom looks like in there.

I’m taking my chances outside.

“Excuse me. Sorry, excuse me.” I slither my way through the people in the house, and when I get to the kitchen, I reach over the kitchen island and snag a few paper towels. I grab them just in time because a couple lies down on it, making out to the point I don’t even think they’re kissing. Their tongues just keep flicking against one another.

This is not my scene.

My shoes stick to the spilled alcohol on the hardwood floor. When I get outside, the first thing I’m doing is finding a bottle of water to clean off the bottoms of my flats. When I reach the backdoor, it’s open, but the screen is closed. There are a few tears in it, and the paint on the wood is chipped and old. I bump it open with my hip and exhale a relieved sigh when I’m away from all the people.

I’m getting anxiety just from being around them. I take a minute to gather myself and calm down. The night feels good. The weather is just right. The glow from the fire illuminates most of the forest, and the music is still way too loud, so I can barely decipher my own thoughts.

Crossing my arms, I double-check to make sure no one is around before stepping over the threshold to the woods. The trees are tall and skinny with branches that remind me of lean arms trying to reach out and grab me.

A twig snaps, and I freeze, holding my breath to see if I hear it again. I take another step, and another crack sounds.

My heart is hammering against my chest like a nail gun to wood. I stare at my feet as I walk, and that’s when another snapping noise occurs, and I laugh at myself. It’s me. I’m making the creepy noises.

“Jeez, relax, Natalia,” I say to myself as I walk further into the woods.

By myself.

The deeper I walk into the forest, the darker it gets, and the more I wonder if this is a good idea. My leather purse strap falls down my shoulder into the nook of my elbow, creating sweat along my skin, and I push it back up where it belongs as my fingers brush against the rough bark of the tree.

I stop and realize this is as good of a place as any. I can still hear the music coming from the party, and in between the trees, I can see the bonfire flicking, so I’m not too far out.

This time the crunch of a twig in the distance isn’t because of me.

I swirl around, and my hair fans out around me from the force of the spin. I squint my eyes to decipher the shadows in the night, but they are only trees.

Just an animal or something. Everything is fine.

I squat to do my business, careful to wipe, and then open my purse to grab the hand sanitizer that I always carry and pour a bit in the middle of my palm. I rub it into mid-forearm and begin my hike back to the party.

The ping from my phone has me stopping, and I check to see who it is. I smile when I see a notification from Noah. He’s here, but I don’t have any service to message him back.

“Where do you think you’re off to?”

The sardonic tone of Brock has me swallowing hard. I don’t want to look back. I don’t want to see that he’s real. Nothing good happens in the dark in the middle of the woods.

Nothing.

I’m an idiot.

“I think she’s scared, Brock,” one of his friends chimes in, and by the rasp in his voice, I think it’s Fletcher.

“She should be after what her fucking boyfriend did to me.”

“Let’s show her what happens when someone fucks with us,” Ian states with a manic chuckle.

My chest heaves, and my mind blanks on what to do. I feel like I’m in that room all over again, the one where several other women and I were waiting to be auctioned off and sold. I stood in that room, afraid and frozen.

And I’m here in an open space yet feel trapped.

I bolt and scream as I run. Branches littering the forest floor scrape against my ankles and leaf covered limbs whip against my arms as I try to get out in the open. I hear the stampede of football players on my heels, feel their steps vibrating the ground the closer they get.

Hot breath puffs over my neck, and I’m almost to the tree line. I open my mouth to scream for help, but a hand clamps over my mouth and yanks me back. Another arm wraps around my waist, and I kick to get free of his hold.

“Keep fighting me. It’s only turning me on,” Brock’s rancid words burn my inner ear.

He drags me deep into the woods, where the music becomes a distant thump, and the only light comes from the moon shining through the trees. I can see the angles of his face. They’re sharp, angry, full of hate, and no remorse.

Brock tosses me down onto the ground, and my hip hits first. A shooting pain vibrates the joint, and I hiss, blinking away tears. “Please,” I beg. “Don’t do this. Just let it go.”

“I don’t think so,” he sneers. “I think an eye for an eye is necessary in this case. There’s a good chance your scum of a boyfriend ruined my chance at an NFL career. I’m pretty fucking pissed about that.” He slams his foot into my side, and I roll in the opposite direction, folding my hands over my stomach.

A cool breeze kisses my backside, and I gasp, hurrying to pull my dress down to cover myself.

“Well, look at that.” Brock turns me on my back and straddles my legs.

He tries to lift the hem of the dress, but I fight him on it. “No!” I scream, but it comes out more like a sob. “Let go of me. Stop it! Let go!” I cry, fighting him every second.

A fist slams against my cheek, and stars blitz across my eyes. I still don’t let go of my dress.

So he rips it down the middle. The sound of clothing tearing has me calling out for Noah at the top of my lungs until I taste blood.

I cover myself up with my hands, but the attempt is useless.

One of the other guys grabs my hands and pins them above my head, and Brock spreads my legs. I shut my eyes, not wanting to watch what’s about to happen to me.

“Look at this. No panties. All ready and just asking for it. What woman doesn’t wear underwear?”

“A whore,” Fletcher answers.

“That’s right.” Brock tugs on the trimmed brown bush settled above my pussy. “A filthy fucking whore. Aren’t I the lucky one? All this for me.”

“It is not for you!” I spit at him, which earns me another slap across the face.

“It’s here right in front of me, waiting to be taken. I’d say it’s for me.” His hands glide up my bare legs and over what’s left of my dress. When his fingers get to where the tear stops in the middle of my stomach, he clutches the ruined material and jerks again, splitting it to the neckline.

I’m not wearing a bra either. This dress is too tight on the top to wear one. The air wraps around my nipples, tightening them into beads as a natural reaction, and Brock plucks them to the point where it hurts. I feel like he’s about to tear them off my body.

“I think she likes this,” Brock says. “Such perfect tits, Natalia. I bet your pussy is just as good too.” He bends down and wraps his mouth around a peak, and bites.

I continue to try to buck him off me as I wail, but it’s useless. He’s so much bigger and heavier than I am.

I’m not going to experience this. I am not going to become their victim. I won’t go down without a fight.

“You’re right,” I whisper to Brock. “I do want it. I want you. All three of you.”

Brock smirks. “I know you do,” he says, sliding his fingers through my folds that are as dry as this Nevada desert.

“Kiss me,” I plead with him, and his friends are cheering as if they’ve won.

Brock crawls up my body as his hand fumbled with the zipper of his pants. I gag when it slides down, and I can feel his small cock against my thigh. His face is above mine, and I smile through the tears, then snap my head forward, my forehead snapping against his nose.

Blood drips onto my chin as he screams and fumbles away from me. My head spins with pain, but I push through it, quickly yanking my arms free of Fletcher since he’s caught by surprise. I’m able to get to my feet and dash a few yards away, slipping on the sand and pine needles.

I dump my purse onto the ground and pick up my gun.

“Fuck, are you okay, Brock?” Ian asks.

“Get her,” he sneers, spitting a wad of blood onto the ground.

I cock the gun, which has all of them pausing in their motion to come to me. I’m half-naked, scratches all over me, but if there’s one thing I have over these fuckers right now, it’s this.

I have the upper hand.

“Woah, now hold on, Natalia. That’s a little extreme,” Brock tries to reason, slowly pushing himself off the ground to stand next to his friends.

“Extreme?” I let out something between a sob and a laugh. “You were going to rape me. All three of you. Without care. You were laughing about it. And yet, I have a gun to protect myself, and it’s extreme?”

“You weren’t wearing panties, Natalia. Come on. You wanted it.”

“I am not for you!” I pull the trigger, and the first gunshot lands by Brock’s feet.

It’s the first time I’ve shot the gun. My hands are shaking, and the gun is smoking. Fletcher takes my stunned stupor for his benefit and launches himself at me. He tackles me to the ground, and the gun flies out of my hand, smacking against a tree.

“You’re going to shut the fuck up and let us do whatever the fuck we want to you.” Fletcher backhands me, and he reaches between us to free himself while trying to keep my legs parted with one hand. I lift my leg to my chest and smash my heel into his face, knocking him out cold. He falls onto this back, his pants unzipped, and Ian kneels by his friend’s side while Brock charges at me.

I flip onto my stomach and scurry to where I think the gun might be. Dirt embeds under my fingernails as I fist the sand and pine needles.

“Get your ass back here, you teasing slut.” Brock grips my ankle and yanks me back. My fingers dig into the ground, and I use my free leg to kick him in the injured shoulder. It buys me a few seconds, and I stretch my arm to reach for the revolver.

I curl my fingers around the handle just as Brock flips me onto my back.

This time I aim.

And fire.

My finger pulls on the trigger before I can think, and the bullet lands right between Brock’s eyes. He has a moment of clarity when he realizes what happened. His lips part, and he tries to speak, but he can’t. A stream of blood flows from the wound, and he gasps for air before his eyes roll back, and he drops to the side.

I free myself from under his dead body and get to my feet, pointing the gun at Ian next.

“You fucking killed him!” Ian’s eyes are round, and the smell of piss fills the air as he urinates himself.

“Better him than me,” my voice an unsteady, unstable mess.

I cock the gun again, and Ian lifts his hands in surrender. “Don’t do it. Please,” he begs.

“You were going to do it to me even when I said stop.”

“And that’s why you deserve to die.” A whip sounds or a lash, and a sharp object rolls to my feet. It’s bloody.

Ian crumbles to his knees, and that’s when I see a hole in his throat, blood soaking the front of his shirt as he bleeds out. I look over Ian’s head to see Slingshot standing there, his slingshot still at the ready to aim.

His friends are with him, and I wrap what’s left of my dress together to cover myself. I drop the gun, and Slingshot sprints toward me. I fall into his arms, and he holds me against his chest as I cry, letting the fear out into the world instead of holding it inside.

I’m cold. I’m shaking. “I—I didn’t know what else to do. They-they were going to—” I try to finish my sentence, but it’s too convoluted. I can’t get my words out.

“You did so good, Natalia. You did exactly what I’d want you to do. You protected yourself.” He shrugs off his cut and then reaches behind his head to tug his shirt free.

His friends aren’t paying attention to us, and I’m even more embarrassed because they probably saw more of me than they wanted to.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I didn’t want—”

“Don’t you dare apologize for something these shitheads did. Do you understand me?” He slips the tattered remains of my dress onto the ground. My teeth begin to clink together as if it is snowing outside. He pulls his shirt over my head, and it falls to my knees.

I immediately feel better wrapped up in the warmth of his shirt that smells just like him.

He kisses my forehead, and I clutch onto his shoulders, squeezing my eyes shut as another wave of shock and fear sway through me.

His large palms settle on either side of my face, cupping my bruised cheeks gently. “I’m so fucking proud of you. If anything like this happens, you always fight for yourself, okay? You always make sure you come back to me. You’re my good girl, Natalia. You did so fucking good.” He lifts me into his arms, and I lean my head against his shoulder, his words soothing the areas inside me that need more coaxing and love.

I’m still his good girl.

That’s all I care about.

Maybe to some, those words might be condescending, but to me, they’re everything.

“Braveheart, give me your jacket.”

“You got it, Slingshot.” Without question, he strips off his black leather jacket that has his patches on it and covers me with it as if it’s a blanket. “You okay, Natalia?” His brows furrow deep in the valley in the middle of his forehead.

“I will be,” I croak, silent tears still falling down my face.

“Cut out their tongues and send them to Tongue in NOLA. Actually, chop them up and drive down to NOLA your fucking self, so they get to be gator food, understand? I want nothing left of them. They vanish into fucking smoke, got it?”

“You got it, Slingshot.”

“Call Knives for the refrigeration truck. I need to get her home and have Doc check her over, okay?”

“We got this,” Tank says, kicking Fletcher, who groans. “This one is still alive. What do you want to do with him?”

“Bring him to the compound and put him in the playroom. I’m not fucking done with him.” Slingshot stomps through the woods. “God, I’m so glad I heard those gunshots. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. I just found you, Good Girl. I can’t be without you now.” He leans his cheek against my head, and he somehow tightens his arms around my body, but it doesn’t hurt.

The closer, the better.

“Oh my god, Natalia!” Cora runs around the fire, and Slingshot twists me, so I’m not near her.

“You let her go off alone,” Slingshot whispers, the tone harsh and unforgivable. “You stay the fuck away from her. You hear me?” His eyes land on Nora next. “All of you. Good thing I was here. I’d hate to think what would’ve happened if I weren’t. Some friends you are.”

“Is she okay?” Benji asks.

“She will be. No thanks to you.” Slingshot’s shoulder slams against Benji’s, and my friend’s black-eye meets mine, and I quickly look away.

It isn’t anyone’s fault, but I just don’t want the attention right now.

Three bikes come to view, and he sits me down on the backseat. “I’m going to need you to hold onto me tight. Can you do that, Good Girl?”

I nod and reach for him even though he isn’t in front of me yet.

“Can I kiss you first? Or do you not want to be touched? I understand, no matter your decision, okay? I won’t be upset.” His fingers glide under my chin and force my head up.

“I always want your kiss,” I say honestly.

“Thank god,” he sighs before turning his head and robbing the space between us. His lips are gentle, soft as pillows, and slow. There’s no tongue because it isn’t that kind of kiss. He’s cherishing me, and the care he’s giving me right now is a healing balm all over my body.

I always want him to take care of me. I trust him to. I know he isn’t like Brock and his friends.

“Your kiss is the hope I’ve been searching for, Good Girl.” His forehead rests against mine, and his hand cups the back of my neck. “You’re what I’ve been searching for.”

I hum tiredly in delight as he gives me one last quick peck and mounts the bike. I wrap my arms around his bare waist, and his abs flex under my fingertips. I lean my cheek against the strong middle of his back and try not to become too relaxed as we drive away from the bonfire.

The more distance we put between the party and me, the better I feel.

I don’t feel guilty or sick for killing a man. I did what I had to, and I’ll take that to my grave. I’m proud of myself. I fought.

Tooth and fucking nail, I fought.

Maybe I’m more like my Papa than I realized. I know I’m not as strong, but maybe I’m just as fierce, and that makes me wish I could take back some of the hurtful things I said to him about him being the kind of man he is trying to keep me away from everyone.

He is nothing like those men.

Papa is a fighter, and he taught me well.

I close my eyes as the dry breeze causes my hair to dance over my shoulders, the ends stinging my shoulders from being whipped around. Somehow, I still find beauty in the stars even though they look the same as when I was flat on my back with Brock over me.

Noah places one hand over mine, and his thumb rubs against the flesh as we drive off into the night.

We can keep driving for all I care.

I’ll go anywhere with him.

I’ll do anything for him.

He’s my freedom, the constant relief after a life of being on my toes, and I’ll stop at nothing to make sure I always have him.

Always.