Hard Times by C. Hallman
8
The sound of the lock disengaging startles me. The guys must have forgotten something since they just left. The door swings open and all the air whooshes out of my lungs.
“Well, hello there. Fancy meeting you here.” Derick cackles, like a male version of the Wicked Witch of the West. He closes the door behind him, and my heart plummets into my stomach.
I pull myself up to sit as best I can with my hands cuffed to the headboard.
“You’ve caused quiet the rift between me and my friends.” He stalks towards the bed like a predator, like a wild animal about to go in for the kill. “I figured the least you can do is let me use you for all the trouble you’ve caused.”
“Use me? What is fucking wrong with you?”
“Many things.” He grins and then lunges on me.
Like a wild banshee, I kick out my legs, bucking my body, and try to fight him off. I yank on the handcuffs with such force I swear I hear a bone crack, but I don’t feel any pain.
It doesn’t take him long to overpower me. He grabs my ankles and pulls me toward him so I’m flat on my back again. Then he shoves my legs up, folding me in half, so my knees are against my chest.
He pins me down with one arm and pulls my pants down with his free hand, exposing me to him in the worst way.
“It’s really nice of them to leave you here tied up like this. Just ready to be fucked.” He runs his hands through my folds roughly, his nails digging into my flesh. “What should I fuck first? Your cunt?” He shoves his finger into my opening and I have to stifle a scream. Tears prick at my eyes, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing or hearing me cry.
“Or your ass?” He removes his finger from my dry pussy and shoves it into my ass. I immediately cramp up, which makes the bastard only laugh louder. “Ass it is.”
He removes his hand and shifts over a little. I hear clothes rustle and a zipper being unzipped. Bile rises in my throat and I squeeze my eyes shut and hope that this is going to be over quickly.
“I’m going to enjoy treating you like the slut you are. I’ll fuck your tight little asshole until it bleeds, and then I’ll fuck your cunt. I’m going to relish every scream and plea from you whore mouth–”
His words are cut off by his body being flung across the room. My legs flop down to the mattress and I watch in horror as Hunter kneels over Derik, grabs his head and smashes his skull against the unforgiving concrete.
Oh, my god, he is going to kill him.
Hunter’s fists smash into Derik’s face over and over again. He is going to beat him to death, and even though the guy was about to rape me, I can’t help but want Hunter to stop.
I just want him to hold me instead.
Derik’s motionless body drops to the floor. Hunter stands, his chest heaving viciously.
He stares at his unresponsive friend, his features contoured with violent rage, almost like he is daring him to get up and put up a fight. His bloodied hands curl into fists beside his body.
Time seems at a standstill. No one moves. No one says anything.
After what seems like hours, Hunter finally composes himself enough to turn to me. His eyes roam down my half naked body. Renewed fury flashes in his eyes.
“I-Is he d-dead?” I stutter.
“No, but he probably would be if Ryker was here.” At his words, my gaze flickers to the door. It’s open, but no one else is there.
Hunter bends and grabs Derik’s ankles. He pulls him out of the room, and out of my sight. I want to tell him not to leave me, but before I can make my throat work again, the door slams shut, making me jerk at the sound.
Pain, the adrenalin rush before dulled, shoots through my body with a vengeance. My left hand and wrist throb the worst. I’m almost certain something is broken.
Twisting my head, I peek and confirm my left hand is already swollen. My wrist is double its size, leaving no room between my skin and the metal of the handcuffs.
My head snaps back to the door when it’s opened once again, and I sigh a breath of relief when I see Hunter’s face.
He approaches me with care, like you would a skittish animal, avoiding my gaze. I don’t understand why. Is he worried what he might see?
Getting on the bed, he looks between my legs, and his jaw clenches. Slowly, he reaches for the sweatpants and works them back up my legs. I lift my butt slightly so he can dress me.
Once I’m covered, he looks at my wrists.
“Fuck,” he growls and pulls the key from his pocket.
I try not to, but still wince at every movement of my wrist as he uncuffs me. With every tiny touch, another lightening bolt of pain shoots through me. I grit my teeth together, stifling a scream because I want to be tough, even though I have no real reason to pretend.
“I need you to take this.” Hunter removes a small white pill bottle from his pocket. Popping the top open with his thumb, he dispenses two large tablets into the palm of his hand. “I need to deal with some stuff before I can take care of you, and I can’t tie you back up with your wrist like that.”
“Okay.” I let him place the pills on my tongue, and a bitter taste fills my mouth right away. He reaches for the glass of water on the nightstand and helps me drink so I can wash down the medicine.
Cautiously, he lifts my arm to inspect it further. Before he puts in back down, he shoves a pillow beneath it to keep my hand elevated.
“Your ring finger is broken. Your wrist might be as well. It’s at the very least sprained. We’ll set it while you’re out.”
“Why?” I ask quietly. I am genuinely curious why he would go to all this trouble if they are going to kill me in a few days.
“I don’t know… maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe we should end this now. Put you out of your misery,” says, but it seems like he is talking more to himself than me. He still hasn’t made eye contact and as crazy as it seems, I really wish Ryker were here.
He stays until whatever he just gave me dulls the pain in my hand and wrist, along with the fears and dreadful thoughts swirling around in my head.
A warm happy feeling floods my body, all the terror washed away, and I sink into an absolute peaceful darkness.