They’re here.
In my bedroom.
Not as big as I expected but intimidating all the same, dressed head to foot in black and backlit by the hallway light. Shockingly refined and maybe a few years older than me. They don’t look like typical thugs who make a habit of breaking into women’s houses in the middle of the night.
“Get the fuck out.”
The shorter, stockier of the two—the one with a scar through his left eyebrow—smiles at me. “This won’t take long, honey.”
“The cops are on the way.”
“Of course they are.” His cold voice chills me right down to the marrow of my bones. His eyes are black shadows that lock on me, and for the first time, I understand what prey feels like when caught in a predator’s sight.
The leaner guy shrugs one shoulder. “Like he said, this won’t take long.”
The scarred man palms a gun, and I can’t hold back my whimper. “Put down the bat, and you’ll walk away bruised. Swing that fucking thing at me, and I’ll put a hole right in the center of your pretty face. Do I make myself clear, Faith?”
I’ve always considered myself a strong person. Someone who can go toe-to-toe with anyone, even the Unholy. My fortitude came from having grown up with the worst of the worst. I withstood relentless bullying while at SHU. Stood up to Jester-fucking-Hayden, for Christ’s sake. Faced off with Havoc Taylor and lived to tell the tale when others weren’t as lucky. But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared me for this moment.
For the horror of staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.
Literally numb from fear, I somehow open my fingers and let the bat slip from my trembling hands. Every muscle tenses, and I practically jump out of my skin when it hits the floor. “Why me?”
The scarred man slides the gun back in the shoulder holster. “Consider yourself a pound of flesh.” I leap back when he retrieves my dropped cell and puts it to his ear. He doesn’t have the face of a murderer. He’s someone I could pass on the street and never suspect would point a weapon in a woman’s face and threaten to put a bullet in her skull. “You and your boys fucked up. Now you get to listen to the consequences of your actions.”
He drops the phone back on the bed and gives me no time to digest what he said to Jester. The punch to my gut knocks the air out of me. I double over, gasping as pain explodes in my abdomen. He grabs me by the hair and forces me upright. Shifts his hold. Twists my arms behind my back to thrust my torso forward.
The other man steps forward, rakes a glare over me before landing a solid slap across my left cheek. The second one connects harder and splits both lips, spilling blood into my mouth and down my chin.
“Shame we have to damage your face.” He tsks. “When we’re done, and you look in the mirror, you can thank your man and the Unholy for what happened here tonight.”
The slam of his fist to the side of my head turns the world white. The blow bangs my brain against my skull. It blocks out all sound save for the annoying ring in my ears. But he’s not done. And he’s also dead wrong. I have no intention of blaming Jester or the Unholy for what these animals are doing to me. This is on them and the anonymous coward who sent them.
Real men don’t use women to send a message to their enemy. They certainly don’t consider them a… What did this asshole call me?A pound of flesh. If these were actual men, they would take their fight straight to the Unholy. Instead, they’re here, in my house, in the middle of the night, beating the shit out of me because they have zero chance against a man. And they know it.
I spit blood at my attacker’s feet. “Connor told you I asked about the drug, huh? Do me a favor and tell him I said he can go fuck himself.”
The man grabs my chin, and I’m proud of how I hide my flinch. “Honey, do us both a favor and don’t speak about things above your paygrade.”
Behind me, the scarred guy finds it epically amusing to thrust his junk against my ass. “Too bad there’s no time to have a different kind of fun with her.”
Oh, this one is a whole trash creature.
The man releases my chin, his expression one of pure disgust. “As much as I’d love her boyfriend to listen to us fuck her, there aren’t enough condoms to get me to stick my dick in a Mayhem bitch.” The punch to my stomach lands so hard, I swear to God, I think he breaks something. “Who the hell knows how many men have been in that rotten gash.”
I’m finally released, and I drop like a brick. The next… I have no clue how long… minutes pass in a blur of booted feet connecting with my body. It ends with someone spitting on me and someone else’s laughter sounding over me when they finally finish their assault.
The front of my hair gets grabbed, and my head is lifted. A face hovers close to mine. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Faith.”
The kiss on my forehead makes me gag, but thankfully, I hold in the bile that rises in my throat. And then my hair is released. My head slams against the floor. Battered, I crawl to the bed. My hands are trembling and fumble as I grope for the phone. Every part of me hurts so bad. My head is humming and my ears ring. I put Jester on speaker and struggle to open the CGM app. My BG is through the roof. Fear, adrenaline, trauma… They’ve spiked my sugar. The beating itself was bad enough, but now my vision is also fuzzy.
And I need to pee—bad—thanks to hyperglycemia.
I can walk, so I do, but it’s an effort. “Jester,” I rasp. He must not hear me over the yelling. But why is he yelling? And who is he yelling at?
“Jester,” I repeat, louder this time.
“Shut the fuck up.” His roar cracks through my brain like thunder. I think it’s directed at me, and I’m about to hang up, but the background noise on his end goes silent. “I can’t hear her. Faith?”
