“Fuck. You,” I spat out, sounding much braver than I felt. The insult pissed him off, forcing him to release my breast so he could drag my body forward and slam it back against the machine until every ounce of oxygen I had in my lungs was brutally forced out. I couldn’t breathe, and my spine felt as though it was in a vise, but at least I could focus on something other than the position of his hands against my skin.
“Oh, I plan on it, little hound whore. So does every other fucker in this place.”
I cringed, and he must have seen the disgust on my face. It took only one shove and I was on my hands and knees under him. I wheezed in a breath now that the obstruction around my neck was gone and tried to crawl away as the sound of his buckle loosening sent my head spiraling into another vortex of fear and panic. The wordnoplayed deafeningly loud over and over in my head as I tried to find my balance to crawl and run, but my fingers found purchase in nothing as they grazed the concrete, forcing the nails to bend back painfully as I dug deep for the fight I knew I had.
No matter what I tried, the push of my knees, the awkward twist of my feet, nothing seemed to work. I was in such a panic that I hadn’t realized the asshole was holding me back by the belt loop on my jeans. The moment I did, I slowed, giving him the opportunity to flip me over like I weighed nothing at all, forcing my shoe to slip from my footand drop to the floor.
I didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me earlier. Maybe it was the threat of what was to come or the absolute blinding need to escape, but I suddenly realized that without a gun, I still had a weapon I could use.
I just had to get to it.
My feet slid over the dust and tiny shards, making my legs scissor under me. I was annoying him with my squirming, but he seemed oblivious to my intent. Whether it was a good thing or not, I managed to move at least a foot in the right direction before his fist found my gut and my body froze in agony. My aching fingers didn’t give up the fight even when he straddled my hips and pinned me down while I coughed and flopped under his weight. Stretching out my arm, I tried to get close enough, my body struggling against the renewed grip of his hand against my throat and the winding of his weight over mine. I knew the shoes couldn’t be far. I just had to believe my luck wasn’t that bad.
I was twisting and writhing in his grip when I finally found one. My fingers slid over the thin heel first, and if I could have, I would have cried out in relief. The bear of a man was already squeezing my neck in an attempt to gain my submission, forcing me to pat around in the dirt so I could get a decent grip. The hand that had found the shoe was, unfortunately, the one that was housing the broken finger. By some divine intervention—or rush of adrenaline—I was able to ignore the pain as I got a good grip on the thing, which was exactly when I struck.
My arm launched and swung up through the air as though it was spring loaded. My finger was screaming in protest, but it only steeled my determination all the more. This waslife and death and my fear was being caged by my urgency to survive. When I made contact, the jolt of it sent white hot embers of pain through my finger and down my arm to my chest. I knew I’d hit something, but it was impossible to tell what until the grip on my neck released, oxygen burned a path down my neck, and the grunt of pain had the bastard rolling away from me.
I hadn’t won, not by a long shot, but as I rolled to try and escape, I barely managed to put a few feet between us when his hand clamped on my ankle and pulled me back.
It was there, in my twisting, writhing struggle, that I saw the gun that was, with a little work, within my reach.
Kicking out with my free leg, I caught the soft flesh of his gut, which gave me enough leverage to shoot forward and half crawl and squeeze under the mechanics to reach the gun. I felt the rips in my flesh as the sharp corners ate into the bare skin of my shoulders and back. The space was much smaller than I originally thought, but hooking my arm around an anchored support in the center of the machine finally gave me something to work with.
The pounding of the guy’s fists came in flurries along my legs, his arms circling my calves as he pulled and attempted to drag me free. I wasn’t going easily, though. I could see my freedom less than three inches from the tips of my fingers, and as I kicked and wriggled for my life, I finally touched the butt of it.
I was just about to wrap my fingers around it. I’d loosened my grip on the anchor piece to make it, my body stretching to its limits, when I felt everything suddenly move around me.
His thick hands clamped down with everything he had and gave one last, almighty pull with every ounce of hisstrength. Unfortunately, I was pliable now that I wasn’t holding on, and the sharp edges and corners tore and shredded my skin as he dragged me out. The mess of glass and discarded machine parts on the floor made the skin on my stomach burn almost as intensely as my back. When I was out from under the damn thing, he twisted me to my back yet again, his body moving in to lock down my kicking legs.
There was just one thing he hadn’t counted on…
I had the gun in my hand, and in one tiny adjustment, had my finger on the trigger.
He saw it the same time I did and dived forward, his body almost crushing mine. His knee pulled up, the scrape of his boot louder than the grunts of our struggle. I fought as well as I could, but his knee landed on my chest as his hands closed around mine, twisting the gun and my fingers painfully. We fought for control for a while, my adrenaline giving me the extra burst of strength I needed as I pulled the trigger.
My ears rang, my breath caught, and the warmth of blood against my skin was immediate. So was the deafening scream that fell from my lips and wouldn’t stop.
Chapter Forty-Six
Drew
Nothing else mattered the moment I heard her scream.
My brothers had gotten me to my feet, but I’d barely been able to recognize one from the other as I hung over their shoulders, limp and trying to regulate my breathing. Slater was busy wrapping the chains around Cortez’s hands when the sound of her agony brought me back to life.
Quickly looking between all my men, I watched as their faces set to stone as firmly as mine did. Before I even realized what I was doing, I was pushing forward, not needing to tell Slater to hold on to Cortez.
“Drew, easy!” Jedd called out.
“I’m right behind you, brother,” Moose shouted.
“Fuck,” Kenny cried. Kenny. I hadn’t even seen him, but just knowing he was there somehow made everything seem a little clearer to me. We were still brothers. We were still on the same team.
I limped as hard as I could long after her screams died down, and all that was left was the echo of her suffering bouncing off every wall.
“Ayda!” I called out, but my voice was broken and weak. There wasn’t any real power behind it. Coughing up andclearing my throat to remove the razor blades, I tried again, knowing full well that no matter how much the men around me shouted her name, it would only be mine that would register.
“Over here,” Moose yelled.
