Although, I might be the first one to bite him.
With the practiced precision born of a man who’s well acquainted with beating women, he backhands me across the face hard enough my teeth rattle. I pitch to the side, a small whimper escaping me as my body hits the hard, unforgiving ground.
Eduardo wastes no time climbing on top of me, a psychotic grin slapped across his hideous face.
“Fuck what Christian ordered. You want rough? I’ll fuck every hole until you’re fucking bleeding, and I still won’t stop,” he mocks, slamming his lips against mine as I struggle underneath him. I taste blood as his thick, slimy fish of a tongue pushes past my mouth roughly. He pulls back, a hazy lust clouding his eyes that stirs the panic inside me.
“What do you know about rough, shrimp dick?” I mock him back. “Fucking a woman isn’t the same as fucking one of those sheep you’ve been practicing on.”
One day I’ll learn to keep my mouth shut, is the thought that goes through my mind as the pot-bellied man lands a punishing right hook across my cheek that has my vision exploding into nothing but blackness for a short moment. Vomit rolls in my stomach at the sudden disorientation, and I will my body not to black out.
Unconsciousness will not be good.
Momentarily stunned, all I can do is lie there trying to right my vision and regain use of my limbs while the man pulls at my top, rolling it up toward my chin to expose my naked body to his lustful gaze.
When I look down at him, he just grins proudly as he runs his filthy hand over the bare skin of my waist. I shake my head, trying to clear the fog that’s descended over my mind. I won’t be a victim. I won’t be a victim.
Eduardo must not consider me much of a threat since he doesn’t bother to restrain my hands as he hastily works to undo his belt.
I will not be a victim.
The sound of his zipper opening is all it takes to shake me from my stupor.
Without giving it much though, my left hand shoots up into his face, palm striking a direct hit underneath his nose. The sound of snapping bone is followed by a strangled “oomph” that puffs out of his mouth as he jolts backward. He sits up slightly, his hands covering his bleeding nose, a slew of colorful curses filling the space between us.
His face turns thunderous, eyes shifting almost midnight as he snarls down at me. A bloodied hand leaves his nose, poised to strike.
Then all hell breaks loose.
Threads of gunfire erupt from outside the cell window, followed by a deafening explosion that shakes the building. My arms shoot up to protect my face as dust and debris rain down around me. I look around, spying my opportunity for escape.
My freedom.
I will not be a victim.
Seizing the opportunity, I strike.
One moment he has me pinned beneath his hips, and the next he’s lying flat on his back next to me, a large gaping wound on his head.
The stone is heavy in my hand, covered in his blood, but I ignore it.
I am not a victim.
I can feel my chest tightening, my breathing shallow and labored as I shift to my knees. Eduardo groans, his body slowly shifting. That’s when something loosens inside me.
Rage surges through my veins like boiling lava as I strike at him repeatedly until I’m panting and out of breath, my body covered in a light sheen of sweat, his face nearly unrecognizable.
The hollow thump of the stone hitting the ground echoes through the cell as I struggle to keep from panicking. My hands shake as I hold them out before me, the panic coursing through me rapidly increasing as I take in the sight of his blood splashed across them.
My eyes widen in horror as my mind begins to process the carnage I’ve created.
Leaning to one side, I vomit up what little is in my stomach, dry heaving for several moments when there’s nothing left. What have I done? What have I done?
My vision darkens around the edges, my chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths.
I’ve killed him.
Murdered him.
