Sex toys litter a coffee table, surrounded by empty beer bottles and lines of coke. Four big guys are lounging on the couch. Most of them are stripped to their boxers, making the intent clear. A camera is set up in the corner, trained on the spot where Emily is semi-naked on the floor with Wes’s hand around her throat.
The need to puke is strong, but the need to draw blood is even stronger. I’m seeing stars as fury propels me into action. I emit a loud roar as I race toward Wes. He scrambles off Emily, trying to cover his dick.
She coughs repeatedly, and a strangled sound rips from her throat. Judging by the way her eyes are rolling back in her head, and the drug paraphernalia in the room, I’m guessing they doped her up to make her more compliant so it looked consensual if anyone ever found the tape.
Rage pummels my insides from all angles, and I launch myself at Wes, throwing him flat on his back before he can get away. I straddle him, ramming my fist into his face.
“Sam,” I shout, looking up briefly. “Find Emily’s clothes.”
The other guys in the room start throwing punches at Zach and Carter, but they’re stoned and drunk and no match for the guys who are lashing out in anger, same way I am.
Intense pain shuttles through my skull, and I yell out, clutching the side of my head as Wes shoves me off him. He drops the vase he used to hit me, backing up toward the sliding door that’s open to the street below. His jaw is tight, and he’s holding his nuts as if I’m going to cut them off.
Not a bad idea.
I climb to my feet, pain forgotten, and stalk toward him with my fists clenched and teeth bared. “You’ll pay for this, motherfucker.”
He chooses that moment to grin like he won this battle.
No, fucker. You’re about to splatter to the sidewalk six stories below.
The sound of engines trickle by as Wes keeps inching backward.
“You’re not going to hurt me,” he says, shaking his head, displaying his usual level of smug arrogance. “You don’t want to go to jail.” He stumbles as his bare feet catch on the sliding door rail.
I push him into the railing.
He lets go of his nut sack, grabbing onto the iron rail. He sticks out his chin, defying me, daring me to try to throw him over.
My brain is clear as the night sky, and I debate whether to hang him over the railing by his now limp dick. Maybe that will scare him into not gang-raping a woman.
He grins, sending me over the edge.
My fists are flying and connecting with his nose, his jaw, and the side of his head.
He laughs. The fucker laughs. Even as blood sprays from his nose and trickles from a cut in his lip.
I zone out, consumed with black rage as I go at him, uncaring whether he lives or dies. This piece of shit doesn’t deserve to live. I’m pounding my fists into his face and upper torso like I’m working out with the punching bag in the gym.
His head flies right then left. Bones crack. Blood splatters.
I’m so into my zone that I don’t hear Sam’s voice until he touches my back, grabbing hold of my shirt and yanking me back.
“Adam, enough. Emily is safe now.”
I stop mid-punch, glaring at Wes’s bloody face. “Touch her, go near her, call her, or even say her name, and I get wind of it, and you’re fucking dead.” I nod to his groin. “I’ll cut off your small dick and force-feed it to your buddies.”
I release a breath, letting Sam drag me back inside the room, as Blakely slumps to the floor of the balcony, groaning and hugging his ribs. Emily’s cries reach my ears the instant the screaming dies down in my head. I rush out into the hallway, dropping to my knees in front of her. Her legs are pulled into her chest as she sobs, and the sound is breaking my heart.
I lift her in my arms. “Shhh. I got you, baby. No one will hurt you again.”
I’ll kill anyone who dares to.
12
Emily
“Where are we?” I ask Adam, as he lays me down gently on a large, black leather couch after I’ve showered and freshened up in some stranger’s bathroom. All I know is we’re in someone’s apartment, off campus.
