Something pressed against my underwear. Something cold and sharp, and then it bit into my sensitive flesh.
I squealed, a small yelp slipping free as I became paralyzed by the fear wrapping around my throat.
I was bleeding. Couldn’t see it, but I could feel it in the pulse that lingered near my clit. The pain beating through me.
I didn’t hear Teena rip my underwear apart, but the feeling of disgust overpowered my fear, as I felt two of his calloused and dirtyfingers press against my wound. He felt over my shape, and as he did, a hum vibrated in his throat. Two fingers slid down to my entrance, and without warning, plunged inside me.
“Stop. Please, stop.” My words were silent, the dryness in my mouth allowing them no sound. Tears rushed out, flushing my face. Ville’s hands were still in my hair, making the situation worse.
The force of Teena’s hand had me rocking, the harsh wood scraping at my face, decorating me in tiny scratches. The tattered sheet wouldn’t have offered much protection, but I’d have been grateful for the semi-reprieve if it had been left on the table.
“Stop.” The word as clear as the sound of feet moving closer.Woodrow.
“Get off of me. Please, get off of me,” I begged again.
Woodrow tried to pry them from the table, pulling them by anything he could grab.
“She isn’t yours to touch!”
“No. But you are disappointing your father, and he’s not getting his money’s worth.” Sylvia laughed again, constantly giggling like this situation and all the pain he caused was his greatest joy. “She shouldn’t have forgiven you. You should have been ready to fuck her again.”
“I will. I will. I’ll do it.”
No!My head shook. I didn’t want him doing this. I didn’t want him to feel that guilt. It already tried to destroy us, and I wouldn’t have the strength to repair his broken soul, as well as my own.
“I’ll do it.” Woodrow’s gaze fixed on Ville. “The next time he’s at the front. You know he’ll do it. You know he liked it.” Woodrow choked on the statement, disgusted by the taste of the words on his tongue.
“I’m not waiting, Woodrow. You do it now, or Teena will, then Sylvia, and then when she’s full of their cum, I’ll fill her with mine.”
I couldn’t see Woodrow’s nostrils flare, but I knew they were, just like my own, trying to breathe through the hate in this room. I felt his eyes move to me, a soft caress against my tremorous body.
“Get your fucking fingers from inside my girl.” His tone was cold, hateful, but it was still Woodrow’s voice, and for thatreason, I changed my mind. I wanted it to be him.
I might not have survived anyone else.
Chapter 18
Woodrow—aged seventeen
Teena didn’t move, and now that I could, it fucking riled me. I clutched at his wrist, pulling him out from Jolie’s body.
Seeing blood between her legs and the little curls that no one should see, not even me—because she wasn’t fucking ready—made my blood boil, becoming uncomfortable as it traveled through my veins.
I enjoyed the feeling of his skin breaking beneath my short nails. Enjoyed watching him suffering greatly from such a small injury, squirming in my grip, making noises I’d never heard a man make.
I shoved him away, pushing him from the table. I dipped my hands into the full sink. Water rose past my wrists as I washed away any grime of his I may have had on me.
“I don’t need a fucking audience!” I snapped, knowing they’d grant no privacy.
“No, just supervisors.” My father’s face was smug, asking for a fist to drive straight into it.
I ignored him, saving my energy.
My stare landed on the man—whatever his fucking name was—holding her down. I didn’t recognize him. Unlike the scum he traveled with, he hadn’t been here before. I didn’t have to ask him to step back, he did it with raised hands, retreating to a corner. The look in my eye wasn’t the reason for his agreement. But the knife in my hand swayed his motives. Fucking coward.
I shifted back to the table, half tempted to drive the blade through my father’s chest, Sylvia’s throat, and every part of Teena’s body, starting with the rotting dick that had gotten hard off Jolie’s displeasure.
But I knew I was outnumbered, and the creeps in this room were happy to remind me, by hinting at the outlines of the guns tucked into their pants.
