“I said, hasitbeen scanned?” he repeated harshly. “Take it out—or I will,” he threatened.
It was as if she’d been dashed into full awareness with a bucket of cold water when the gang boss brought his face close. Whatever drugs remained in her system were soon chased away by his stinking breath.
“Well, bitch? Will you take out the hoop, or will I?”
“Don’t damage her,” the crone reminded him.
With a grunt of disappointment, he twisted Celina’s nipples instead, making her yelp with pain.
“Get that ring out, bitch,” he snarled with his mouth almost touching hers, and with one final cruel crush of his fingers, he pushed her away.
She was perfectly conscious now and watched as he stroked his gun. Taking out the hoop, she dropped it on the floor. “Oh no,” she exclaimed, scrabbling about on the floor as if she hadn’t meant to let it slip through her fingers. Acting drugged, she staggered about and finally managed to impale the hoop on her stiletto heel. She shook her foot, and stamped down on it repeatedly as if trying to shake off the hoop. She could only hope she’d destroyed the transmitter.
But the gang boss wasn’t stupid. Swooping on the mangled hoop, he held it in front of her eyes. “You won’t be wearing this again any time soon, so if there was a receiver in here, it’s dead now, and you’ll be long gone before the cavalry arrives.”
Bringing his sweaty face close to hers, he grabbed her between the legs and squeezed hard. “If I didn’t have men fighting to buy you, I’d fuck you myself. And then I’d kill you. Now dance. Dance for your life, little lady.”
