The muscles in my calves and thighs scream as I push myself to move faster and faster. If I can just reach one of the emergency call boxes scattered throughout the park, I’ll be all right.
But I never reach one in time.
One moment my feet are pounding against the trail, and the next they're kicking at the air as I'm hauled up off the ground by the person behind me.
Thick, hairy arms encircle my arms, pinning them to my waist as I’m dragged backwards by a large, bulky man. Screaming, I kick at his shins and try to wriggle from his grip, throwing my head back and slamming into his chin. The blow is enough to knock me silly, but the grunt I hear from my attacker gives me satisfaction that I was able to hurt him.
His grip loosens a little until he’s half carrying, half dragging me towards the woods at the edge of the trail. I know that I might never make it out of there alive if he gets me in the secluded area, so I start screaming at the top of my lungs, praying someone is nearby and is able to hear my pleas. “Help! Someone please help me!” My voice sounds so high-pitched and desperate that it scares me.
Suddenly, the man throws me down on the leaf-covered ground, pinning me with all his weight. The crushing blow causes the air in my lungs to escape in a rush, and I struggle to breathe.
In my vulnerable state, I look up at my attacker. His face is covered with a black ski mask, and all I can make out are his beady, brown eyes and broken, rotten teeth as he breathes heavily through his open mouth.
His meaty hands tear at my clothes, ripping down my shirt and searching my yoga pants for pockets. He’s probably looking for money, but I never carry anything more than a twenty-dollar bill in my sports bra pocket for when I go to visit Sophie. And I'll die before I tell him to reach in there.
"Where's your money, bitch?" he hisses through clenched teeth with a thick Irish accent.
Irish.
I’m not sure if this man works for Nolan Farrell or maybe one of Nolan’s sons. I can’t help but wonder if this whole thing is in retaliation from the charity gala several weeks ago.
I manage to pull a small burst of air into my crushed lungs before I scream for help again. If Farrellisbehind this, I need to get help as soon as I can. I know what the Irish Mob boss is capable of.
The hard blow comes out of nowhere, silencing my cry and whipping my head to the side. My ears ring as a fog falls over me. For a moment, I lose consciousness, and my body goes limp.
I’m completely helpless as his hands paw at me again, and I faintly hear the sound of fabric tearing as he tries to yank my pants down.
The sound is enough to bring me back to reality. Sucking in a breath, renewed strength courses through my veins as I use the heels of my palms to strike him in the face.
He quickly grips his nose, which I most likely broke, and roars in anger. Cursing, he spits blood and mucus onto the ground beside me, barely missing my face.
His large hand collides with my mouth as he backhands me. Pain radiates through my entire mouth and jaw as the smell and taste of metal hits my senses.
Pinning my wrists down above me with one of his big, sweaty hands, he hisses at me, "I came for your money, but now maybe I should take something else since you’re such a pain in the ass," he says, grinding his crotch against me.
His breath is foul as it runs over my face, and I turn my head away, gagging at the stench. Tears stream down my face as I shake my head back and forth. "No, no, no, no," I sob. "Please!"
He reaches into his pocket with his free hand, and the sound of a pocket knife flicking open has my breath seizing in my lungs.
"Don't worry, love,” he says menacingly, “I'll have you begging for it in a minute."
He releases my wrists to undo his pants, and I take the momentary freedom to scramble back away from him. I turn, getting up to run, but he tackles me to the dirty ground again.
I’m on my stomach now, even more vulnerable than before. His fingers tear at my clothes, struggling to rip them off of me. I try to kick back at him, but my legs are pinned underneath his fat thighs.
I can feel his cock pressing up against my ass, and I scream bloody murder. "Help me! Somebody please help me!" My hands grasp for something, anything, but come up empty. There are only leaves and small twigs on the ground, nothing to strike back with.
"Shut up, bitch," he growls, wrapping his hands around my throat. The delicate chain of my necklace breaks under his grip, and I can feel my only comfort in this whole wide world falling from me into the dirty ground below.
His grip only tightens as my vision begins to swirl, blurring everything in front of me. Darkness threatens to consume me, but I refuse to go under.
I mentally try to prepare myself for what's about to happen, but I can't. I can't just…give up.
And it's in that moment when I hear a deep voice asking, "What the fuck is going on here?"
A sob of relief releases from my lips as the man on me loosens his grip around my neck. He pushes up off of me; his crushing weight gone. I collapse to the ground, barely managing to turn my head to see my savior.
My mouth takes a while to catch up with my brain as I stare at the man before me, trying to understand how he's here right now. "Damon!" I sob.
