“Ha! Tried to rape you. Sure. I’m sure you wish that happened.”
My jaw tightens. “Do you wish it did?” I ask roughly.
He presses the gun tighter to my chest. “What, did you try and suck his dick and he turned ya down, pretty boy?” he asks me.
My throat is tight and every inch of me is frozen.
No. Not again. I can’t let his happen again. I can’t.
I need to move. Protect myself.
My eyes burn. I can’t cry in front of them. I can’t let these assholes know that anything they’re saying or doing is getting to me.
“I turned him down,” I spit back. “When he dragged me to the floor, and tried to force my pants down and my cock in his mouth. Your Jackson. Your Jackson tried to rape me and nothing you say or do will change that. So, if I’m a faggot, then I guess he is too.”
This only makes them angrier, but I think that’s a good thing. His grip tightens but becomes shakier on the gun.
Come on, I can do this. I can move.
“You should be raped for saying that,” one of them hisses at me.
“Then do it!” I growl.
Adrenalin courses through me. I grab the gun pressed to my chest before he can pull the trigger and elbow him in the face. The larger man goes stumbling back and I whirl around, pointing the gun at the first man I see. He’s pointing a gun back at me.
“Who wants a piece?!” I shout. My breath is heavy and face hot. I’m trying to keep my cool, but flickers of what Jackson tried to do to me keep crossing my head.
Not just him.
I swallow the lump in my throat and try to focus.
Suddenly fists are flying, and bullets are soaring through the air. I’m ducking and trying to miss them, but I feel a distinct pain pierce through my leg, almost in the exact same spot I was nicked by a bullet several weeks ago.
“Son of a bitch!” I pistol whip the nearest guy, grab his gun and point them at the two in front of me. There’s a guard and another guy pointing their guns at me.
My nose is bleeding down my lips and my leg is gushing blood into my expensive shoe.
“You’re gonna pay the dry-cleaning bill with your fucking life.” I pull the trigger, and then duck before either of the other two can. One man goes down, and I’m launching myself backwards until I can toss one of the guns to the side and use my free hand to grab the guard by his hair.
I point the gun at his head.
“Don’t care about this guy, do ya?” I ask, and before either of the remaining men can answer, I shoot him in the head. Blood splatters all over my face and shirt. The smell making me sick, yet at the same time it’s all so intoxicating.
My head is starting to get dizzy from the blood loss.
“You motherfucker,” one of them growls at me and tackles me to the floor before I realize that’s what he’d trying to do. My leg is too weak to kick him with it, the other pinned to the floor.
“Jackson tried to rape you? Huh? Like you wouldn’t like it, you nasty bitch,” he fights with me on the floor as I try to get out of his hold.
My heart is pounding in my chest.
“Maybe I’ll finish his fucking job,” he starts to grab at my crotch.
His hands are all over me again.
Those words cut through me.
I deserve it.
