Page 86 of Death Kiss

‘It’s not like we’re getting out of here anyway. May as well have a little fun along the way.’ That one adjusts his crotch, and I’m terrified to see the excitement there.

That’s what Liam meant when he said there were things he couldn’t make himself do. But these men… well, they’re like me. The power, fear, and control are what get them off.

‘No,’ I scream as hands pull at me. They tear me from the corner, and pain rains down upon me. Fists meet flesh with crunches and twacks. My breath escapes in whimpers and gasps, agony flooding through every part of me.

I’m almost thankful when the hitting stops, panting through the brief respite, wiping away blood that drips down my face.

Until they start tearing at my clothes. Stripping me to be even more vulnerable. There’s nothing I can find to convince them to stop. They’re like a pack of feral animals, feeding off each other’s frenzy.

I scream when they pin me down.

Cry when they taunt me with phrases I’ve said a thousand times to others.

Open up and take it.

Look at the tears.

You know you want it.

They laugh when I sob, and thrust harder when I try to get away. I can’t keep track of who is doing what. Whose fists break my bones. Whose dick tears through me.

No one comes to my rescue.

Not when I beg.

Not when they produce a homemade shiv and use it to tear new holes in me. The pain from the knife is nothing compared to what follows. They mock me with it being the same pain others felt when I tore into them without a care.

At some point I grow limp beneath them, the pain and humiliation peaking and leaving me broken.

Time stops having any logical meaning. It could have been hours since they started hurting me, or fifteen minutes. I barely cry out when something snaps in my arm.

Blood pools beneath me when they push me prone to the floor, taking turns. I watch the dark red puddle spread, aware that I’m losing too much, but struggling to find any energy to resist.

There’s not a part of me that doesn’t burn. I vomit from the pain, but it doesn’t stop them.

It never stopped me.

When they grow bored of my suffering, they turn me over, my focus blurring as one digs his knife deep into my gut. ‘This one’s for Sam.’

My pulse thunders as he brings the knife to my throat and digs it into my flesh, not in one neat cut, but in a slow advancement of metal piercing until I can’t breathe.

‘This one’s for Liam,’ he says, his breath dank as I struggle to find my own.

He yanks the knife out.

The last thing I’m aware of is blistering pain between my legs and the slowing of my pulse. The forcing open of my mouth. The revulsion as hot, battered, bloody flesh is shoved into my throat.

My body has no energy left to gag.

Darkness gathers as pain envelops me.

In those last moments, I sob.

EPILOGUE

KAT

TWO YEARS LATER