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I can’t help it as my mind wanders back to the stables—remembering how it felt as Colina came down against my flesh, whip after whip, relentlessly.
That momentary slip of focus is all they need. A sharp yank at the nape of my neck sends pain flaring across my scalp as one of them grabs me forcefully.
I hiss and twist instinctively, bringing my dagger up in a blur. I flip the hilt in my hand, ready to drive it backward into my attacker.
But he is faster.
His iron grip clamps around my wrist like a vice, twisting sharply until my fingers betray me and the dagger clatters to the ground. I barely have time to react before he yanks my arm behind my back, the sharp pressure in my shoulder sending a jolt of pain rippling through me.
“Feisty, aren’t we?” His breath is hot against my ear, and the smugness in his tone makes my stomach churn.
I grit my teeth, swallowing the cry that threatens to escape. Panic claws at the edges of my mind, a wild beast desperate to break free, but I force it back, summoning the same defiance that burned within me before.
I thrash against his grip, twisting and straining with all the strength I can summon. His hold is unyielding, his fingers like iron chains gripping the hair at my nape. My father’s warnings ring in my mind, each word sharper than the dagger I dropped.
‘Don’t let them grab your hair, lass. It could be the end of you. Always tie it up.’
But I hadn’t listened. Vanity or carelessness—it didn’t matter now. I’d ignored his guidance, and I had no one to blame for this predicament but myself.
“She fights back. We like when they fight back, don’t we, fellas?” The voice behind me drips with cruel amusement, his breath hot and sickening against my ear.
He yanks my head back sharply, forcing my neck to arch, and before I can summon another burst of defiance, his wet tongue drags up the side of my throat. I recoil instinctively, bile rising in my throat, but the brute only laughs, the sound low and guttural.
“So bloody sweet,” he mutters, drawing out the words, reveling in his own twisted triumph
The fear begins to course through my veins, thunderous and all-consuming. My limbs tremble as I claw at his fingers, trying desperately to pry them away from my scalp, but his grip tightens further.
“No, no, no,” he tuts mockingly, his amusement dark and vile. “Ye ain’t slippin’ away this time.” Then, like the filthy pig he is, he leans closer and sucks the tender skin just below my ear, his audacity a searing brand against my spirit.
A wave of disgust and fury surge through me. My hands ball into fists, nails digging into my palms. I can’t let this monster win. I can’t let them break me further.
Not now. Not ever.
“Ya know,” he continues, his voice low and mocking, “We was told ye’ve got a tight little virgin cunny—warned to leave ya nice an’ untouched.” He chuckles darkly; the sound rumbling like gravel and reverberating against my skin—a filthy, calculated taunt meant to unsettle. “But ‘ow could I resist, eh? A prize like you? They can sod off wi’ them orders.” He presses in behind me, and I can feel the unmistakable press of his arousal. A fresh wave of revulsion crashes over me, twisting my stomach and sending an involuntary tremor through my body.
His hand snakes forward, grazing the side of my neck, his touch light yet deliberate, as if savouring the moment. “Ya shiver so pretty,” he sneers, his voice low, almost playful. “Makes me wonder ‘ow much more I can make ya squirm.”
His chuckle grows deeper, more sinister, as if my silence only fuels his twisted delight. “He’ll get ya, aye.” His hand tightens slightly against my throat, his breath brushing my hair like a ghost of what’s coming. “But he won’t be findin’ ya all nice and tidy like a pretty doll. Oh, no.”
“Y’see,” he sneers, his voice dripping with malice. “We’ll each be takin’ a turn with ya. Gotta bring ya in alive, but he never said we couldn’t bring you in bloody. So while each of us takes every filthy hole of yers, ye’ll bleed and break, just like he wants ya to.”
The words send a fresh wave of horror crashing over me, mingling with the disgust that boils in my gut.
How can someone I don’t even know hate me so?
I shift my stance, feeling the damp forest floor beneath my boots and searching for any advantage. “Now then, ye’re gonna be a right filthy little tart and take me cock like the wicked slag ya are,” he grits out, his panting breaths on my neck threatening to overwhelm my senses in the most vile way.
He clumsily snakes his hand toward my waistline, his movements uncoordinated but full of vile intent. A surge of anger and revulsion rises within me, stronger than the fear that’s been paralysing me. I thrash violently, my body reacting before my mind catches up. The motion surprises me—surprises him—but not long enough to gain the upper hand.
“Get your filthy hands off me!” I snarl, my voice a guttural growl even I didn’t know I possessed.
His grip falters, if only for a moment, and I wrench against him with everything I have. My body twists like a trapped animal, desperate to escape the vice of his hands.
“Ah, ye’ve got some fire, eh?” he sneers, tightening his grip again, but there is a flicker of something else now—a crack in his smug confidence. He sneers, his voice dripping with mockery. “Makes it even more fun.”
I bare my teeth in a snarl, my breathing sharp and fast. “Try again,” I hiss, venom dripping from every word, “and I swear you’ll regret it.”
His grip tightens to unbearable levels. I blink hard, refusing to let tears form, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear. Fear won’t help me now.
