It slams me to the ground.
The grip is brutal—unyielding, designed to torment. It mirrors the men who stole me before; coarse, relentless.
I don’t even have time to scream. It’s all happening too fast. I scramble to recall Cam’s training, desperate for anything, but there’s no room to think—just survival.
“That bastard’s gonna pay for stealing you, poppet. Remember me?”
No.
Nofuckingway.
His voice drills into my bones, cracking open memories I buried deep. Just like that, it’s not safe anymore. Not this place. Not this moment. Not inside my own skin.
His stench hits me next—mildewed breath and stale sweat. I’d never forget that smell.
But how the hell did he find me?
Has he been tracking Cam? Does he know who Cam is?
Is Cam compromised?
“I missed the fight,” he grunts at my ear, crushing me into the dirt with his bulk. His hands scramble across my body, rough and greedy, yanking at my arms. Cam never showed me how to escape this.
“Fuck you, cunt!” I snarl, driving my knee upward with everything I have—aiming for his crotch.
No use. He’s built like a wrecking ball.
I shift focus, blocking out the sound of tearing fabric, the chill of my shirt ripped open. He won’t take me. Not again. Not alive. I’ll die before he gets the chance.
I jam one arm tight to my side, snaking it past my head, and snap it back—brutal and direct. His grip falters. I twist. I roll. And I’m free.
Yes.
My lungs are burning, heart threatening to burst—but I know better than to run. Horror films taught me that lesson; never turn your back.
I seize the nearest weapon—a thick branch, jagged and solid. I don’t swing it.
Idriveit.
Straight down, like a spear, into his face.
His scream pierces the night, one of my strikes collapsing his eye with a sickening pop.
But I don’t stop. I can’t.
He raped me.
And worse—he revelled in my suffering.
Rage takes the reins. Blinding and all consuming.
I stomp my boot into his groin again and again. His cries inject the air, ripping the innocence from this once aimless walk, fuelling me.
“Go to hell,” I grit out, impaling him once more. The branch hits deep, splitting his flesh, and his blood arcs upward, showering me in red.
His face is almost indistinguishable now—teeth shattered, one eye a sunken mass, nose split down the centre like something flayed open. But he’s not finished.
A wet, rattling gasp claws at his throat, blood bubbling up in his chest. I hope he’s choking on it.
