Ring. Ring. Ring.
I jerked as I came awake. Looking over at the phone, I snaked my hand outside the blanket to pick it up. Dial tone. Beside me, Zachary was already getting out of bed. I didn't stop myself from checking out his bare muscled ass as he bent to pick up his jeans off the floor. He pulled a cell phone out of the pocket.
"Kant, here."
A pause.
"Right now?"
Another pause.
"Okay. Be there in fifteen."
He turned back to me, his face blank.
"You're leaving," I said, trying not to let my disappointment come through.
"Have to," he said flatly. "There's increased chatter regarding the gang activity and I need to check in. Listen, you can come with me to the station."
I made a face. "I don't think so." I had no desire to be around a bunch of cops, who'd look at me with either suspicion or pity.
"You'll be safer with me. And you'll be safe at the station, even when I'm busy working there."
"I'll be safe here. I was, you know, before you came along." I just meant that no one had ever messed with me at my apartment, that's all. But Zachary's mouth tightened and I knew he was thinking of the first time we met, when he'd raped me.
"Fine," he said tightly. "Stay inside with the door locked until I get back. Do not open the door for anyone, understand?"
"Sure. Okay."
He dressed quickly and left, making sure I came to the door with him to lock it behind him.
I considered slipping back into bed, but without him there, the bed would feel cold. I showered and dressed in jeans and shirt, picking something green to match my eyes in anticipation of Zachary coming back. I even put on a little makeup, adding color to my pale complexion, and brushed my black hair to a shine. It had been a long time since I had someone to dress up for. And considering my recent experiences, I hadn't expected to find that in a long time.
The situation with Zachary was far from permanent, I knew. If you looked up "fucked up starts to a relationship", ours would be listed as the perfect case study. I wasn't entirely convinced that I wasn't just a guilt fuck to him, or maybe just a passing focus of his lust. But I'd take what I could get at this point.
I puttered around my tiny kitchen, putting together a lasagna I could throw in the oven later for dinner. He'd only been there one day and already I was planning meals for two.
A knock came at the door.
I looked through the peephole.
Two police officers stood there, distorted and looming.
"Yes?"
"Ms. Williams? We're with the police department. Can you please open the door?"
Well, Zachary had said not to, although surely he hadn't meant to bar the police. "Um. What do you need?"
"We were sent for your protection, ma'am. We just need to confirm your safety and secure the perimeter. After that we can spend the rest of our shift outside the apartment."
Hmm. That made sense. And Zachary had just gone to the police station, concerned for my safety. I could see him ordering some patrol officers to check on me.
I opened the door.
"Hi there," I said. "Sorry about that. You can't be too careful."
The officer who'd been speaking smiled disarmingly. "I understand completely, ma'am."
I glanced at the other office and froze. He was dressed the same as the other, in uniform and clean cut. But there was something familiar about his him. His eyes -- I recognized that look, that coldness.
Feeling uneasy, I said, "Would you mind showing me your badges? I just want to verify them with --"
"The first man reached in his jacket, "Sure, no problem."
He pulled out a gun.
I should have been more surprised, really. I wasn't a criminal and until that fateful night I hadn't had dealings with them. But apparently my luck had gone to shit and hadn't come back since.
The man holding the gun was waiting, letting me appraise the situation. "Come on, sweetheart. Don't fight it. You'll only get hurt." Yes, I knew all about getting hurt when fighting it. Although, going along with it didn't guarantee sunshine and roses either.
"What do you want with me?"
"Just come with us," he said in a coaxing voice, as if he wasn't holding a gun on me.
Apparently not satisfied with my hesitation, the other man grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the doorway. He spun me around and handcuffed my hands behind my back.
We didn't pass anyone on the way down the stairs or in the apartment parking lot, although it would just look like I was getting arrested. Well, except for the unmarked white van instead of a police car, but by then it was too late.
I didn't know why they were after me. I mean, the first time it was just lust and violence and convenience. But this was specific. Even so, I could guess it would end in something painful for me.
How do you prepare yourself for pain? I knew it was coming, so there ought to be something I could do in my mind to protect myself, to shield myself. But there wasn't. It would come and it would be agony. And then afterwards, I would be alive, I hoped. Or maybe even that hope would fade with the pain.
The man who'd pulled the gun on me was driving, while the other sat in back with me. I looked at his face, trying to place him. He noticed my looking and sneered.
"Remember me? We didn't get a chance to play last time, but we will this time."
It was the man who'd fought with Zachary for me. The one who Zachary had said really messed up the women he'd raped. He'd shaved off his beard, so I hadn't recognized him at first, but those eyes and that voice confirmed his words. And apparently, he planned on making up for lost time.
When we arrived, they hauled me out of the van and brought me inside a house. I was expecting a warehouse like last time, but this place was just an upscale residence. It was sort of a fancy farm house, relatively new looking but with lots of land and a big sturdy fence in the distance. No one would hear me, if I screamed. I knew it to be true, and also assumed that had been tested before. I wondered if the neighbors knew that this house was used for gang activity, the kind that blew up schools and raped women.
Once inside I was pushed into a room with a bed and no windows. This didn't bode well. The first man mentioned something about checking with the others, then left us there.
The man smiled at me as he watched me take in the bed, and conspicuous lack of anything else. His police uniform was a stark contrast to his black, beady eyes.
"Yeah. I'm going to fuck you, bitch."
"But why me?"
"You've seen us. You were never supposed to live. So you're here to die, but no reason we can't have a little fun first."
"Please..." I whimpered. It was useless to beg, but that's all I had.
He laughed, an ugly sound. "I like that, cunt."
I backed away from him, toward the bed.
"That's right," he mocked. "Get yourself ready for me. Loosen up that dirty cunt. I'm going to ram it real hard. You'll wish you got it ready for me." He closed the door behind him. I noted that he hadn't locked it, although I didn't have any real hope of escape. Even if I made it out of the room, where would I go? There were gang members in this house, and who knows what security outside of it.
Zachary would never find me here. That thought seared through my mind. My stomach clenched at the hopelessness of my situation. I pointlessly wondered if I should have fought more at my apartment. It probably would have just gotten me hurt, like he'd said, and I'd still be here. I
definitely
shouldn't have opened the damn door though. So this is the price I'd pay for that mistake.
"Do you want it to hurt a little or a lot?" He smiled. This guy was like a cat -- he wanted to play with his prey before eating it. But pain, or rather, avoidance of pain, was a powerful motivator. The only people who didn't know that hadn't experienced real pain before.
"Please. I'll do what you say. Don't hurt me."
"Good. More." He wanted me to beg him.
"I'll be good." I felt tears prick my eyes and I hated myself for them, even while knowing they'd probably help my case with this fucker. "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it."
"Strip, bitch."
I hesitated, in direct contrast to my previous statements. But offering to do anything your rapist said was not the same thing as actually doing it. How could I go along with this?
He thrust his hand into my hair and yanked it back. I cried out with the pain of it. Then he slammed my face into the headboard of the bed. Blinding pain shot through me. I hoped I'd pass out.
"I said strip, you stupid bitch. Want to bleed?"
I was pretty sure I was already bleeding from my face, but I didn't point that out. He released my hair and I wobbled, but caught myself. I quickly removed my green top, jeans and then my underwear and bra. I stood naked in front of him, the shame and fear warring with the intense pain in my face.
"That's nice, bitch. I like those titties. Pale, but big enough." He reached out his hang and grabbed my breast roughly. He squeezed, hard, and a sob escaped me. Through the haze of my pain, I saw his thick fingers and muscular forearms. I felt his arrogant, powerful presence, and the idea of fighting back felt ludicrous. It would be like a butterfly fighting her way out of a lion's mouth, painful and ultimately fruitless.
