13

"Did you tie her up?"

"Yea, boss."

"You sure? Because I don't feel like getting kicked in the fucking balls again."

I spit out the collection of blood that's pooled inside my mouth. "Aww, are you scared? Why don't you untie me and we can find out if you have balls at all?"

The ball-less prick slaps me with the back of his hand and my face throbs in response. But I only laugh out loud, relishing in the pain. I wriggle in the chair, my restraints digging into my ankles and wrists, and two of the men jump back.

I never got the chance to shower or even change after my shift a few hours ago. I was still wearing my shorts and t-shirt, but I was barefoot now. I don't remember walking into the trailer; last I recall, I was in Dylan's car. Then somewhere between sleeping soundly in my bed and now, three men barged in and beat my ass into their pedophile-looking van. They held Jasmin back, and I yelled at her to keep my brother safe.

"Shut her ass up," he growls.

I look up and shake the strands of hair off my face. I want to look into the face of the man who would shut me up so I can fuck him up later. My wrists are almost free. The burn settles into me and I focus on the sting.

It'd taken three men to finally tie me down to the old wooden chair. I knew one of them had a broken wrist, two had been kicked in the groin, one had my bite marks on their thigh, and another on their forearm. I'd bitten someone's ear and had all of their skin under my fingernails.

A tall, thinly built, but handsome man walks up to me and caresses my face. "Behave, little one," he coos in Spanish, and I gather from his accent that he's Puerto Rican. "I don't want to hurt you. It's your boyfriend we want."

My boyfriend?What the actual fuck?

I think my confused expression gives it away because, after lighting a cigarette and puffing the air into my face, he smiles. His forearm is bleeding, and I figure he's the one I took a chunk of flesh out of. "Noah fucked up, baby girl. And we're going to hold on to you until he pays us back."

A large penguin-looking man laughs behind him. "Either that or we'll keep you as payment."

I bite back the urge to call him by every obscene name in my book. "Fucked up how? Who are you?"

"Ay, baby girl. You should really do your research on someone before allowing them into your bed."

I scowl. What the fuck is he talking about?

A short and twitchy one snorts something up his nose and shakes his head. "Shut up. You think Vork wants us discussing business with this cheap pussy?"

I bristle at the mention of Vork but compose my expression. "Hey, come here, I'll show you how good it is," I purr.

His eyes brighten and he licks his lips, but the Puerto Rican stops him. "She's only taunting you, pendejo."

I smile through the pain. I can feel my lip is busted, the left side of my face burns, my body aches, and I'm all sweaty and probably still smell of tequila. But I take my chances and blow him a kiss.

He pushes past and leans down. "What you gonna do for me?"

I tilt my head and look at his crotch while lifting one brow and I lick my lips, insinuating a blowjob.

"Don't do it, man, she'll bite your dick off," the handsome Puerto Rican warns.

But the cokehead raises his hand to shut him up, and I gently suck on my bottom lip. "Come here. I want to tell you what I'll do."

He moves closer and leans to press his ear to my lips. I tilt my head back and forcefully thrust forward. My forehead hits his nose, and he cries out in pain. His hands shoot up to hold back the bleeding and he stumbles.

"You fucking bitch!" he yells.

I let out an energetic burst of laughter and spit out the blood that keeps accumulating.

"I warned you to stay back," his comrade laughs.

The large penguin that stayed back against the wall storms toward us, then punches me in the gut. The air leaves my lungs, a shooting pain gathers in the pit of my stomach and travels up to my neck, twisting my insides. I cough, sputtering and spitting violently, desperate to catch my breath.

"Cover her mouth, and her eyes, too."

My eyes sting from the tears threatening to spill, but I refuse to give them permission. Be it tears of physical or emotional pain, they won't see me cry. The only thing they can take from me is safe in my trailer. Jasmin and Jule–as long as they're okay, I would survive this.

Fuck these pricks.

Rough hands hold my face still as I snarl and bite like a rabid animal, and then duct tape is forced over my open mouth. Next, they toss a black cloth over my head.

"Pussies," I muffle the insult. They understand.

Someone's fist connects with my temple and a million white specs invade my vision, even behind closed lids. I catch the sound of ringing, and at first, I think it's just me. But I quickly realize it's a phone, and it's on speaker. I force my breathing to quiet down, but it's difficult. I'm riled up, and my muscles beg for me to jump and toss the chair over to writhe on the floor crazily in an attempt to break free from my restraints. I can feel the cover over my face move back and forth from my forceful breaths.

"Well, hello, Noah boy. We have your girl."

I freeze.

"Let her go. She's got nothing to do with this."

The penguin laughs. "That's not how this works. We gave you a chance to work for us. It was an opportunity, and you fucked up. So this is how it's going to go–bring us what you owe, or we'll take the pretty lady as payment."

Noah responds, but I can't hear what he says. I'm yelling at myself; my mind pounds with the sound of my screams. How fucking dare he! Noah works for Vork?

No wonder he never agreed whenever I wanted to pursue the crook. If ever I received a good lead, he would make up some shit to keep me from turning up. Had he gotten with me for the sole purpose of keeping me from gathering enough information on his boss?

No. It can't be. Noah and I have been friends since we were children. And he's been obsessed with me for years. There had to be another explanation. But at this moment, I don't give a shit. He fucked up by putting my family in danger. He worked for the very man that authorized my parents' murder—fuck up number two.

Someone's hand travels down the center of my breasts and begins to lift my shirt, and I brace myself. My tummy crashes against my ribs in an involuntary move to keep away from whoever is touching me. A whimper escapes me. As much as I want to be strong and not have these fuckers witness my fear, I can't manage the idea of their filthy hands on me and remain a statue. Grain-like hands move over my stomach to the fabric of my bra and then they tug it down roughly. Fingers squeeze and aggressively tug at my nipple, and I squirm in my chair, sickened by their touch.

A voice cackles and I recognize it. The cokehead I head-butted is seeking his revenge. I flail and he laughs again. "Not so tough now, are you?"

I thrash in my restraints. The fire of their bite a distant caress when compared to the man's hands feeling me up. My mind races with scenes of my retribution and my blood boils. I jerk my thighs up, but they barely move; they're held down by the tight rope at my ankles.

A deafening crash abruptly drags me from my wallowing, and I move my head trying to soak in the noise. Someone yells a warning, but then they slump to the ground near me. My toes feel a warm liquid accumulating beneath them and I wriggle them. It's thick, and I instantly know what it is.

Blood.

The yelling continues, and it's followed by grunts, punching, and bodies falling. A snarling animal growls and gnashes on flesh. I'm triggered to bolt up and ready myself for a fight, but I'm stuck, blind, and can't speak.

Through the tape, I try to yell, "help me," but it's muffled and garbled.

Minutes later, it's quiet, and a piercing ringing replaces my thoughts. Someone walks slowly and deliberately toward me and I freeze, my hands straighten, and I move my wrists, desperately rubbing them together to free them. I bounce in my chair and move my thighs up and down in an attempt to break away from the rope binding them to the chair legs.

The chair shifts suddenly and I brace myself for the impact of a fall, but I waver in the air instead. It hovers midair and then straightens again. I can feel someone's presence; the heat of their body forces my muscles to relax and my thoughts ease to one single realization.

The black pillowcase is slowly lifted up and off my face, and I blink up at him.

I want to scream, but his black eyes cradle me, soothing me, and I slump in the chair. He reaches to my mouth and gently strips the tape off my lips. He looks me over, his eyes trailing over my face and body, searching. He moves behind me and cuts the remainder of the rope from my wrists and then my ankles.

I stand, and he's in front of me again. I'm barely aware of the men on the ground, some bleeding from their bullet wounds. I just see him.

"Dylan," I finally breathe, and I collide into him.

My body reacts on instinct, drawn to him the way a starving animal is to nourishment after weeks of foraging for scraps.

He wraps me in his arms, his hands crush me, and it pieces my soul back together. I trail my hands up his chest and wrap my arms around his neck. My brain is still trying to decide if I'm hallucinating.

I don't understand the need, and I don't want to take the time to question. I pull him down and he picks me up off the floor and I wrap my legs around his waist. He feels like home. I stare into the depths of his eyes and find myself in them.

I can't let him go. I just want to swim in the dark pools that drag me deeper into a heavenly oblivion of peace. I keep my eyes open and hungrily crush my lips to his. His tongue is in my mouth and our lips move hastily, tasting one another. I press my lips into his, feeling his teeth graze my swollen and bloody cut, and I moan. Our eyes stay open, as if we're afraid the other will disappear, or like we'll wake up to realize this was just a fucking nightmare.

"How badly hurt are you?"

I hear a whine, and I'm instantly aware of what the beast-like sounds were. Max waits patiently behind Dylan.

I close my eyes. Our lips are still touching and I shake my head. "I'm fine."

His jaw clenches, and he moves to walk out, still holding me against him.

I wrap my hands tighter around his neck. "What, no backup, rookie?"

A voice croaks suddenly, and Max barks in the direction of a man on his back. "Justice."

While still holding me, Dylan reaches to the small of his back and retrieves a revolver with a silencer, and points it at the man's head. "Don't you fucking dare speak her name."

His eyes roll back and he coughs. "Vork knows who you are, and he's coming for you."

Vork.

I touch Dylan's arm and he looks at me, wondering why I'm stopping him.

I unwrap my other hand from around his neck and gently push off, and he places me on the ground. My bloody toes leave blotchy imprints as I walk toward the dying man. He looks at me, and Max growls while he snakes closer to him, eager to protect me. I know Dylan still has his gun pointed at his skull, and I smile while I crouch down beside him.

It's the penguin, and I squish his face between my hand while the other flicks him on his yellowing forehead. "Here's hoping."

I look down at his bleeding gut; he's got two bullet holes. I free his face and press my palm into his stomach and use him as leverage to stand.

Dylan offers his hand, and I twine my fingers with his, my hand tiny in comparison to his. He pulls me into a hug, and I bury my face in the hardness of his chest, and he shoots. "Let's take you home, little fox."