CHAPTER FOUR

TORI

THE SICK TORTURE

T wenty-one hours. Twenty-one hours of hell. Well, at least seventeen hours of the twenty-one-hour drive was torturous. Rosco and his men kicked and beat us during the drive and at rest stops.

He mentioned he had five other women at home in Salt Lake City. Was this how he treated all his women? Maybe.

This man was a monster. One who had money. He felt he could have anything he desired. Treat people vile because it made him feel like a bigger man. Women weren’t toys. We were human beings. Men were supposed to love and cherish women. Not abuse and defile.

“Those stupid white boys are still following us,” Rosco said, peering through the rear-view mirror.

I glanced at him with disgust in my eyes from the back seat beside Simone. Where we were so lucky to sit. After being confined to the floor like sardines for most of the drive.

Searing pain shot through my zip tied wrists behind my back. Sitting like that for hours on end was uncomfortable. My hands kept going numb from the zip ties, cutting off my circulation.

Guilt mounted in my heart for getting my best friend involved. Simone shouldn’t have been caught up in my mess. I volunteered to go with the vile fucker. Not her.

“I bet Ritchie was pissed when he woke up this morning,” I muttered to Simone.

“Ezra won’t be happy either,” Simone mumbled.

“Shut the fuck up back there,” Rosco yelled.

“The second we get to my house; I’m separating you two.” Rosco smirked at us through the rear-view mirror.

Was this what happened to those who tried to save the world? If I didn’t care about the residents on the South Side, my best friend and I wouldn’t be here right now with a fucking lunatic.

He was truly crazy. I’d love the chance to gouge his eyes out.

When I came to later during our long drive, he pulled into a rest stop.

“Go to the bathroom. I’m not taking the zip ties off this time.” An evil grin lifted the corners of his lips.

“How are we supposed to pull our pants down?” I asked.

He burst into laughter. “Help each other. I don’t give a fuck how you make it happen. Jeko is coming into the bathroom with you. He can assist you two.”

“No, we got it,” Simone clipped.

Not even a minute later, someone knocked on the family bathroom door. Jeko opened it, letting Rosco inside. It didn’t make sense to say a fucking word. Guess he had a thing with watching his women use the bathroom. The words his woman sounded foreign on my tongue. I only belonged to Ritchie. I had to push the thought of my man to the back of my mind. Or I’d break. And I refused to appear weak in front of Rosco.

Rosco stepped in front of me while I hovered over the toilet, relieving myself. He unzipped his jeans and pulled his dick out.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I roared.

He released a stream of pee between my legs. His urine slipped down my mound.

He wore a huge smile. “I’m marking what’s mine.”

Rosco tucked himself back into his jeans. “Next, I’ll stick my dick in that fat pussy.”

Again, I remained silent. The last thing I wanted him to do was rape me in the grungy public restroom.

He glared at me, then squeezed my cheeks and planted his lips on mine. The entire time, my best friend stood close by clutching my arms so I wouldn’t fall. I hated she had to witness the degradation. But I rather he inflict his bull shit weirdness on me than on her.

“You can’t hide your face forever, Tori,” Ritchie’s deep sexy voice brought me back from my nightmare that had been reality less than an hour ago.

“Ritchie, I know.” I pushed my face into his side like I could disappear out of view if I could just tuck my face into his bulletproof vest.

“Talk to me, Ritchie,” I urged.

“My body’s in bad shape. Once we’re on the plane, I need to take the meds Uncle Arlis prescribed before I pass out.”

I swept a hand along his thick neck.“Ritchie, I tried not to think of you. Us.” Swallowing past the lump in my throat that felt like a glob of cotton, I continued.

“The new memories we shared would’ve broken me.”

Ritchie removed my hand from his neck and brought it to his soft lips. Tremors rocked my body.

“Look at me, Tori.”

I didn’t know how disfigured my face was. The wounds felt fresh. My skin burned underneath the bruises.

Conversations amongst the other people in the truck carried on. Which gave Ritchie and I a sense of privacy.

Removing my face from his vest, I turned my head upward.

Ritchie’s gorgeous face came into view.

His thick fingers traced a painful path over my bruised cheek, the anger simmered in his eyes like a storm. "Baby," he muttered, his voice a soothing balm to my battered soul.

Ritchie couldn't conceal his shock and revulsion. "How could he punch you in the face?" Disgust twisted his features into a mask of righteous anger.

“He’s a disgusting human being. Who shouldn’t be allowed to walk this earth, to hurt anyone else like this,” I bit out, my voice quivering with fury.

My protector, with a gentleness that belied his strength, cradled my face in his hands. His touch was a tender promise of safety, a beacon in the darkness. Then he leaned in and brushed his lips softly over mine, his eyes filled with a fierce determination. "Baby, he won't."

Gunfire rang out. The rear glass shattered.

“Ah,” the man to our right hollered.

I inched my head up, peering out the window with the one eye the fucker didn’t seal shut. “Shit, we have company.”

Ritchie wasted no time placing me on the seat between him and a muscled guy with jet black hair and a skull neck tattoo. Blood trickled down his arm. A bullet must’ve hit him.

“Get on the floor, Tori,” Ritchie ordered.

I stared, mouth agape, my swollen lips quivering. My voice cracked as I begged, “Please don’t make me.” Tears streamed down my face.

Memories of Simone and me lying on the floor came rushing back. Bile rose in my throat.Rosco’s men slammed their boots into our petite bodies like we were bags of sand.

The driver swerved across the highway. The tatted man beside me leaned out the window, firing his weapon.

His eyes softened. “Baby, you have to understand. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

“That’s right. My men are still coming. They won’t fucking stop coming for you motherfuckas,” Rosco yelled from the trunk.

I didn’t know he was in the trunk. That sick asshole. If bullets weren’t hurling past us, I’d climb back there and slam my fist into his face over and over again. Then I’d pee on that motherfucker. Now wasn’t the time to tell Ritchie about that horrific incident.

“Ok, I’ll get on the floor,” I said.

A truck pulled up on our left.

Before Ritchie could lower the window, a bullet whipped through the windowpane, and we were showered with pieces of shattered glass. I felt an immense burn searing my body.

“Tori,” Ritchie shouted as he aimed his Glock out the window, firing it at the truck full of Rosco’s men.

Ritchie clasped me tight against him with one arm while I tentatively touched the wound. Crimson blood appeared on my fingers. My eyelids felt heavy before they fell shut.