Chapter 22

Mmm. I have never been so exhausted as I have since we got here and more so lately. I love when he uses me until I pass out from exhaustion. During those sleeps I don't dream. Well, I have nightmares to be more exact but not this time. I'm not sure what just awakened me, but the dream I was having was beautiful.

Footsteps shake my haze and I smile knowing my husband is home. "Babe, when did you get back?"" I call out sitting up slightly, letting my sheet drop. "Larabee?" I hear another step but something about it makes the hair on my neck stand. Suddenly aware that something is not right, I reach for the sheet only to be stopped cold by a voice I never wanted to hear again.

"I'm afraid ‘babe' is not here, whore." Clutching the sheet to my chest, I gasp when my father steps into my bedroom.

"What are you doing here?" I ask him, scrambling for my robe that is at the foot of the bed.

"What do you think? I came to take back the property that is rightfully mine." I am trying to slide the slick fabric over my skin, but the fear has caused a layer of sweat and it is not complying so easily.

"I am not your property. I am his wife." Sneering, he spits on the carpet.

"Whore! You married the first man to slip into your slutty cunt. Typical female. You were already given to someone of my choosing. They had no right. I paid them to return you to me. ME! Do you know how much I was promised for delivering you a virgin?"

"It's too late. I am no longer a virgin. My husband made me a woman in every sense of the word." I realize too late how close he has moved to me until his hand makes contact with my face.

"Dirty puta." He spits once more calling me a slut. "You must fancy yourself lucky huh, living amongst these hooligans, these…bitches!"

"These women have ten times the balls you do." He yells and lunges for me but then another voice interjects.

"Enough. We came here to take her… my new toy." Oh God. It's him. "I was looking forward to breaking you in girl, perhaps make you my number 1, but now that you have given it away so freely, I can simply just take it and throw you with the others, working my streets. Either way you will be of use." I am trying not to show how scared I am right now, but I am so freaking scared.

"I am no one"s toy, and I am going nowhere with you. Either of you." He laughs and I can't stop the shiver from moving through me. This man is easily the same height as my husband. Where Larabee is broad and muscular, this man is lean, but his athleticism cannot be missed and the deep dark scar from his bottom lip to the top of his head makes him menacing.

"I am afraid, gutter rat, you will come one way or another, but perhaps you are right. Maybe I should screw you right now, in this bed you share with the man you think loves you, shed some of your blood on these sheets so he knows I took back my possession." Oh God.

"He-my husband loves me." I am defending our love like it will somehow help but it is all I can think to do. They are both blocking my way out of the door so I can't yet run for the panic room. Carefully I am trying to look around me for something to defend myself.

"Do you believe this silly girl? She thinks this gringo loves her. Men like us, killers, we have no heart. You are his expensive whore." I know it is not true and hearing his voice tell me how much he loves me, gives me strength as false as it may be. Slowly, I slide out of bed and stand up straight.

"If you leave now I might be able to convince him not to kill you." Please be on your way home. They both look at me and throw their heads back laughing.

"I think she forgets her place, Sachi." My father says to the man. He nods his head, but he hasn't stopped leering at me.

"I think you are right, Iscimo." He begins undoing his belt and my stomach starts to turn. The panic I haven't felt in weeks starts to swirl around me. "She has been given too much freedom here. Not enough control has been taken from her."

"Please just go." I begin to beg while trying to move around the bed. "I just want…"

"That is the problem, bitch, you don't get to want anything. Your only purpose in life is to give. That is all your kind was made for. Give head. Give pussy. Give ass. Give heirs. Give…life." I am shaking my head vigorously now. He flings his belt across the room and moves toward me quickly. I try to run to the left of the bed, which would put me toward the balcony, but my father grabs my hair and throws me into Sachi's arms.

"I will give you two some privacy," my father says turning his back on me.

"Papa. papa please don't do this!" I cry out before I am thrown myself onto the bed and his entire weight is on my chest.

"Let's see what kind of pussy made a man steal another man's property," he snarls in my face. Screeching, I spit in his face and attempt to claw at his eyes. His hands are grappling with my fists trying to control them, but I am like a wild cat. I don't know what I am going to do but I am going to fight.

"Get off me!" I yell. I am flailing my body trying everything to extricate myself, but I am small compared to him. His hand covers my mouth and I sink my teeth into his skin, spilling blood. He growls and curses before his fist comes down on my face, so hard I see stars.

"Fucking cunt." I am trying to fight the darkness from being punched, trying to regain my vision and ability, but it is hard.

"No. No." I hear myself saying, when his hand rips open my robe. Vomit threatens to creep up my throat when his hands crudely grip my breasts. "No!" I try to say more forcefully. I hear his zipper go down in my head and the real fear begins to set in.

"Fucking putas think you have rights. The only right you have is to lay on your back," he spits at me. I gather enough strength to slap him. He simply laughs and pushes my legs further apart. His fist swings at the other side of my head and I swear I can no longer hear. Everything is ringing now, and my face feels hot. His weight on my chest is taxing and I swear inside of my head I can hear my ribs cracking under the pressure of his mass.

Vaguely like I am in a bad dream, I can feel his fingers slide through my sex. I cry out in anguish at another man touching me that isn't my husband. The bile rises in my throat, but I force it back down because right now I have to get off this bed. My body is weak, languid, jello from the blows to the head and the lack of oxygen, but I am trying to fight for my life and the life of the man I love.

Sachi begins fumbling with his pecker and I use the second I have to lift my knee and make contact with his tiny manhood. "Ahhh, fuck!" he shouts, falling back on the floor. As hurriedly as I can, aware that I am moving at a snail"s pace, I get off the bed. My father runs into the room as I try to dash around him. His arm whips out to catch me. My breathing is hard and vision still blurry, but I reach for the vase on the side table and smash it against his head.

"Bitch!" My father calls out, but it sails behind me like it is being drifted off.

Stumbling, I make my way toward the panic room, tears running down my eyes as I pray for Larabee to come and save me. Not so far in the distance I hear shouting, running and gun fire which I didn't hear a few minutes ago.

I keep moving, keep pushing myself but when I hear my father and the subsequent footsteps, I know I am not moving fast enough. I'm trying, but everything is spinning.

Finally I make it to the room and try to remember everything he said. I get the panel visible, but before I can get to safety, I hear my father call my name. "Satine!" and all of the fight deflates. My body physically gives up. I feel the resignation in my unsteady body, and it breaks me on the inside.

Turning, I face them, but where there were two, there are now three. "Please just leave." I cry, no longer able to hide the defeat and sorrow.

"If you come now, I might not scar you too much." Sachi says, the evil on his face is palpable. Suddenly, more gunfire fills the house and then I hear my name being shouted.

SATINE! PICCOLA!" Oh thank God.

"I'm here, Larabee. I'm here!" I yell back, hoping they get scared and run. Sachi looks at my father, his face menacing and diabolical. I watch in slow motion as he looks at me, smiles his satanic grin before the gun in his hand raises and he pulls the trigger.

Simultaneously I yell no, the bullet fires and I see Larabee's face right before I feel the burning pierce of being shot. I hear his cry of my name before everything around me is chaos.

I know something is happening and I don't know who all in the room is, but a heavy body falls beside me as I am gasping for breath, fighting once again to not leave the life I have craved. I am chanting in my mind to stay awake, stay alert, stay aware, because intrinsically I know the minute my eyes close, I may never awake again.

The gun he was holding slid down by my hand and my fingers twitch, itching to grab it. I hear another shot, a grunt and a tussle. I know he is fighting to get to me. I can feel it.

"Oh no. She's been shot." I think it is Aurora's voice. Then there is a boom, a shout and then I feel him.

"Piccola. Baby open your eyes and look at me." I didn't realize I had closed them. "Come on angel, look at me. Please look at me baby. Satine, damn it open your eyes." I'm trying. I want to look at you. I am screaming on the inside. "Go get help!" he shouts to whoever is in the room.

I can feel his hands on my face, his lips on mine while he begs me to wake up. I am awake, I think. I mean I can hear him. I can hear everything.

"Cain, you"re bleeding." Aurora's voice is back. Wait, did she say he is bleeding?"

"Yeah pansy ass shot me in the chest, but I don't feel it," he says. "The only thing I feel is my heart stopping with each passing second she doesn't look at me. What is taking the ambulance so long?" he decries. I hear feet leaving the room and then somewhere not so close but not far enough away I hear grunting. The same feeling I had right before my father came into my bedroom is what I am having now.

Something in me is telling me I have to open my eyes right now. Right now. My hand reaches out for the gun. Larabee is unaware because his face is buried in my stomach like he is praying, and I am moving only my arm. My eyes open for a moment, a single second, wide enough to see my father standing over him, covered in blood on his leg breath pointing a gun at my husband. I use the last ounce of will I have to lift my arm and whisper ‘No', before pulling the trigger. My husband"s head lifts, and he makes eye contact with me before looking behind him and then everything is black. Even if I don't make it, I did one brave thing before I died. I saved the man I love.