Keep Me Safe

Keep Me Safe Skye Warren Copyright 2011 by Skye Warren

WARNING This book contains multiple sex explicit scenes of dubious consent. Please do not read this book if that bothers or offends you. Not for anyone under the age of 18 or who is uncomfortable with the subject matter. This is a work of fiction and does not condone any actions described herein.

One “You have – you have done this before, right?” he asked, pushing two fingers inside me. “Been raped?” I asked, and his hand paused a beat before thrusting in again. “Had sex,” he said in a low tone. “Yes to both.” He shut his eyes and bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. His thumb found my clit and circled. A twinge of pleasure shot through my body. “Don’t,” I said. “Don’t make me enjoy this.” He stiled for a moment, looking at me. They caled him Zachary. He was beautiful. My first thought when I saw him there was that he didn’t belong. But he did. He dressed like them in grungy but expensive jeans and a leather jacket. He looked like them with unkempt hair and a bad boy goatee. He talked like them, gruff and coarse and lewd, except when he spoke to me and no one else could hear. His eyes were dark and unfathomable. For someone getting what he wanted, he didn’t look happy. “Okay,” he said. “I’m just going to make you ready.” He continued fucking me with his fingers, loosening my body and drawing out the wetness, but he didn’t touch my clit again. I knew it would help me, make this hurt less, but I almost wanted the pain. That’s what a girl wants when she’s being raped. It’s right. “Hurry up and fuck her,” one of the other men caled from across the room. My breath quickened. “I won’t let them hurt you,” he told me, quietly so they couldn’t hear. “No?” I didn’t believe him. “But you’l do this.” “Yes,” he said grimly. With his other hand he reached down to unzip his jeans and pul out his already half-erect cock. It surprised me, actualy. The other men leering and groping at me had noticeable bulges, just from slapping me around and tearing my clothes off. But even though he appeared to have a good-sized cock, it wasn’t that erect yet. Was he not attracted to me? But then why had he insisted on having me, over the other men’s objections? Maybe it was a problem for him, this almost public performance of ours. He grasped it in his fist and stroked up and down in time with his fingers inside me. He looked at my breasts, exposed and vulgar, and his lips parted. Then he noticed the bruise that had already formed, from where the other man had grabbed me. His eyes darkened, and he looked away. He glanced down at me, where his fingers were pressing into my body. His cock thickened in his fist, preparing to replace his fingers. His breathing grew labored as his arousal increased. Finaly he removed his fingers and pressed the head of his cock to my folds. He paused, breathing hard. God, this was really going to happen. “Christ, I’m sorry,” he muttered. He pressed inside me, just the tip, and froze. “I don’t think I can,” he said. “You have to tel me it’s okay.” Oh god. Of course I’d get stuck with the rapist with morals. That wouldn’t be such a bad thing, except that there were ten other guys lined up to take his place.

I should fight. No, I’d only get hurt. I was locked in with a bunch of armed, ruthless men; I had no chance of getting away. They looked a hel of a lot rougher than this one, who’d claimed me. He said he’d protect me. If I pleased him — that part was assumed. I just wanted this to be over. “It’s okay,” I said. As if I’d released him, he slammed al the way inside, held himself deep and let out a low groan. I’d given him permission. I’d consented to this farce of a coupling, so what did that make me? I braved a look down to see his dark, almost black pubic hair mingled with my light brown hairs. It didn’t hurt, having him inside me. It must have

been because he had prepared me, like he said, but this was worse. I was being violated, but he was so gentle — this felt like sex with a lover. He loomed over me with his cock inside me. He put most of his weight on his arms, which rested beside my shoulders. He thrust slowly first, maybe to enjoy it more, I wasn’t sure. I watched his face, with his glazed green eyes and silky dark brown hair, mesmerized. His lips were tense as he focused on his pleasure. He looked like an angel – a falen angel. I tried to think rationaly. The fact that he said sorry was a good thing. I had read somewhere that sociopaths never felt empathy, never felt sorry, and couldn’t restrain themselves from violence. The fact that he’d been wiling to stop was even better. This man seemed to not want to hurt me. He said he wouldn’t let anyone hurt me. He just wanted to fuck me, and I could live through that. I had before. He puled his hand up to cup my breast lightly. Catching himself, he puled his hand back, almost guiltily, as if caught doing something inappropriate, which was ludicrous considering he was already fucking me. His cock was inside my cunt, but he wouldn’t touch my breast with his hand. He sped up. He looked down to where his cock slid wetly in and out of me. His eyes slid upward, up my stomach and to my breasts. Then further up, his eyes locked on mine. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he said thickly. How sick is it that a compliment from him brought me pleasure? I should be revolted, not pleased. And that wasn’t my only problem. His quickened thrusts started hitting a spot inside me that felt good. So good, actualy. I had to consciously glue my hips to the ground to avoid rocking into his thrusts. I wasn’t sure why he’d stopped trying to arouse me when I’d asked him earlier – because it made his life easier, I supposed. That had to be a perk of being a bad guy, of abducting a woman instead of seducing her, not having to bother with making a woman come. Stil, there was no way to get out of this one. Excuse me, sir, but I’m finding this inconveniently pleasurable, could we perhaps stop now? Pleasure raced through my body in urgent warning. Oh god, I was going to come. I was actualy going to come. I could feel it getting closer. My body wanted to move toward it, to seek it by riding his cock, but even if I stayed stil it would find me. His thick muscles glistened with sweat, his handsome face stark with pleasure. He was undoubtedly the sexiest man I’d ever had sex with – if that’s what you could cal this. He was the sexiest man who had ever fucked me, questionable consent or not. Why would a man like this, one who could clearly have any woman want, resort to this? For the power trip? Maybe I wasn’t fighting it enough for his tastes. Wel, al the better then. No need to make these men happy. Except for the fact that they had the guns. I fought my orgasm. I tried to lay there like some dispassionate observer, physicaly connected to that cunt that was being fucked but not affected by it. But it was so hard. My hips bucked up slightly to let him in deeper. I wasn’t sure if he noticed while he was so deep in his lust, but I was mortified at myself. No, not me, my body – it betrayed me. Then he came, groaning. Al his muscles tensed, straining with his cock deep inside me, his face a mask of pleasure and maybe pain. I sighed in relief. I hadn’t come. It would have been the ultimate shame. That I had felt pleasure, that I had sought my orgasm was bad enough, but at least it hadn’t happened. He colapsed on me, breathing hard. With his soft cock slipping out of me and his body pressed down on me in a parody of an embrace, the moment felt too intimate. We were in that moment right after sex where our bodies had communed, where we could share anything and say anything because we were together, except – no! That shouldn’t happen here. I should hate him. I should fight him. Instead he just lay on me, sated. I dimly heard lewd laughter and applause from the other side of the room. Finaly he pushed off of me and looked straight into my eyes. God, what I saw there. There was gratitude first, which I’d never seen before, not even from completely consensual lovers. Then guilt and pain, but also promise. Of what? He blinked, and his face resumed that stern, slightly angry look that al the other men wore. Had I imagined it? Was the vulnerability I’d seen only the result of my own post-sexual haze imaginings? Maybe so. The other man came up, the one who’d brought me here. “My turn,” he said, sneering lewdly at my naked body. “No,” Zachary said. “She’s mine.” “Fuck that,” the other man said. “I found her, I fuck her.” “That’s not what the boss said,” Zachary replied evenly. I wanted to shrink into him. We’d had sex and he was protecting me, just like he said. Suddenly, we were on the same side. “He said you could fuck her first. What do you care what happens to her later?”

“You don’t just fuck women,” Zachary said. “You fuck them up. I stil want to use her later, so fuck off.” He assumed a stance around me like that of a pit bul guarding a bone. The other man turned conciliatory, “Come on, man. I’l go soft on her. You’l stil be able to fuck her later. No permanent damage.” Zachary just looked at him, his lip curling up slightly. His answer was clear. “I’m going to tel the boss about this, amigo,” snarled the other man. “Go ahead.” When the other man stalked off, Zachary turned back to me. He didn’t even look at my body now that he’d had his orgasm. At least the “later” when he’d use me again wasn’t now. He looked at a point on the ground next to my face. “Get your clothes on,” he said. I scrambled off the ratty sofa and picked up my clothes from the floor, where the other men had ripped them off of me. They were torn, but stil wearable, especialy considering the alternative. His voice was so cold. I missed the old way he’d spoken to me, when he’d been inside me—tender. I stood uncertainly, holding the tattered clothing to my body as best I could. The warehouse was large, but I remained where I was. Despite what he’d done — or maybe because of it — I felt safer with him and had no desire to wander off. He had already closed up his jeans and was checking something on his phone. He looked tenser now that the effects of his orgasm were fading. Or maybe he’d read some bad news on his phone. His semen trickled down my leg. He looked up and seemed almost surprised to me standing there, dressed. Wel, he hadn’t seen me dressed before. Stil, I thought: how unbalanced. I would always remember him and maybe even every moment about this. This experience would occupy my thoughts during sex, assuming I had any sex, and my nightmares. But him, would he even remember me in a few years – or even tomorrow? I was just a body, a warm body to fuck and then dispose of in a hopefuly not-too-gruesome way. Why did I feel hurt that he wouldn’t remember me? Was it good for him? I’d thought it was. Why did I even care? I told myself it was because then he would be more sympathetic to me. “Come along,” he said, and he led me into an office. The warehouse we were in had once been some sort of factory. We’d been in the wide open storage space, filed with shelves and loading vehicles. The office was suffocatingly smal and packed with brown furniture that had seen better days a few decades ago. He turned to face me. “Listen carefuly,” he said. “Things are going to be happening here, dangerous things, and I need you to stay inside here until I come to get you. Do you understand?” I nodded. “I’m serious. Do not try to get away. If someone else finds you, I won’t be able to protect you.” I nodded again. I didn’t bring up the irony that he wanted to protect me but also wanted to fuck me. I was honest enough to realize that it could be worse with the other men, a lot worse. I could think of this like a bargain: my body in exchange for his protection. It seemed like a worthy trade to me, if he could hold up his end. “I – ” my voice was rusty from when they had choked me in the van. “I understand.” His eyes flashed. I drew back, suddenly scared. How had I said the wrong thing? Maybe he didn’t want me to speak. But al he said was, “Good,” tersely, before turning around and leaving. I heard a key turn in the door, locking me in. It was easy for me to find things to be grateful for – that I wasn’t at the mercy of those other men, that I had clothes and relative privacy, that he hadn’t tied me up or handcuffed me. I sat down and coldness seeped into my skin, like I was slowly being dipped in ice water. My throat felt dry. What was happening to me? I huddled in the corner furthest from the door. I slid down to the ground in kneeling position. I could tel that I had started to shake, at first in smal vibrations and then in jerky motions. I tried to hold stil, but the tremors were uncontrolable, like I was possessed. I didn’t know how much time passed, but Zachary came back in. When he saw me in the corner, he strode over and crouched in front of me. “Fuck,” I heard him mutter. “She’s going into shock.”

Two Zachary puled me away from the corner and lay me on my back with my knees up. Oh God, this was later. The later when he’d want to fuck me again. “No, please,” I whimpered. “Not again. Not yet.” Scalding tears fil my eyes. Some distant part of me was surprised it had taken me this long to cry. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “I’m not going to hurt you.” “No,” my throat felt so hoarse, “Not hurting, but – not that, either. Please.” “No,” he said. “I’m not going to do that either. Nothing like that. We just need to get you warmed up.” As he said that I felt something heavy cover my upper body. It smeled musky – what was it? My fingers groped the edge. It was leather, his leather jacket. God, the warmth of it was amazing. It was almost too much, like hot pins pressing into my skin. He pushed the hair away from my voice and was saying something to me, something I couldn’t make out, when I heard shouting from outside the office. He looked up sharply. “Stay here,” he said to me. “No matter what you hear, stay in here until I come for you.” Then he left. I lay there, listening to the sounds of shouting and then gunfire. I had no desire to leave the room. Maybe not ever. I heard footsteps and the doorknob turning. Thank God he was back. No, the door was locked, he couldn’t get in. Rattling. It must not be Zachary because otherwise he’d use his key. I stayed quiet. But the shaking on the door only got more violent. Then it crashed open and a man ran in. He looked like a bad guy, too—not in the suave way of Zachary, but in the grimy way of a man who’d gone far too long without a bath. Like a man who would be homeless if he wasn’t wiling to kil. His eyes said that he was wiling, though. He rushed in the room and slammed the door shut, flipping off the light. I froze. Dim light streamed through the blinds on the office window. His eyes scanned the room franticaly, almost missing me in his panic. When he noticed me, his eyes widened for a moment in shock, then narrowed. He looked around the smal office again. “Qué haces?” he asked. I whimpered and pushed back against the wal. It was the wrong thing to do. He smiled, showing dirty yelow teeth. He came towards me. “Qué haces, mamá?” he said, taunting this time. Where was Zachary? I eyed the door and considered making a run for it, but the man would only catch me. I would have to fight this time, though. I’d consented before, just on the threat of danger, just to get it over with. And there was something about Zachary — he was different. I gave myself a pass for that, but not again and not with this guy. I didn’t want him. I knew it as a certainty: I would run and he would catch me. But I had to try it anyway. I bolted up, unsure how my arms and legs arranged themselves into standing so quickly. I was almost to the door when I was yanked back. Through the wrenching pain in my head, I registered that I was farther away from the door. And then my back slammed into the desk, and I realized why – he was yanking me by my hair. Everything was in slow motion, but my limbs were too sluggish to be of any help. How obliging, I thought inanely, of women to provide a handle for rapists. He shoved me down onto the desk and easily puled my already torn clothes from my body. He squeezed my breasts and then pinched my nipples hard. I cried out and fought him, hitting him ineffectualy on his arms, his shoulders, his head. This was rape. This was how it was supposed to go. There were rules about these things, but I don’t know where I ever learned them. Rape was supposed to be dirty and painful. I was supposed to fight it, even though we both knew he’d win. These are the rules. I didn’t know who these rules are made for – rapists, I guessed, because they sure weren’t doing shit for me. Then he grabbed both my wrists in one hand and slammed them into the table above my head. Pain shot down my arms. I jerked but his grip was painful and immovable. He reached down with his other hand to take out his cock. I struggled, trying to get some leverage with my legs, but they just dangled uselessly off the edge of the desk like a little girl on a too-tal chair.

I think I was crying for him to stop. “No, please, God, stop, I’l do anything, just stop, please.” How stupid is that? He put his fingers inside me. It didn’t feel like sex this time. Not like Zachary, like a lover. It felt like burning, like stabbing, not thrusting. It felt like his fingers were enormous, thicker than even a cock, and covered in sandpaper or jagged glass instead of average sized and soft skinned like I knew his cock must be.

Calm down, calm down. You can’t stop this, let it happen. But I couldn’t, because I’d already done this once tonight and I hadn’t fought it then. Maybe that’s a rule too. One free consent before I have to fight back. I should write a book: How To Get Fucked—I was an expert. Oh God, Zachary. Then, he was there, puling the other man off of me. Wait, had I thought him up? Reality was out of reach. I wiped my eyes, struggling to see what was happening. Why couldn’t I see clearly?

BAM! A gunshot in the room. You hear guns on TV but you never realize how loud they are until it happens in real life. It resounded in the room, ringing my ears. The man had a bloody circle on his chest as he staggered back. Zachary – where was he? Was he shot, too? I couldn’t see anymore — everything was blurry. “Shhh,” I heard, nearby. I felt a light touch in my hair. “Everything’s okay,” came in a soft murmur. “Can you hear me?” Zachary said.

Yes, don’t leave me. “I’m sorry I let you down,” he whispered. “You’re going to be okay.” But that was a lie. ***

Beep. Beep. Beep. I was cold. Again? Jesus, I was always cold.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Where was I — home? It could be the alarm. Or maybe the smoke detector out of battery. Or an extremely annoying person at the doorbel. But then the dog next door would be barking. He acted as my guard dog, too, from the other side of the wal. I opened my eyes. Motion to the side caught my attention and I watched a woman in blue scrubs press buttons on a machine. And then it hit me. Shit. Fights breaking out in the bar. Walking to the bus stop after my shift. The van, the men puling me inside. Being rough, hurting me. Zachary. He had been at the bar earlier, checking me out, too. But he’d left hours before me. He’d fucked me. He told me that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt me, but that had been a lie, hadn’t it? I closed my eyes again. More. There was more. Another man. Then Zachary again, teling me I would be okay – more lies. I wouldn’t be okay. “Oh, helo. You’re up,” said the woman in blue. I opened my mouth, but only a croak came out. “Shh,” she soothed. “Here. Try to drink some water. It wil help your throat.” She held up a cup of water with a straw and I took a sip. The water was cool as it slid down my throat. I took several more puls until the paper cup was empty. She smiled at me, “Very good. We’l see how that settles before we try anymore.”

“Where am I?” I asked, because it was the first thing that came to me, even though I knew. “You’re at St. Joseph’s Hospital,” she told me. “You came in last night. I’m going to bring the doctor in to talk to you.” She came back in with the doctor and stayed while he gave me a run-down of my injuries. Of course, she stayed. That was probably normal for a victim, especialy of a sexual nature. Or maybe that was just standard operating procedure in our lawsuit-happy society. My list of injuries sounded unimpressive. External bruising and scrapes, internal bruising – yes, I know, I could feel it – and a hairline wrist fracture. I felt worse than al that. It seemed unfair to go through al that and feel this bad when my injuries made it sound like I fel off my bike. Maybe they should smash my leg or something so I could be the cool kid with the cast. I knew I couldn’t feel worse even if they did, although I’d been wrong about that before, hadn’t I? When the doctor had finished explaining my treatment plan, to which I hardly listened, he left, and more men came in. More goddamned men. Was everyone in the world a man? Except nurses. Nurses were women and nurses were nice, but otherwise you had to deal with men. Policemen, specificaly. Fucking fantastic. First they took my statement. The temptation to lie was strong. To just say: “Nothing happened.” And then walk away and pretend that it was true. But no, they already knew. They’d probably spoken to other people that were there already. They’d probably spoken to my doctor already, too. This was just – what? – procedure. I was just a formality. A paper that had to be filed. So I told them. Everything. It didn’t matter because I didn’t know them and they wouldn’t care. I only got stuck a couple of times, but they just waited. They even had the grace not to appear impatient. “Thank you, ma’am. I understand that was hard for you. As a courtesy, we can fil you in on what happened last night. You may have heard about the Hard Z’s and the Locos?” I nodded. They liked to hang out at the bar where I worked. Best to get their orders correct and fast, then stay out of their way. “Wel, they are both gangs in the area and involved in ilegal activities: drugs, smuggling, prostitution and the like. The police department received information that a conflict was brewing between the two gangs and we put agents into place. The sting went on for six months, but it came to a head last night. We found out that a bomb was set in a school for retaliation for another act. Our operators worked out a deal late last night to identify the location of the school and then bust both gangs.” Why bomb a school? They were just kids. But gang members were filed with high school students, even middle school kids. But it didn’t even have to be about that specificaly. Bombing an elementary school on another gang’s turf would be an act of war. It was al so senseless. I felt numb, unable to process the horror of what he described. He looked at me expectantly. I looked back. What did he want from me — a high-five? “One of the men who attacked you last night, the second one, a Mr. José Fernandez, was identified as a member of the Locos. He was found dead on arrival.” He paused, looking uncomfortable now. That was interesting. “The other man who … wel, he…” “Zachary,” I said. I wouldn’t ask if he was okay. “Yes, he — his name is Zachary Kant. He was one of the agents workings under cover in the sting operation.” What. The. Fuck. “Excuse me?” I asked. He cleared his throat, “Zachary Kant is an officer with the FBI who, working in conjunction with the local police department, infiltrated the Locos gang. His participation was vital in determining the location of the bomb, which was found and removed from an elementary school early this morning. No one was hurt.” I paused to try to take that in. Zachary was one of the good guys. A fucking cop.

No one was hurt. Wel, that wasn’t quite true, was it? “So, I was … I was fucked by an FBI agent last night.”

“Ah, yes. I believe that the reasoning was to keep cover and also to” — he cleared his throat again – “to protect you. It was his belief that you would be … you would be violently gang-raped and possibly kiled had he left you to the other men. He attempted to claim you in a manner that is common among that group of people.” “I … I see.” “Yes, wel, undercover officers are given immunity for certain crimes that they commit as part of their role, but that particular one … wel, ma’am, the precedents are … unclear. It wil be up to you as to whether or not you want to press charges.” “Ah.” That was why he was nervous. “Even if you do, it is possible that the DA or judge wil pardon him … considering the circumstances. Stil, that won’t come into play unless you decide to pursue this.” “I see. Wel, I — this is a lot to take in. But I guess I don’t want to press charges.” “Ah. Okay. Good,” he said, sounding relieved. He wrapped up by giving me information about victim’s counseling and his business card. I threw them both in the trash. So. Zachary was an undercover agent. Zachary Kant. And he was okay, I presumed, since the detective was concerned about pressing charges. And it made sense, though, his reasoning for doing what he did. He was probably right about what would have happened to me. So in a way he did save me, even if he had to fuck me to do it. And he didn’t protect me from that man, Mr. José Fernandez, but he was a little busy – what with being in the middle of a gang war and saving a school ful of children and everything. And in the end, he had saved me. But Zachary hadn’t come. This detective had come and taken my statement and explained about the undercover operation, but Zachary hadn’t come to see me.

Three I transferred al the grocery bags to my left hand. They were too heavy that way, but my right hand stil couldn’t handle much weight, even with the wrist brace. I rushed up the stairs, hoping to make it at least to my apartment door before al the bags slipped out of my grip. At the top of the landing, the bags dropped to the ground. Bread and oranges and yogurt containers tumbled across the concrete. Movement beyond the spil caught my eye. I tensed, ready to run. A man turned from my apartment door to face me. Zachary. My breath caught. He looked like shit. Wel, he was stil beautiful. He would always be beautiful, but now he was also a wreck. “Rachel,” he said, “I’m sorry.” For startling me or fucking me? It was the first time he’d said my name. He had a few days’ worth of stubble. I remembered his goatee, but the stubble spread evenly across his face, as if he’d shaved first before letting it grow out again. He was dressed in grungy clothes like before, but now they were rumpled and … ordinary. Not dirty designer jeans, just dirty torn jeans. And not a leather jacket, just a thin, worn, gray t-shirt. His eyes were bloodshot and had thick, dark circles underneath. When was the last time he slept? “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Here. Let me help you with that.” He took a step toward me and reached his hand out. Without thinking, I took a step backwards before my mind could register what he’d said. He froze. His body remained stil, but emotions flashed across his face like beacons. I didn’t even recognize them al, but I knew one for sure – pain. It had hurt him that I was afraid of him. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said hoarsely. That was what he’d said to me at the time. The words must have brought back the same memories for him, because he grimaced and said, “I’m not going to touch you.” I stil hadn’t spoken. I wasn’t sure I could. But I didn’t know what to say, anyways. Thoughts flitted through my mind. I struggled to grab hold of one.

Why are you here? Why didn’t you come sooner? “I – it’s okay. You startled me, that’s al. I’l just pick these up.” I knelt down and began gathering up the groceries into the bags, carefuly keeping my body facing him. I was so flustered by his arrival that I used my right hand to pick up a carton of milk. My injured hand. I gasped and dropped the milk. The carton broke open, and white milk spiled onto the dirty concrete floor. Then he was beside me, cradling my arm in his hands. He was touching me. And I was letting him. “Your wrist,” he said, “it hasn’t healed yet.” “Yeah, wel, not al the way.” His face was turned down towards my wrist that he stil held, so I couldn’t see his expression. “Can I bring in the groceries? Please.” He looked up at me— his eyes dark, murky. “Uh, sure. Okay. That would be helpful. Thanks.” I stood and backed out of the way. He swiftly re-packed the grocery bags and carried them to my door. I unlocked the door and stood aside to let him in. As he passed me, the situation hit me – I had just tacitly invited my rapist into my apartment. I felt like the stupid girl in a vampire horror movie – he couldn’t have come in on his own but once I invited him… But this wasn’t like that, because he wasn’t evil. He was one of the good guys, despite what had happened. He hadn't raped me. I'd agreed to it. And he'd only done it to protect me. He'd fucked me to save me, rather than leave me to the others, if I wanted to believe. And I did want to believe. It was just not that easy to shift someone in my mind from being bad to good. Zachary found the kitchen and began putting things away. It was simple enough with such a tiny fridge and pantry, but I was stil impressed with his resourcefulness. Where I came from, men didn't help. There

weren’t too many bags or too much space in the kitchen, so I leaned against the bar and watched him. I’d thought about him and dreamed about him, but I’d wondered if I’d forgotten what he’d looked like. I’d only seen him for such a short time period, and during that time I’d been traumatized and in shock. He did look different. Not just the goatee or the stubble or the haunted look in his bloodshot green eyes. He looked more gaunt and stood less tal. Even so, he dominated my tiny apartment. I soaked him in – his face, his body, his presence – not knowing if I’d ever have the chance again. He put everything away, quickly and without complaint, and then stood awkwardly in the kitchen. Questions came to my mind, and I wanted to ask him what he wanted, but that would just put an end to this sooner. It was suddenly imperative that he stayed. I couldn’t look too deeply into my feelings about him yet, but I knew this much: whatever he wanted, I would give him. And then he would leave. He cleared his throat, “You didn’t press charges.” My eyebrows rose. I hadn't expected him to say that. “No. I didn’t.” “Why?” “Wel, they explained it. Why you … did what you did. So, it didn’t realy make sense to press charges.” He looked away, “I think you should. You should press charges.” “I don’t understand.” He hadn't done anything wrong, even if it was questionably legal. The cop had pretty much told me the case would get thrown out. Besides, even if he had done something wrong, why would anyone want to have charges pressed against them? “I don’t know what the officer told you," he said. "Maybe he wasn’t clear on your options or maybe he pressured you or something, but I – I raped you, and you should press charges.” Okay, I was getting that he wanted me to press charges. But this didn’t make sense. “Listen,” I shook my head bemusedly, “maybe there has been some mistake. Is your name Zachary Kant?” “Yes.” “And are you an FBI agent?” “Yes.” “And you were working undercover in a sting operation with the Locos?” “Yes.” Now the hard part, “And when you – when you fucked me, you were doing so to keep cover. And because you thought it would help me. That if you claimed me, then the others couldn’t hurt me.” “So that’s it,” he said flatly. “You feel gratitude towards me. Wel, don’t. I didn’t protect you, I raped you, and I – God help me, but I enjoyed it. And even if I wanted to claim you, to protect you, it didn’t work. You were attacked and raped again while under my protection.” "I said yes. It wasn't rape." "Don't give me that," he said fiercely, and I flinched back. Damn, I hated being a scaredy-cat. I sighed at myself and at him. “I know what happened. And I think that you did the right thing. You did the best you could.” He gave me a look that let me know what he thought of his best. “Did you hear what I said?” he demanded. “I enjoyed raping you. I got off on it. And that’s not al. I want to do it again. I’ve wanted to do it again since the moment I came inside you.” My eyes widened and my breath stuttered. He noticed. He narrowed his eyes and stepped towards me in the tiny kitchen. “That’s right,” he said. “I want to have sex with you. I dream about it. I imagine you under me with your beautiful eyes looking up at me, needy, and those lips and hair spiling everywhere your –” he waved his hand towards my breasts, but his eyes never left mine. “So don’t try to make excuses for what I did,” he said. I was breathing harder now, but not out of fear.

Does he really want me? Or is this just a ploy to scare me? He wouldn’t force me. I was almost certain of that. “What happened before,” I said breathlessly, “was it just the ultimate pity fuck? You had to do it or I would get hurt or die?” “What? Fuck, no. I don’t know.” He looked away, breathing hard. “I saw you before, at the club, and I wanted you then. I was working, but I had

planned on going back some other night to meet you. Then I saw that they had kidnapped a woman to rape, and that it was you. Sometimes it’s part of the job, to stand by while something like that happens, but I couldn’t let them touch you. I couldn’t let them hurt you. But I hurt you. And then I let them hurt you anyways. I let you down.” He paused. “This is what I do – I protect people,” his eyes were pleading with me, to understand, to condemn him, “and then when it mattered, when it realy mattered to me, I failed you.” The words hung in the air. “Oh,” I said softly. I reached up my hand and rubbed my knuckles against the scratchy stubble on his jaw. “No, Zachary. You saved me.” “No,” he protested, but he held his head stil. “No.” “Yes, you did,” I said. I trailed my fingertips up his cheek to his eyes. As I traced his eyebrows lightly, he shut his eyes and groaned. I wanted to hear him groan again, but inside me, like he did when he raped me. And this time I wanted him to make me come. I wasn’t sure I could go through with it, but I wanted to try. “Tel me you want me,” I said. “Tel me you want to have sex with me.” “What?” he opened his eyes, looking alarmed. “No.” “You don’t want to have sex with me?” “No, I do. I’m sorry I said that before, that I scared you,” he laughed humorlessly. “I’m not going to rape you, or hurt you. I’d like to say I’d never do that to you, but we both know I would. But I won’t.” “I’m not asking you to rape me. I’m asking you to have sex with me.” “Oh God,” he groaned. He hung his head, “Listen to me,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t know what this is. You feel so ashamed about it that you think this is what you deserve? It’s not. Or is this some kind of alternative therapy treatment?” “It’s not any of that. Not totaly,” I said. “I don’t know if I can even have sex. Maybe I’l freak out. But I know that I want you, physicaly, and I think you want me, too.” I took a deep breath. “And,” I said. “You wil be gentle with me… won’t you?” He paused with his eyes locked on mine, though I couldn’t get a read on his thoughts. “It’s too soon. Your body isn’t even fuly healed.” It made me angry. He knew nothing about my body or my pain. This was my choice. “How long should I wait? Six months, six years? How about this? You come back when I can be normal again and we’l pick this back up.” But he didn’t leave. He just stood there in front of me. I could feel the tension in his body, vibrating in the smal space. His shoulders were slumped and his head was down as if he was dejected, defeated. But that wasn’t the energy he was giving off. It felt like he was restraining something massive, something that might break free. “You can have anyone,” he said. “You don’t have to pick me because I’m here or because I was the one who raped you. You can find someone else who wil be gentle and be … worthy of you. You are beautiful. And so precious. You know that, don’t you?” “I know that you think that,” I said softly. “That’s why I want it to be you.” “I want you so badly,” he said. “I shouldn’t have tried to scare you with that, but it’s stil true. I want to make you come. Wil you let me do that?” Could I? I wasn’t sure. And my throat felt tight. I nodded. He stepped closer to me, almost touching. His hand reached up again to my breast, stil covered in my bra and shirt. Then he paused, his hand curved but not touching. He looked up into my face, searching. “Can I touch you?” he asked. “Yes. Please.” He touched his hand to my breast, molding it. His hand curved along the side and underneath, testing its weight. His thumb reached up to swipe my nipple lightly. I shivered. I didn’t want him to stop. “I don’t want to scare you. I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. He hung his head, his hand stil on my breast. “Rachel. Tel me what to do.” Wait, what?

“I’m afraid that I’l be too rough, that I’l do something to scare you. If you tel me what to do, I’l do it and not anything else.” Jesus – did I even want that? Was it a responsibility or a freedom he offered? He looked up at me, supplicating. “You can tie me up— if you want.” “I don’t want to tie you up. But I wil tel you what to do.” “Okay,” he said, as if agreeing to a pact, “Okay. I’l do what you tel me.” He lowered his hand to his side. “No,” I said. “Touch me again.” He lifted both hands up to my breasts and fondled them tentatively. Too light. “Yes. Like that but harder.” He used more pressure. Yes. A strange feeling came over me. We stood face-to-face as we had before, but suddenly I felt taler, stronger. He seemed – wel, he was stil large – but he seemed almost worshiping. Al he was doing was touching me, in ways I had been touched before, but I was more turned on than ever. He was touching me now at my command: how I wanted, for as long as I wanted. My cunt tingled, aching for him to touch me there too, for him to bring me to completion. But I was enjoying this too much to end it quickly. “Stop,” I said, and he froze. “Take off your shirt.” He puled his hands back to tear off his shirt. I held my hand out. He put his shirt in it. Then he stood straight, hands by his side. His eyes were intense and dark, fixed on my face, waiting for my next command. His arousal was an obvious bulge in his jeans. I could feel his body straining for more, to touch me and to take his pleasure, but I knew that he wouldn’t. Not until I told him to. I didn’t want to tie him down, to take his choice away, because I never wanted to make someone feel what I felt, the helplessness and the shame. But if he wanted to give this to me, that was something different. Every act of obedience, every moment of sweet restraint he showed, was a gift. I reveled in my power. I stepped up to him and put my fingertips on his chest. I trailed them down and in circles, tracing the contours of his muscles. Those muscles contracted and rippled with unfulfiled pleasure. His breathing quickened and his bulge grew more obvious. “Your pants. Remove them,” I said. He reached up and carefuly undid his jeans, and they dropped to the floor. He hooked his thumbs in his underwear and hesitated. “Yes,” I told him, “Those too.” He pushed them down to the floor with his jeans and stepped out of them. I hadn’t seen much of his body the last time. He’d remained fuly clothed except for his cock, which he'd taken out to fuck me. But I hadn’t realy gotten to see that – only feel it. I examined it now, taking my time. It was average thickness, but it seemed longer than average. I was surprised I had taken it without any pain. Although maybe he hadn’t put it in al the way, deep inside me. Maybe he'd held back. He was already so hard that his cock pointed straight out and upwards. The skin was dark, and a glistening drop sat on the tip. I wondered at his self-control to stand there for my perusal. “Do you like this?” I asked. He looked at me. “Answer me,” I said. “Do you like standing there, waiting for me to tel you what to do?” “Yes,” he said, his voice thick. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.” “Good. Because I like this, too. I like teling you what to do. And I like watching you stand there, having to wait. And I like this.” I touched my fingertip to the tip of his cock. His cock jerked, and my cunt clenched in response. I wanted to explore him. To learn everything about him. His mind, yes, but that was for later. For now, I wanted to know what he smeled like, what he tasted like, the shade of his skin underneath his cock and his bals. Stil fuly dressed, I stepped over to a kitchen chair and sat down.

He remained where he was, facing the wal. “Come here,” I told him.

Four He stepped between my legs. Even sitting down in front of him, with his cock standing proudly in my face, power coursed through me. I gripped his cock in my hand and squeezed lightly, savoring the catch in his breath. I pumped up and down, not too fast and not too hard, teasing him. Holding the base of his cock in my fist, I touched my tongue to the tip of his cock – not licking him, just pressing down my tongue into his slit. He groaned softly. I slipped my lips around him and pushed forward to take him into my mouth a few times. He caught my rhythm and his hips thrusted forward. I reached up my other hand and tapped his hip. No, no moving allowed. His hips stiled. I continued sucking him in a steady rhythm just to see if he would move. His breathing grew ragged, but he stayed mostly stil. I puled my mouth off of him and trailed tiny licks and pressed kisses and light touches of my teeth down the underside of his cock. When I reached his bals, I cleaned them with my tongue and sucked on them. His entire body jerked at that, but I assumed it was involuntary and didn’t chastise him again. Lower I went, down the underside of his bals. I couldn’t reach, his legs were too close. I tapped again, this time on the inside of his thighs. Wider. He widened his stance. I used my fist on his cock like a handle, lifting it up and out of the way. I resumed licking his bals, reaching underneath until I hit the seam where they met his body. My face was buried in his groin, and his musk was overpowering, intoxicating. I licked with my tongue, anywhere I could, not quite reaching his asshole. He started to shake and pump his hips erraticaly, and I thought he might be close to coming. His long, tormented groan confirmed it. I tapped his hip again, but then figured nonverbal cues may not be enough. I lifted my head and said, “Don’t come. I’l tel you when you can come.” His eyes were glazed over and I knew my suspicions were correct. But he seemed to focus on me and calm himself. He nodded. I had felt more powerful with my clothes on, but now they felt like a hindrance. I puled off my shirt abruptly, enjoying his sharp intake of breath. Then I puled my bra off and watched his eyes glaze over while looking at my breasts. “You wanted to touch me here. Before,” I said with emphasis – when he was fucking me. “Wel? Tel me. Did you want to touch them when I was lying there, helpless?” “Yes,” he gasped. “I’m sorry.” “Why?” “They are so beautiful. I knew they would be, even when I’d only seen you at the bar. And then seeing them bare and in front of me, I – I’m sorry.” “Don’t be sorry for finding them beautiful, for wanting to touch them. Do it.” He reached his hand up, but I stopped him. The power was amazing. It wasn’t a role, in that moment, but just me. Doing what I wanted, teling him what I wanted him to do. Sex had only ever been a compromise, and sometimes a reluctant one, but this was al me. “No,” I said. “With your cock.” He paused and his eyes flew to me, but I didn’t help him out. It had come to me as an idea, as I watched his beautiful cock bob in close proximity to my naked breasts. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted him to do, but I was content to let him figure it out. He gripped his cock in his fist, holding it more like a weapon than something tender. He moved his hips forward until the tip of his cock bumped my nipple. When he puled back slightly, a bead of pre-cum glistened on my nipple. I felt entranced by my arousal and my power. I had never realized how many thoughts would flicker through my brain, ideas and requests that I had never voiced. But now I was given a free pass for anything I wanted. He wouldn’t judge and he wouldn’t say no. “Suck me there. Taste yourself on me.” He immediately knelt before me — he, the errant knight, and me the benevolent queen — and latched his mouth onto my breast, sucking me greedily. I felt the puls through my breast and down in my cunt. “The other side,” I gasped. He started to lean over, but I put my fingers on his arm to stop him. I pointed down to his cock. He stood up, and, more hurriedly this time, more crudely, he coated my nipple with his pre-cum. Then he knelt down and suckled me, cleaning al of his cum off of my breast and then sucking more. “Stand back up.” I puled his body up again, using his cock as a gentle lead. He leaned into me, folowing my physical commands. I trailed his cock down along my breast, from the inner edge to the underside and down along my ribs. When I released him, he knelt down again and licked along the trail I had drawn. “Enough.” I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take. I doubted I could come from nipple stimulation alone, but I thought a tiny rock against the seam of my jeans just might finish me.

He stood up. I gripped his cock and puled it into my mouth again. He gasped. I almost smiled, but I couldn’t with my mouth ful of cock. He was too long for me to realy take into my mouth. I could take the tip, and then halfway in, which would be plenty enough on most guys. But I wanted more. I wanted al of him, to possess him. I knew most women wouldn’t do this for him, wouldn’t even try, not al the way. He was too long and too hard. But I wanted to do it, and then forever I would have that part of him. I began working him deeper on every suck, until I could feel him hitting the back of my throat. I forced myself to even breaths and a steady rhythm, and got him deeper stil. My gag reflex kicked in, but I continued my thrusts. I felt him tense, and I knew that he wanted to tel me not to, that I didn’t have to do that. But that wasn’t the game we were playing, and he knew it. He stayed quiet. Wel, except for his ragged moans. I gagged again and paused. I took a deep breath and focused on relaxing my throat, relaxing my entire body. Opening my throat for his cock, opening my mind to the sensations. I began to suck him in a steady rhythm again. Deeper, deeper. He cried out. I felt him push back into my throat. It burned a little, stretching, but I ignored it. His pubic hair tickled my nose. There was a little more there, but I wouldn’t be able to take it. That was the deepest anyone had probably taken him. “Wait,” he gasped, barely understandable, “I can’t … Oh god … Rachel …” I puled out until his tip was in my mouth and paused. I didn’t want him to come like this because I wanted him to fuck me – but if it was too late, I would let him ride it out here anyways. He took deep gulps of air, and his body vibrated with tension, but he didn’t come. I stood up and he stepped back, his body coated in a shiny sheen of sweat. I took off my jeans and sat at the edge of the kitchen table, legs open and feet resting on the chairs. With anyone else, I hated this position, so open, so exposed. But I didn’t have to worry about what he would do to me or what he would think of me. “Kneel,” I said. He knelt centered in front of me because he knew what he would do next. I waited, letting him look at me and gathering up my courage for this. Some of it had slipped away when it came to turning the tables. “Lick me,” I said. He leaned forward. His breath touched me before his tongue did. Slowly, softly, he licked me from bottom to top, wide but not deep. “More,” I said, unable to provide more detailed instructions. “Make me come.” He moaned and licked me again and again. He used his tongue to delve between my lips. He swirled up around my clit, pressing me and pleasuring me until I was pumping my hips up off the table. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “Ahhhh, more, do it, more, yes, that’s right, so good.” I came hard, pushing mindlessly into his face. I colapsed back onto the table, spread out on my back with my arms open and my legs spread wide. Sated, I looked up at him. “Do you want to fuck me?” His expression, tense with longing, was a sharp contrast to my contentment. “Yes.” “You fucked me before. I didn’t realy have a choice.” “I know,” he said roughly. “You are sorry,” I said, a statement. I knew it was true. “Yes,” he said. “I could leave you with that,” I gestured at his erection, so hard and primed and poised right near my wet cunt. Just a few inches closer and he’d be inside me. “I could tel you to walk away with that. It would be fair.” “Yes,” he growled. “You would walk away if I told you to.” I knew that was true also. “Yes,” he said. “Please.” He did look desperate. I wanted him inside me. “Okay,” I said. “Fuck me.” He gripped my hips and slammed his cock inside me, sending shockwaves through my body. I cried out at the force of it. “Condom,” he said, breathing hard.

“Birth control,” I managed to get out. And protection beyond that seemed ludicrous considering we’d already done this. He puled back out and slammed into me again. He was above me, fucking me, in the same position as last time, but this was totaly different. Or maybe it wasn’t so different – in both cases he was serving me, by providing his protection or his obedience. “Can’t be gentle. Tel me to stop,” he panted. “Don’t stop,” I commanded. He continued thrusting into me, his flesh slapping mine, his body rocking mine against the table. He was ruthless. It was a reaction to al that restraint that he had showed, to be able to let loose now. “Oh god. I need you to come,” he said. “It’s okay. I don’t need to again.” He just groaned in answer. He kept pummeling into me. I felt it building up again, and I tightened my legs around his waist. I thought about asking him to stop, but I wasn’t sure he realy had control anymore. I didn’t want to set him up to fail me, to ask him to do something he physicaly couldn’t. He was hitting the right angle for me, and I could feel myself getting closer. So close. He started coming, shuddering and groaning. But I was too close. I ground my hips into his, setting off my orgasm. I used the weight of his body to ride the waves even after he had colapsed on top of me. We both lay on the table, damp from sweat and other things, as our breathing evened out. I felt the same connection as before, and I wondered if it realy meant something this time. I was a girl, and though I’d never considered myself one of the stupid ones, I knew I might be confusing physical completion with emotional fulfilment. Or, even if my feelings for him were real, he might not have any at al. This was the weirdest conceivable situation to me – an entirely inauspicious start to a relationship, but here we were. As far as I was concerned, the game was over, the one where I was in charge. That had ended the moment the sex had ended. Or maybe before that. He stood up and puled out of me. I felt bereft. Would he leave now? He puled on his clothes and handed me mine, and I dressed quickly. “What happens now?” I asked. “Whatever you want to happen,” he answered. I gave him a look. “It’s not a bulshit answer, it’s the truth. I’m … I’m whatever you want.” “Oh, great. My own personal guilt slave.” “No. It’s not that. Not only that.” He sighed. “I want you, but I know I can’t have you. What I did doesn’t just go away. You may have let me be with you for this, for sex, but I know I can’t keep you. But for however long you want me here, I’l be here.” Was it possible? “What if I want you to stay?” “Then I’l stay,” he said. “The night?” I asked, unsure what I wanted his answer to be. “However long.” “Okay.” “Okay,” he agreed. “You’l need to notify your patrol that you have company.” “My patrol?” “Your protection,” he said. “Surely it was a twenty-four hour watch?” “Oh, that. I refused it.” His eyes widened, “What do you mean, you refused it?”

“Um, just what I said. I didn’t need it. I didn’t want more men hanging around my apartment.” “Those men would protect you!” He seemed realy upset, like I wasn’t making sense. “Look,” I said reasonably. “You’l be here tonight, right? So let’s just worry about this tomorrow.” “Dammit, that’s not the point. Besides, I don’t count as protection,” he muttered the last words. “An FBI agent doesn’t count as protection?” “No,” he said harshly, “I’m not.” “Did you get fired?” I asked incredulously. “No. I quit.” “What? Why? Because of this? Because of me?” I knew I sounded hysterical but the words were pouring out that way. “Not because of you, because of me. If I couldn’t protect you, then what good am I to anyone? Look, we don’t need to discuss it. It doesn’t matter.” I didn’t bother to explain that he did protect me. We both knew what happened, but knowing it didn’t make the pain of it disappear. “It does matter. It damn wel matters.” “I didn’t come here to tel you that. Or to fight with you. I just wanted to … wel, I wanted to tel you to press charges, first of al. Since I expected you to but you didn’t. But I never dared to think that I … wel, I guess I wanted to see if you needed anything. But I assumed you had protection, at least. Fuck.” “I don’t know why you’re so bent out of shape about it. They said they had caught most of the guys.” “I’m sure they said that to you,” he said. “But these gangs, they’re not some wel-defined group with an org chart. They have friends and enemies everywhere, making plays we can’t anticipate. That night didn’t put an end to the gang war, it only injured them, and they’l be coming back even stronger. If someone on the outside finds out that you were there that night, then they’l come after you, try to use you as leverage.” He looked away and blew out his breath. What was he thinking? He looked back at me, his eyes in turmoil but his mouth set in a grim line. “Okay then. You want me to stay? I’m staying here. You’ve just hired yourself a bodyguard.”

Five Ring. Ring. Ring. My body 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 puled a cel 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. His face was that emotionless mask I was coming to recognize, even if I stil hated it. He used it only when he had bad news. “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’l be safer with me. And you’l be safe at the station, even when I’m busy working there.” “I’l 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 al. But Zachary’s mouth tightened and I knew he was thinking of the first time we met, when I’d been abducted, when he’d fucked me. “Fine,” he said tightly. “Stay inside with the door locked until I get back. Don’t 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 for a while. 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. My parents had passed away in my first year of colege. I didn’t have any other family. The money ran out soon, and I didn’t make enough money doing part time work to pay for it myself, so I had to drop out. I’d been working at the bar ever since. I didn’t have a great support system. That hadn’t bothered me, or at least I thought it hadn’t. Ever since I’d gotten back from the hospital, I felt more alone than ever. 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. Wiliams? We’re with the police department. Can you please open the door?” Wel, Zachary had said not to, although surely he hadn’t meant to bar the police. He was the one who wanted me to keep a security detail. “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 puled out a gun. I should have been more surprised, realy. 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 pointing his gun at me waited, letting me appraise the situation. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t fight it. You’l only get hurt.” Yes, I knew al 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 puled 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. Wel, except for the unmarked white van instead of a police car, but by then it was too late. Why 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 puled the gun on me drove while the other sat in back with me. I looked at his face, trying to place him. He noticed me looking and sneered. “Remember me? We didn’t get a chance to play last time, but we wil this time.” Oh god, it was the man who’d fought with Zachary for me. The one who Zachary had said realy 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 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 assumed that it 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. They dragged me through the house. I saw a few men, scary-looking ones, and I knew better than to cal out for help. I was pushed into a room with a bed and no windows. 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. No reason we can’t have a little fun first.” “Please…” I whimpered. It was useless to beg, but that’s al 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’l 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 stil have ended up 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 said. If fighting didn’t work, I could try a different tact. My pride wasn’t worth the pain, at this point. “I’l do what you say. Don’t hurt me.” “Good. More.” He wanted me to beg him. “I’l 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 tel me what to do and I’l do it.” “Strip, bitch.” I hesitated, in direct contrast to my previous statements. But offering to do anything he said was not the same thing as actualy doing it. How could I go along with this? It was almost easier to be forced. 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 hand 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. “Get on the bed,” he ordered. As I turned to climb on, he hit my ass, hard. It wasn’t a slap. It reverberated through my body, and I knew it was only a taste of what would happen to me here. He grabbed my hand and puled it above my head, puling a rope out of his pocket to tie me there. He did this with my other hand and both my feet, so that I was lying face up, spread-eagled on the bed. The entire time he did this, I lay there in pain trying to breathe, trying not to panic. I wasn’t sure why he had tied me up, when I’d offered to do what he said. And clearly he could physicaly dominate me anyways. He undid his belt, which I’d expected. But he didn’t drop it to the floor. Instead he folded it in half, holding both ends in his hand. My heartbeat raced. Dread was like a vice around my throat, keeping me from making a bigger fool of myself with useless pleas. I pushed my body into the bed, trying to curl into myself, but of course it didn’t make any difference. I was tied open, helpless. He noticed my fear, and smiled. “Yes, little slut. You know what I’m going to do to you. You’re going to scream for me.” He flipped his wrist, rapping the belt against my stomach. It didn’t hurt that badly, more like a sting, but it served to show me how much worse it could get – how much worse it would get. This wasn’t a threat, or even a punishment; this was just for the pain, because he would get off on it. “Beg me, bitch.” I just looked at him fearfuly, honestly unsure whether he wanted me to beg for it or beg to be spared. “Come on, fuckslut. You want this, don’t you?” I knew what he expected. “Yes,” I whispered. “Wel, tel me, then. Beg your master and maybe I’l go easy on you.” “Please, I …” And then it was like a floodgate was opened inside me, and al my fear poured out into my words. “Please, don’t kil me. Oh god. Please. I’l do anything you want. Please… master.”

Whap. The belt smacked me across my stomach, hard. I cried out. “Do better,” he snarled. “No, please. I mean, I want it. Please, I’m begging you.” Whap, whap, whap. Another blow to stomach, then one on each breast. My skin burned where he hit me, feeling like it was being torn off, even though I could see that it wasn’t.

“That’s not good enough, slut. This is what you deserve, it’s al you’re good for.” He beat me al up and down my body, along the tops of my thighs, a few on my shins, more on my stomach, my breasts, my arms. The whole time I sobbed and pleaded to his pleasure. I didn’t think it would ever end. I thought I would die before it would end, but I knew I wouldn’t be that lucky. I thought of Zachary coming back to my apartment and finding me gone. Had they even closed the door behind us? Either way, he would find the door unlocked and the apartment empty. He would know something was wrong, even without a sign of struggle. But he wouldn’t know where to find me.

Six “That’s good, bitch. You know what to do.” I heard the clang as he dropped the belt to the floor. I barely felt relief with the pain stil clawing my body and the fear of what would come next. He’d left his clothes on, and now he undressed, removing his shirt and pants to reveal a coarse, strong body and raging erection. He climbed onto the bed and ran his hands along my body. I shivered as his hands covered the welts and bruises al along me, and tried to wriggle away to no avail. He stroked a few of the raised welts, with a look of pleasure, almost pride on his face. When I cried out, he laughed softly. “This is how you should always look, cunt.” He straddled my body and put his cock between my breasts. He roled them towards his cock, engulfing it. “Just like I said, a good size. And I already took care of the paleness.” They were bright red and bruised from the beating. He roled his cock slowly in and out of the cushion of my breasts. I couldn’t help but gasp from the pain of his hands on my sore, used breasts. Then he scooted his knees forward so that his cock was against my mouth. I knew what he wanted, and I knew I would give it to him. I parted my lips and he thrust inside. “Tongue me.” I tentatively pressed my tongue up to the underside of his cock. He reached back and twisted my nipple, and I gasped. He kept his fingers clenched tight on my nipple. “I said, tongue me, you stupid cow. Keep holding out on me, and I’l cut off your nipples. How are you going to be a good fuckslut without nipples?” His threats worked, and my tongue sprang into action. I roled it up under his cock and then al around the head. I pushed it into his slit, tasting the acrid, salty semen. He pushed his cock in deeper and I gagged. He puled out and I dragged in a breath before he pushed back in. I tried to suppress my gag reflex, but he wasn’t giving me enough time or any break in the rhythm. I just kept gagging and choking, and soon I figured out that he preferred it that way. If I managed to relax myself enough into the rhythm, he would change it and make me gag again. He liked seeing me struggle for air, the panic in my eyes when I couldn’t breathe. “If you bite me, I’l rape your ass without lube.” Then he shoved his cock in and used his fingers to close my nose. My eyes widened and in just a second I could feel the oxygen deprivation start. I felt frantic with the need to breathe. I had to force my jaws open to keep from biting down, to keep my mouth from trying to eject the blockage. Then he released his fingers, and I sucked in lungfuls of air through my nose. “Good, slut. You’re getting the hang of this.” He puled out of my mouth, but used his cock to slap my cheek. It didn’t hurt. Not realy, and not at al compared to the earlier beating with his belt. But it was a blow to my pride, to my dignity – when I didn’t even know I had any left. He held it in his fist and slapped my other cheek with his cock, leaving behind a wet smear. I felt humiliated. “Dirty sluts like cocks in their face,” he said. He continued slapping my face with his cock, on my cheeks, my nose, my chin, my forehead. Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the cum and saliva. Finaly, he moved down my body. He was going to fuck me now, but it was a relief, realy. Getting fucked had to be better than getting beaten or getting choked. And that brought me one step closer to the end of this. Even if it was one step closer to my death, I welcomed it. The door opened. It was the other man, the one who had dressed as a cop and puled a gun on me. He looked first to the man between my legs and said something rapidly in Spanish that I couldn’t make out. The man crouching above me, about to rape me, answered back just as fast. Then the man at the door looked at me. I saw something flash in his eyes. Pity, maybe even sympathy, as he took in my beaten body and cumcovered face. Then he turned and left, closing the door behind him. From above me, I heard, “You’re lucky, little slut. I’ve got to go so we’l have to play later. For now, open up.” He tapped my lips with his cock and I opened my mouth obediently. It took only a few flicks of his cock with his fist before he sprayed across my parted lips. He got off the bed and dressed, al the while not looking at me. He’d had his fun, and now I was just a useless thing in the room, like the bed, something he no longer needed. I almost thought he’d forgotten about me, but he turned back. His eyes crinkled, and it was almost a smile. “You did good, slut.” I felt a strange sense of pride at his words. I hated him, so why was I happy to please him?

“You’re going to wait here for a minute while I check on things. Do you want to be untied?” Was that a trick question? “Yes. Yes, please…. master.” He laughed, but he untied me. Then he left the room, and I heard the doorknob rattle and click as he locked it. I got up and dressed, then slunk into a corner of the room on the floor. The bed was more comfortable, but I had been violated there, hurt there, and, stupidly, I felt safer in the corner. In what seemed like only a few minutes’ time, he came back and opened the door. “Come, bitch.” I got up and staggered over to him, stil weak from the pain and the shock. He grabbed my arm and propeled me out of the room. We went back down the halway from where we had come from and then turned off into another room. A group of men were already there, shouting at each other. I glanced around furtively, trying to be inconspicuous, when I noticed him – Zachary. He was here! My heart raced, but I struggled to keep my face impassive. He must have come for me. They had caled him to consult in the gang, so he must have found out where this place was. Or maybe he already knew about the safe house from when he was undercover with them. And when he noticed me missing, he came here to get me out. Maybe he would claim me again, like before. The thought of having sex in front of these people didn’t appeal to me, especialy in light of what had just happened to me, but I’d do anything to get out. They were talking about something in a garbled mixture of Spanish and English. I couldn’t folow the words exactly, just snippets. “…already checked out la escuela…” “… el nuevo jefe…” “…this time… explosiόn…” My Spanish was rusty at best, but I knew this wasn’t good. It sounded like they were going to make another attempt at the bombing. That definitely complicated things for Zachary – he’d be obliged to help prevent it in some way. But he would stil help me, right? He hadn’t even looked my way, so far, although I knew he must have noticed me. The room wasn’t so large that a poor white girl wasn’t conspicuous in a room ful of dangerous gangsters. I’d already gotten a few sideways—and a few more obvious—glances from the other men. I accidentaly caught the eye of one of them – a black man seated near the back with me. He’d been relatively quiet throughout the whole exchange, maybe a lackey, even though he was pretty old. Very old, considering the crowd he ran with. Usualy gangsters didn’t live that long, not where I was from. He reached over and stroked a gnarled finger down my cheek. I flinched, but didn’t draw away, only to avoid bringing attention to myself in this room. The man stil holding me noticed his attention but only chuckled. “La puta le gusta la atenciόn,” he said, giving me a smal shove towards the black man. The black man smiled at me, showing several gold teeth among his yelowed ones. “She likes it, does she?” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “Wel, now, I have a few things I could teach a young whore like this one.” I didn’t respond. Instead I focused al my attention on Zachary, wiling him to look at me, to protect me. He was resolutely looking away from me. Had he truly not noticed me here? He was stil speaking rapidly at them, pointing at large sheets of paper spread out on the table. I stiffened as I felt bony fingers grab my breast from the side. The grip wasn’t too tight, but my breasts were incredibly tender from their earlier beating. I bit my lip to keep from crying out. “Does she give good head?” the black man asked. “Oh, yes, negro. She takes it deep.” “How much?” “I don’t know. She’s a prime piece. Just used her once.” “I’l give her back after, you know that. I don’t rough them up like you.” My rapist chuckled again. “Two hundred.” The black man scoffed. “For two hundred I could get any whore. She cost you nothing.” I felt a panic rise in my chest, manifesting itself as bile in my throat. They were negotiating over me. I needed Zachary to get me out of here now. I had to restrain myself from standing up and caling to him. I knew he was here undercover, and it would only blow his cover to beg him openly, helping neither of us. But this was going bad quickly.

I focused back on the conversation taking place above my head to hear the two of them agree on a price. “Fine. One hundred dolars. One hour.” “Done.” The black man stood up and started puling me with him towards the door. A few of the gang members glanced up, but, of course, no one made a move to stop him. I couldn’t leave the room with him. I’d only get raped again, and Zachary was here, for god’s sake. I resisted, struggling and fighting as he dragged me towards the door. “Wait,” a voice caled. I slumped in relief. A man next to Zachary had spoken. The black man and I both ceased our struggles, turning towards the cluster of men around the table. We both stood stil, awaiting our sentences. “I bought her fair and square,” the black man said. Zachary looked up from the table and his eyes met mine. They were cold. His lack of expression chiled me to my bones. I couldn’t read anything in his eyes, not any emotion, not any memories of what we shared. It was like looking at a stranger – a stranger who looked exactly like my lover. “Please,” I said. Maybe everyone else thought it was a plea for mercy, and in a way it was, but it was just for Zachary. I wanted him to show me it was realy him, and reassure me that I’d be okay. His face remained completely blank, not even a twitch betrayed his thoughts or a softening to my cry. “El jefe?” The black man asked. My eyes widened as I realized he was talking to Zachary. Zachary didn’t look at the black man, just continued looking straight into my eyes emotionlessly. “We’re busy. Take her and get out,” Zachary said. I couldn’t help it – my mouth gaped open in shock, then horror. The words kept replaying in my mind like some sick joke. Maybe in my delirium of pain and shock I had forgotten how to understand English. Maybe he was talking about someone else, or meant something else. But of course there was no other explanation. Zachary had just sent me to be raped. I barely noticed as the black man puled me from the room. The physical pain was bad, but this was worse. I hadn’t realized exactly how much hope I had been pinning on Zachary. Not just that he would physicaly rescue me from this place, but also that he was there for me, that he was one of the good guys, and that he wanted me. Now it appeared that he was the new boss. Was he stil undercover, or was he actualy working for the gang? But that was realy a theoretical question for me, because it didn’t change the reality that I was being towed down the halway with my new rapist. He shoved me into the room I had been before. Was this the rape room? They should make an office placard so anyone getting lost would know where to go. “Rape Room,” it would say. The irony was that I actualy felt safer in this room. Here there was only one man, and I knew pretty much what would happen. The exact order and orifices might vary, but it was sex. I could survive it, better than out there in that larger room with al those men, exposed. And then Zachary, my would-be savior, had acted like he didn’t know me and unceremoniously sent me here to be raped. My body hurt from my earlier beating, but that was nothing compared to the hole in my heart. I didn’t even want to believe it, because it made my current predicament that much more pathetic, but I knew the searing pain I felt at every breath wasn’t caused by my earlier beating, but by Zachary’s calousness. I blinked as tears came to my eyes, and felt them track slowly down my face. I turned to face my new captor, determined to face this with whatever dignity I had left. I had nothing left to lose. The black man closed the door behind us. “Get on the bed,” he said to me.

Seven “My god, Rachel. My god,” Zachary whispered, his face a mask of horror. His hands traced over me as he knelt down in front of me, over my face and my body, but didn’t touch. “Which one of them did this to you?” I shook my head, though I wasn’t sure it was discernible from my violent trembling. The pain and the fear and, most of al, the relief when Zachary had come for me exploded inside me, leaving me weak and disoriented. The man had only moved me to the bed, had only just touched me, when Zachary had burst in here, knocking the other man away from me. Just one look at Zachary’s face, and I knew that I hadn’t misjudged him. He was on my side. I stil didn’t know the details of why he was running with the gang, maybe he was stil undercover. But the horror on his face at seeing me hurt was unmistakable. Thank god. “It had to be José,” said the black man. “That’s who brung her to the room when Alan was busy with the explosives.” Zachary shut his eyes tightly, but his voice was quiet. “Thank you.” “Yeah, that’s right. But consider us even now, you hear? I brung her here and didn’t fuck her when I could have. So we’re square, you and me.” “Al right,” Zachary said, his voice so low I could barely make it out. “But not a word.” “Nah. I ain’t no tattle.” I didn’t think his word on that was very reliable, seeing as he’d just ratted out José. But he seemed to be on our side, sort of, and we also appeared to be short on friends. The black man left, leaving Zachary and I alone. Zachary didn’t turn back to me right away, but instead hung his head with his eyes closed. I was stil shaky and, even though he’d rescued me, stil nervous about Zachary’s true colors, so I stayed silent. Then he took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and turned to me. “How?” The softness of his voice contrasted sharply with his flashing eyes and labored breathing. “They came to my apartment.” My voice shook, as if I were shivering, cold – but I felt nothing. The numbness, no matter how temporary, was welcomed. “You said not to open the door, but they were…they were cops. I thought you’d sent them.” His eyes burned with intensity, and I longed to step back, but I could hardly move from my spot on the floor. He must have seen my fear, though, because he gentled his expression. “It’s okay. It’l be okay. Let me see how bad it is.” He reached his hand out to my torn clothing, but I shrunk back into the floor, clutching the pieces together. His hand froze in the air. “I won’t hurt you. Please.” But I couldn’t. It wasn’t about fearing him, or maybe it was, just a little. But mostly I couldn’t be seen like this. His hand dropped, and so did his head. “I’m so sorry, Rachel. You have no idea. I’l get you out of this, I swear it.” “Okay,” I said. I didn’t know how he’d do it, but getting out sounded good. Damn good. I wanted to get out, with him, and be back at my apartment. I wanted it to be like before this had happened. Could I ever be normal? I didn’t realy see how, but that’s because I was here, in this hel. Once he got me out, I could figure it out. Hope. It does spring eternal, apparently. “How bad did…did he…” Zachary swalowed, unable to continue the sentence. But I knew the question. And that made me think of the answer. My gaze fel to Zachary’s waistline – his belt. His eyes folowed mine and then widened. “He used a belt on you? My god…” Zachary broke off. His hands tightened into fists and I flinched away. “No, baby. Don’t be afraid of me. I’m sorry. I’m just angry at him. Furious. But not at you. I’l never hurt you.” Maybe not, but he hadn’t touched me, either. He’d tried to, just to look at my bruises, but not to hold me or comfort me. Maybe he didn’t want me anymore. I must look disgusting, al puffy from the bruises and from crying. And I’d been touched by another man, beaten and made to suck him. Would Zachary want me after that? Wet tears roled down my cheeks, stinging the open cuts. “Ah, god, baby. I’m so sorry. God.” His voice cut off abruptly, hoarse and rough, but I couldn’t see his face through my own tears. I could hear him taking a series of rapid breaths, though. Upset. He was upset.

But stil, he didn’t touch me. “Listen, sweetheart. I want to…god, it doesn’t matter what I want. I just wish it could be different right now, but we have to focus now, for us to get out of this. We’re in real deep, and it’s not going to be easy getting out. We need to act fast. Do you understand what I’m saying?” I didn’t, not realy. Zachary was a cop, so why couldn’t he get us out? Why couldn’t he cal up the cops and give them our location? “Why?” “Some realy bad shit is going down right now. That’s why they sent me in. I’m supposed to be out there stopping it, but I just tipped them off and they’l have to handle it. I need to get you out of this.” I focused on his face as my tears dried. He looked almost pleading, but for what? “I know I let you down. I picked my job over you the first time. And then I left you today, that’s how you got into this. But now I am with you 100%. I’m getting you out of this.” “Hey, your job involves saving people’s lives. And I haven’t lost mine, yet.” I tried for a joke, but clearly failed as his face darkened. “You won’t,” he said sharply. “You’re going to get out of this.” He rested his forehead against mine and breathed heavily. Then he puled back, his face encased in an emotionless mask. “Come.” He reached his hand down and puled me up. I swayed gently, and he steadied me with his hand at my elbow. I longed for more, for an embrace of comfort, but that’s not what he was offering. He puled a gun from his waist, one I hadn’t noticed before, and glanced out of the door. Then he puled me out and down the halway back toward the way I had been brought in. A shout warned us that someone was coming, but we had no time to hide or to run back to the room. He grabbed me and held me in front of him, the gun pressed to my temple, just as a man rounded the corner in front of us. The man, who I didn’t recognize, was dressed just as scarily as al the others, flicked his gaze between us. He said to Zachary, “We got to hurry, yo.” “I know,” Zachary said. “Why do you think I’m taking her out of here?” The other man’s looked me up and down my body, and a leer darkened his face. “I can get rid of her for you.” “No,” Zachary said coldly. “She’s mine.” The man put his hands up, the leer stil firmly in place. “Okay, man. I get it. Al yours.” And then he turned and continued down the halway at a brisk pace. I breathed out a sigh of relief, but cast a wary glance at Zachary, who was watching him go. I had every reason to believe that Zachary was on my side. He was law enforcement, clearly trusted by them. And I’d only ever see him protect me. But he played the bad guy so convincingly. What if he realy was taking me somewhere to get rid of me? It seemed unlikely, and there’d be no need to keep up the charade if he was. After al, he had a gun. I had to do what he said regardless of whether I thought he was a good guy or not. Stil, I was nervous. I thought that maybe once we got out of here, I’d try to split from Zachary. If I could get out of this mess, out of immediate danger, then things would clear up for me. I could check out Zachary’s story, maybe talk to the police or something – not that I was looking forward to that. But the first step was to get out of here, and Zachary was doing that for me. He’d taken my hand again and puled me down another halway. We stopped in front of a door, and Zachary turned to me. “Okay, listen.” He puled out a ring of keys from his pocket. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to get in the black Explorer in there. Start the engine and get into drive, but hold the brake. When the garage door opens, you need to floor it out of there and off this land. If you folow this farm road east twenty miles and then—” “Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “You’re not coming with me?” “There’s guys al over this place. I’ve got to distract them so that you can get out.” “Then how wil you get out?” He just shook his head. What did that mean? Could it possibly mean that he was on their side after al and that’s why he wanted to stay? But if they saw him fighting them, they would hardly accept him back into their folds. “Zachary?” “It’s the only way. I’m going to try to folow if I can swing it. But the important thing is that you get to the police station. They’l keep you safe.” “And I’m just supposed to leave you here to die? Are you insane?” “Christ, Rachael. I need to get you out of here and I’m running out of time.” When I cringed, he added. “I’l folow after, okay? Once I see you on the road, I’m going to grab one of the other cars and go.”

With that, he pushed me into the garage. My footsteps echoed as I half-ran to the Explorer. It felt huge as I climbed in. New, too, with al sorts of controls they hadn’t had the last time I’d driven a car. Which, admittedly, had been awhile. I could hardly afford one on my pay at the bar, and I didn’t realy need one with city transportation. But I put the keys in the ignition and the car purred to a start. Drive, drive, where the gear shift? Finaly, I was waiting with my foot on the brake, fingers clutching the steering wheel, staring at a closed garage door. After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, the garage door jerked and then rumbled upwards. It sounded abnormaly loud in the previous quiet of the garage. Sunlight filed the garage, and as at it reached my eyes, I moved my foot onto the gas and pressed down hard. The driveway was long and curvy, but the car roared under my command. It went a bit too fast, even, and I almost swerved into a tree. Even through the thick car doors, I heard shouts behind me, and then gunfire. Shit. Zachary was stil back there. This was a horrible idea. I never should have agreed to leave without him, but it was too late now. Going back would be suicide for the both of us. I had to hope that he could find a way out, but with a sinking feeling, I remembered his words and the look in his eyes as he’d said them. I feared this was already a suicide mission. His death. He’d known he wouldn’t be able to come after me. He’d done this anyways because it was the only way to get me out. But stil, even knowing that, even hating myself for it, I couldn’t turn back. Not when he’d already made this sacrifice. I had to make it worth something by getting free. And maybe, I prayed for the first time in years, there was hope for him. He was resourceful and smart and he’d gotten himself out of bad scrapes before, hadn’t he? Against the odds, he could do it again. I had to believe that. Careening through the twisted path, the giant SUV bounced over bumps. The road ahead cleared and I could see the turn-off onto the paved farm road Zachary had told me about. East, he’d said. Fuck, if only I knew which way that was. Something about the sun and it setting in the west. Or east. Shit, which way? And as I was franticaly trying to figure out the sunset patterns, I heard the rev of an engine from behind me. I glanced back to find one of the other cars gaining on me. Yes! Zachary had made it. Reaching the end of the road, I started to make the turn left. Almost in slow motion, I glanced back to see if Zachary would folow, and saw instead a hand coming out of the passenger side window. No. No one should be with him. And the glint of metal. A gun was in his hand.

Bang! A blast sounded in my ears at the same time as the vehicle popped up into the air, halfway through its turn. A shudder and a skid, and then the Explorer was stil turning. Too far. It was roling over onto the road. A sharp pain blasted the side of my face, and then everything went dark. *** The first thing I knew was that my mouth tasted bitter. I struggled to open my eyes, but it was fuzzy. Slowly, fuzzy shapes firmed up: a leather sofa, a microwave, Zachary with his hands behind his back and his head hanging down. Oh god. Where were we? This didn’t feel like the house anymore. The carpeting against my legs felt rough and thin, more appropriate for an office than a house. And there was al sorts of paperwork posted on the wal. I squinted my eyes to try and make them out.

Report Child Abuse, one posted proclaimed. What the hel? Labor Laws, another said. Okay, some sort of office. The police station, maybe? That would be great, except I doubted I’d be stuck in an office with my – yep, I couldn’t move my hands – with my hands tied and Zachary tied up next to me.

Stomp Out Bullying and Earth Day. Oh shit. This was the school. It had to be the one they were targeting, which meant they were about to be blown up. This room didn’t have windows, I guessed it to be some sort of teacher’s lounge now, but it had to be nighttime already. It had already been late afternoon when I’d driven out of that house, something I’d confirmed with my ultimately useless sunset calculations. But even that information didn’t realy matter since I didn’t know the schedule for the bomb. Zachary had been in on the planning, though. He might know.

“Zachary,” I whispered. He didn’t move. “Zachary,” I said in a low, urgent voice. Stil nothing. A cloud stil dimmed my senses, probably a leftover result of my head smacking the side window. But there wasn’t time to linger. I didn’t know if the men were returning or if the bomb was about to go off. I had to get us out of there.

Eight I struggled against the ropes. But after a few minutes, al I’d succeeded in doing was cutting into my wrists. Maybe I should focus more on waking Zachary. “Zachary, please!” I scooted toward him like an overlarge inchworm. My feet were closer to him, and as soon as they were within range, I tapped his feet with my own. He stirred. Thank god, he was alive. But his head didn’t rise. I kicked again, harder this time, mentaly apologizing as I did it. This time, he groaned. “Zachary. You have to wake up.” “Rachel?” he mumbled. “Yes, it’s me. We’re both tied up. In a school — I think the one they’re going to blow up.” That did it. He looked up at me, and – oh god, one of his eyes was blackened, the rest of his face scratched up and dirtied – and said, “No, no. You got away. I thought you got away.” The disbelief in his eyes crushed me. “I’m so sorry, Zachary. It didn’t work. They shot the car, maybe the tires, and I blacked out. I only woke up here.” He shut his eyes, slumped, defeated. I had done that to him. Then he shook his head as if to clear it. “What time is it?” “I don’t know. There’s not a clock in here, and the microwave’s facing the other way.” He shook his head. “It can’t be morning yet, or people would already be arriving. It’s probably not even that late. I don’t think I was out for that long.” I eyed his torn clothing. “What did… I mean, how were you…” “Just a few bruises. No worse than you.” He laughed bitterly. Though I doubted it was meant to be an insult to me, it stung. “Please,” I whispered. Please don’t be angry. Please stay with me. Please don’t give me that cold, emotionless mask again. “Ah, god, Rachel.” He leaned his head back to the wal. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. How am I supposed to protect anyone if I can’t even protect the woman…” “I’m sorry.” “What do you have to be sorry for?” His voice was odd. Detached. As if this was a curiosity, not something he was truly invested in. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I shouldn’t have opened the doors for them, no matter what.” “You couldn’t have known, Rachel. They were dressed as cops, how could you know?” “I don’t know. I should have listened to you. And then the escape – I ruined it. I couldn’t drive that car very wel, and I just…” “No,” he cut in. “It wasn’t your fault. It was theirs and mine, but not yours.” But his empty tone was hardly convincing. It was a platitude, I thought, something you had to say to someone who’d been beaten because you weren’t alowed to cal her an idiot. But I knew better. I deserved this. And worse, I’d gotten him into this. The fact that he hadn’t even mentioned escape, or attempted in the past few minutes, spoke volumes about how screwed we both were. But escape attempts went out the window when we heard footsteps thudding down the halway. He turned to me. “Let me talk, okay? I don’t know how … I mean, I can’t… fuck. I’m going to do what I can. If there’s any way that I can get you out of this, I wil.” But the bleakness in his voice made it clear: we were both dead. I felt so guilty for ever doubting him. How could I have been questioning his loyalties when he’d risked his career, his very life,

repeatedly for me? The door swung open, revealing the guy who had raped me earlier. He came in before the other man, but the way he stepped aside for him made it clear that guy was above him in the feeding chain. He was older than most of these guys, with graying hair. He was stil formidable, though, and scarier, in a way, than the others. He had a hard look in his eyes that said he had no compunction about kiling. Probably enjoyed it. Something to look forward to, then, for the both of us. The older man walked straight to Zachary and punched him in the gut. I cringed, but stayed silent, the sounds of Zachary’s choked breaths filing the room as he recovered. “It is a sad day when I cannot even trust la familia, eh?” he said. He looked over at me and caught my expression. “You did not know, senorita? This is my sister’s son. She married a gringo, but it shouldn’t have mattered. He stil has the blood of my family, and this is what he does.” Just as Zachary had begun to sit relatively straight again, the man punched him in the stomach again. Zachary doubled over, gasping for breath, and ended up lying on the floor, his hands stil tied behind his back. “I am Carlos Garcia. Ah, I see you have heard of me. This is good. I enjoy my infamy. And I know you are already acquainted with my cousin, Juan. He has told me about you. He says you are most pleasing.” Carlos walked over to me, and I cringed back, but was unable to realy move away. He trailed a finger along my cheek. “Would you like to please me?” “Never,” I said between my teeth, clenched to keep them from rattling. He smiled, showing me surprisingly white teeth. “I like it when they don’t break so easy. You wil please me, after al.” “Get away from her,” Zachary managed to ground out. Carlos didn’t even bother turning away from me. “You’ve had her, too, then? She wil be the family whore.” “If you touch her, I wil kil you,” Zachary said. “Strong words for a man about to die. You are lucky I want her. I could turn her over to the men, make her camp whore. She could get fucked to death by thirty men.” I shut my eyes tightly, trying to find some last dregs of strength inside me to survive this. I found none. I wanted to beg, to cry, to plead, but none of it would matter. If I had to die, if I had to get raped, then the least I could do was do it with dignity. But dignity was one thing this man wanted from me. He stripped me quickly, cutting the clothes off my body around the rope at my wrists. With a signal from Carlos, Juan took up a stance right next to Zachary, a gun to his head. “Now, whore. You wil do as I say, or Zachary wil get hurt. You wil get hurt either way. But I have seen the way you look at him, and I am not often wrong about people. You wil suffer for him.” “No,” Zachary choked out. Juan kicked him viciously, causing Zachary to gasp for air. “Wel?” Carlos asked, picking at a piece of lint on his slacks. I hated him. I wanted to kil him. But of course I would do it. I wouldn’t let him hurt Zachary, maybe kil him, just because I didn’t want to have sex with this asshole. “I’l do it.” Carlos sat in one of the leather chairs, leaning back, totaly relaxed. “Come and suck my dick.” Everything in me revolted at the idea. But Carlos was right about whatever he’d seen in my eyes. Even if we were going to die at the end—painful deaths—I’d do everything in my power to keep Zachary from getting hurt until then. I knelt and then stumbled back onto the floor. I was dizzy from the pain, and maybe lack of food or water, and my hands tied behind my back were throwing off my balance. But eventualy I caught myself and shuffled on my knees over to Carlos. He’d watched me the whole time with amusement on his eyes. This was entertainment for him. He was toying with me, which I might have minded more if I didn’t know that the second he got bored, I was dead. When I reached him, I looked down at his crotch expectantly, covered as it was in his pants. He smiled evily. “Go on, whore. Take it out.” Tears stung my eyes, but I breathed in deep to keep them from spiling over. “Carlos, wait,” Zachary gasped. “I can help you. The cops, they know. I can help you get away.” Carlos just laughed. “You think I relied only on you? I own half the cops on the force. They wil keep the others looking in the wrong places. Now, shut him up. This whore is taking too long.” At that, Juan smashed the barrel of his gun into Zachary’s head, and he dropped to the floor. His low moan told me he was stil alive and somewhat conscious, but I knew he couldn’t take much more. Juan puled off the bandana around his neck and used it as a gag on Zachary. I reached my head forward, like a turtle emerging from his shel. The shame was extreme, but I finaly nuzzled out the zipper from his slacks and grasped it between my teeth. I got it halfway down before it caught and I had to start over.

Stil, there was no way I could get his belt off. I tried to use my teeth and my tongue to push it out of the loops, but it didn’t budge. He let me struggle, chuckling darkly at my attempts. Then he pushed me back. “I’l do that, stupid whore.” He whipped off his belt and then looped it. I knew what that meant. “I think a punishment is in order. But the question is: who gets it? I’m going to whip someone with this. Should it be Zachary, or you?” A pause, the too-quiet sounds of Zachary’s raspy breaths filing the air. “Me,” I mumbled. “I couldn’t hear you,” Carlos said. “And I expect you to address me with respect.” “Me…sir,” I said slightly louder. And then, before it even registered, my face was pushed into the rough carpeting, my ass in the air. Slap, the belt stung across my already bruised ass. Then again and again. Al over my behind and my back, the belt came down. I’d thought that other guy, José, was rough, but these bit into my skin, flaying me open. The tears and begging spiled out, almost without conscious thought – I couldn’t stop them. “Please. Oh god. Please, no more. I’l do anything. I’m sorry.” It took me a few seconds to register that the beating had stopped. He puled me up by my hair and spat in my face. Then he pushed my face back down to the floor, near his shoes. “Lick them, whore. Show me how dirty you are.” Shaking with pain and exhaustion, I truly would do anything in that moment. I licked them. Once, twice. And then, as he used my hair as a handle, licked them al over, coating them in a thin layer of saliva. Then he lifted his leg. I cringed, thinking he was going to kick my face, but he just shoved my face into the sole of his shoes. I licked there too, tasting the grit of the street. Then he sat back down, straightening his trousers, as if his hard cock wasn’t bulging out. As if he hadn’t just beat me and humiliated me. Then he gestured down, almost regaly, “Come and suck my dick. Get it right this time. You don’t want me to get angry with you.” I shuffled over as quickly as I could and took his dick into my mouth. The musky smel hit me hard and threatened to upend my stomach, but I shut my eyes and held it down. He let me work on his cock for a while, licking and sucking and bobbing my head. Then he pushed me down, shoving my nose into his pubic hair and blocking my air passage. Even without air, I was careful not to bite down, knowing the price of such a mistake would be heftier than Zachary or I could afford. But I did struggle, and he when he finaly let me up, I gulped in air. Then, without being told, I put my lips back around his cock. “What a good whore,” he crooned. He pushed my head back down, shoving his cock al the way in my throat. This time, I ran out of air sooner, since I hadn’t realy caught my breath after the last time, but he held me down longer. I thrashed around, but had no purchase with my hands behind my back. I started seeing spots and was sure I’d pass out, when he let me up again. I lost track of the number of times he did this to me. My entire world narrowed to the times when I could gulp in air. I even lost consciousness a couple of times with his cock shoved into my throat. I woke up to that same cock slapping me in the face until I forced my lips around it again. Finaly, he began to push my head down and let me come back up in a regular rhythm. Push down, let me up. Push down, let me up. His hips started reaching up to meet my mouth, humping my face. Then he stiffened and held me al the way into him, my nose smashed against his groin as he groaned above me. When he finaly released me, I colapsed back onto the floor, breathing hard. My eyes were open, but I couldn’t see anything. I wasn’t sure it was even tears, realy, but just my body breaking down under the stress of it al. I vaguely registered Carlos zipping up and then talking on his cel phone. I struggled to focus and finaly could see again – he was pacing by the counter. My brain was sluggish, but I had never forgotten Zachary. I looked over at him, hoping he was conscious for his health, but at the same time, hoping he wasn’t. Unfortunately, his eyes were looking straight at me, glassy with his own pain. But the horrible part was that they were filed with pity. He’d seen the whole thing. God, what I’d give for him not to have seen me like that. That’s al I could think about. It was horrible, but it was over. I had survived it. But Zachary had seen it. Now he would think of it whenever he looked at me, and I, in turn, would think of it whenever I looked at him. It was the very worst sort of bond I could have made with the man that I cared about. The only man I’d ever cared about. He didn’t look away from me, though, and I wasn’t sure what that meant. Surely he was disgusted by what he’d seen, but he looked into my eyes. Was it courtesy? Respect? Pity? He couldn’t say anything with the gag stil in his mouth. It looked like he was trying to convey some message with his eyes, but I couldn’t tel. And even if I could try to guess, it was too messed up with my own pain and self-loathing to be any kind of accurate. Carlos let out a string of something I assumed were curses, and then hung up. He walked back over to me and kicked me in the side. It had barely strained him, but the pain made me tense up for several long minutes.

“Zachary is looking at you, whore. I think he wants to fuck you, too. I am a fair man. And he is my nephew. I am wiling to give him this last request.” The sound of Carlos laughter was punctuated by the sharp pain in my hair as he dragged me over to Zachary’s tied body.

Nine “Suck his dick.” With his hand in my hair, Carlos shoved my face down towards Zachary’s cock. I turned my face away, puling my own hair in the process. I hated that Carlos was making me do this. I hadn’t minded him making me suck him as much I minded this. I’d sucked Zachary’s cock before, but it had been an act of shared pleasure, maybe even something as sappy as love, but not this. Not pain, not forced, not beaten. Carlos shoved my face down farther, so that Zachary’s hard dick tapped my face aimlessly – my cheek, my nose. Although, as Carlos had said, Zachary was hard, I didn’t like to think that Zachary had gotten off on watching my torture, my rape, at the hands of his uncle. But then again, maybe it was a purely physical reaction. And maybe if Zachary wanted this, then I could do it. I glanced up at him. Zachary’s mouth was split open with a bandana. His nostrils flared, his eyes wide. “Rachel,” I thought he said, muffled beyond comprehension through his gag. He shook his head wildly, though, making his answer clear. He didn’t want this. I couldn’t do it then. I knew the pain of rape. Not the physical pain, which could be bad enough, but the kind that broke a person into so many pieces they knew they’d never be able to put themselves back together again. That was me. Damaged beyond repair. But I wouldn’t do that to anyone else, and especialy not to Zachary. Carlos punched me in the side of my head, knocking me over onto Zachary’s legs. Then he yanked me back up by my hair. “I said, suck it.” I wouldn’t. Tears smarted from the pain of his blow, but I’d take a hundred more and not give in. Never would I make Zachary feel violated as I had been. I’d rather die. I thought I might die, actualy, as he hit me again and again. I hoped I would. Distantly, I heard the muffled grunts as Zachary failed to talk. Then, abruptly, the blows stopped. I opened my eyes, but I stil couldn’t see. Like a movie scene, Zachary came into focus as Juan ripped the bandana off of his mouth. “Stop,” he said hoarsely. “Please. Rachel, I… please.” I stared blankly at him, unable to move due to the pounding in my head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Please do it. Please…suck me. It wil be okay.” He wanted me to suck him? I couldn’t process the ramifications. Did he just want to get off? This turned him on? Or was it something else? My brain was sluggish from the beating. But this was Zachary. I loved Zachary. Even my broken-stupid brain knew that. So I would do what he asked. Slowly, so slowly that it seemed to take an eternity, I crawled up to his legs and took his cock in my mouth. His breath caught. “That’s right. Shhh.” And only when he said that did I realize I was making a low moan, a sickly sound, like an animal in pain. Which I was. His cock tasted strongly of sweat and musk, and a little bitter – like piss. Had he peed himself during his own beating? Maybe a little. But I lapped it al up, accepting it as al I was good for. I hadn’t wanted to believe what Carlos had told me, but that didn’t make it any less true. Al men wanted me for was to fuck. And they didn’t even bother with dates and flowers like other women got. I just got this. Sex. Pain. And when I think it’s over – more of the same. I was a whore, and a bad one, too. Except Zachary seemed to be enjoying my blowjob at least. His breathing had grown heavy and erratic. His hips had begun to shake, as if maybe he wanted to thrust, but couldn’t. This was good. I wanted to please Zachary. But just when I started to think it was okay, a sharp crack came from behind. I heard it in the air before I felt the sting of the leather on my bare ass. I must have bit down on him, because Zachary jerked. “Suck it better, bitch,” I heard Carlos say. I sucked harder and deeper, but again the belt came down on my bruised ass. Tears of pain and frustration fel down my cheeks and onto Zachary, but I didn’t stop.

“It’s okay,” Zachary whispered between deep breaths. “It wil be okay.” A harder blow from the belt elicited a low groan, with Zachary’s cock deep in my throat. The vibrations caused Zachary’s cock to pulse. “Don’t speak to the whores, Zachary,” Carlos said. “I raised you better than this.” “Fuck you,” Zachary spat. An even harder swing of the belt was Carlos’ response. I yelped around the cock. I felt Zachary suck in a breath. I knew he wanted to say something to me. A reassurance, a response, but he couldn’t. If he spoke against Carlos, Carlos would take it out on me, that was the message Carlos had sent. I wanted to show him I understood, so I went at his cock with abandon, sucking it in deep. The pain of the belt on my ravaged ass was so huge that the twinge of discomfort from taking his cock deep into my sore throat was nothing at al. I heard a soft clink as the belt fel beside my face, coiling like a snake ready to strike. Then I felt Carlos’ hand in my hair again, pushing me down onto Zachary’s cock, just as he had pushed me onto his own cock a few minutes earlier. When he spoke again, his voice was close. “Whores live for having a cock in their mouth, don’t you?” I didn’t know if he expected a response, so I just whimpered. “But what about dying for them? How many whores do you think have died around a cock?” This time I didn’t bother to respond as he inexorably pushed my mouth down, al the way down Zachary’s cock. His cock sweled and twitched. He was coming soon. Carlos’ voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I think a whore would love to die around a cock. But let’s put it to the test, shal we?” Zachary groaned a protest, but Carlos jammed me down hard. My face hit Zachary’s crotch, my nose pressed into the coarse hair. I couldn’t help but gag, and in another second, I struggled to come up for breath, but that hand held me down. My throat convulsed, wringing another groan from Zachary. Hot cum poured down my throat, but stil I couldn’t come up. I started to slacken, hearing Zachary gasp out in his orgasm, “No. Let her go. Jesus. Rachel. Stay with me. Please.” And I wanted to listen to him, I wanted to please him, but as the darkness took me, I knew I had failed again. *** The first thing I noticed was the cock inside me. I knew this feeling. An old boyfriend used to love waking me up like this, with his dick inside me and his hands around my throat. It was just sex. But it wasn’t moving. Or at least, it hadn’t moved in the last few minutes since I’d woken up. I tried to open my eyes, and they creaked open slowly like a rusted door. And pain. Pain shot through me at just that smal movement of my eyelids. I sucked in a breath. Zachary. He stood in front of me, naked, his head hanging down. His cock was inside me, and my legs were circled around his hips. In a sick sort of way, this reminded me of the first time we’d had sex, back in that warehouse. This was the same position. I was raised on some sort of hard surface, a table maybe. And he was standing upright, even though his head hung down. “Zachary?” I croaked. He shook his head slightly, enough to let me know he’d heard me, enough to let me know he didn’t want to look at me. Was he truly inside me? I tightened my muscles to check, and he gasped. Yes, he was there, big and hard. “Don’t,” he grunted. “Please, don’t.” “What’s…what’s going on?” He didn’t answer, but I noticed something else. My legs were wrapped around his waist, but I sure as hel wasn’t holding them there. Hel, I’d been unconscious just a few seconds ago. And his arms were puled back, as if they were stil tied together as they’d been earlier. So how were my legs staying like that, suspended in air? I wiggled them experimentaly and discovered the answer. They were tied together at the ankles. Very, very tightly.

In fact, just thinking about moving my toes shot hot darts of pain into them where they’d lost blood flow. My arms were raised above my head, almost reaching the back of this table I was on. They were also tied there, probably using the legs of the table. And again, the stinging of hands that had long ago falen asleep. I guessed I had been moving too much, because Zachary’s cock twitched. “Stay stil,” he ground out. “I don’t understand,” I said. “There’s nothing to understand. He’s a sick fuck.” “Is he here? Is he coming back?” “No,” Zachary said grimly. “The bomb’s going to go off any minute now.” “So… what? We just wait here to die?” “I can’t…” Zachary shook his head. “I can’t move.” He glanced down at my legs that held his body like a vice. “My legs are tied.” I wriggled my toes again, setting off more sparks. “The knots are realy tight,” I said. “But whatever fabric they use to do this – it’s stretchy. I think I might be able to get out of it.” “Realy?” he asked. His shoulders flexed as he tried his own bonds. “Mine are rope.” He shook his head again. “No give.” “Okay,” I said. “Okay. I’l try.” I puled my feet apart as far as I could, probably only managing a centimeter or so, but I could feel the slightest stretch in the fabric. I let it spring back together and then puled again. I did this for a few minutes, already feeling a smal amount of progress. But there was something else, the sawing motion I was making with my feet was puling Zachary’s body closer to mine, which puled his cock – his hard, aroused cock – deeper into me. I tried to ignore it. If I could just get these off my feet, we could be free. This was important. This was everything – Zachary’s life was at stake. I wasn’t about to let him get blown apart because he was caught in the trap of my body. The further apart I stretched the fabric between my legs, loosening the knots, the more jerky the movements of Zachary’s body against mine became, almost like thrusts. Exactly like thrusts. In fact, I was sure that this was the bastard Carlos had planned for us. A ridiculous sex act, like we were two animals in a circus, as his final act of depravity—and he didn’t even have to be present for it. We’d fuck, we’d die, and he’d get the last laugh, if I couldn’t get us out of this. I couldn’t help the smal gasps of pain that came out as blood flowed into my feet again. Between the thrusting motion and those sounds, I knew this was becoming a problem for Zachary. Even if I couldn’t have read it on the tension of his face, I could feel his cock thickening and twitching inside me. “Wait, stop,” he choked. “No, I almost have it.” I started yanking on the bonds almost franticaly, desperate to end this macabre dance. But the stuttered breaths of Zachary told me I was too late. He squeezed his eyes shut as he came, pouring into my dirty, ravaged cunt. And the very worst of it: a solitary tear dropped from his eye and roled down his cheek. What had I done? Me and my dirty whore of a cunt had effectively raped this man. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “No,” I said. “Let’s not talk about it.” Maybe it was selfish of me, but I couldn’t bear to hear him talk about it. I wasn’t even sure what he’d say. Would he condemn me for my whoreishness? Would he try to excuse my grossness with empty platitudes? Would his disgust of me be plain, or hidden behind pity? I didn’t want to know the answer to any of these questions. With a savage pul, I yanked one of my feet free of the bindings. Something cracked in my ankle, and the pain of it made me cry out. But Zachary was free of me. He fel back, his feet tied to the table legs and his hands behind his back. But it was progress. I puled at my hands, but though there was more leeway, the restraints were tighter around my wrists. Getting them off seemed impossible.

Ten I had a ridiculous idea, just stupid enough to work. If I roled backwards off of the table and then landed on the floor, I could just slip my ropes down the table legs, and eventualy, off. The hard wood of the table cut into my skin as I bent backwards, curling my legs up. And then I was upside down. The crouched landing I was hoping for turned into more of an unruly sprawl, like a lamb who tries to stand for the first time. But it had worked. My hands were tied with rope to the tops of these two table legs, and I wriggled them al down to the bottom of the legs. Once they were at the bottom, Zachary pressed his weight down on the other side of the table, puling my side off the ground a bit. I slipped my ropes out, and I was free. From there, I used my fingers to undo the knots around Zachary’s legs and hands. It didn’t escape my notice that Zachary refused to meet my eyes. I didn’t blame him, but it stil hurt. I dressed quickly in the tatters that were left of my clothes, while Zachary rummaged through the drawers and cabinets. He somehow found a pocketknife – surely those weren’t alowed at school, I thought stupidly – and used it to cut the remaining ropes off of my hands. Then we both went into the halway cautiously, but urgently, with Zachary stil holding the knife out and ready. We made it out to a back parking lot, which seemed deserted but for a few stray cars. “I don’t care what you say,” I whispered behind him. “I’m not driving off and leaving you here this time.” He turned back and gave me a smal, sad smile. “No, not this time.” “Wait here,” he said. “I’m going to try to wire one of those cars. Don’t move. I’l come back for you.” And then he was gone. I watched him walk to one of the old cars and fiddle with the lock using his knife, but I felt more conspicuous standing there in the wide open windows of the school. I stumbled back a bit to the wal, leaning against metal lockers. I started to fade out of consciousness. Oddly, I was aware of this, in a way I wouldn’t have expected if I was drifting to sleep. I knew this wasn’t sleep, but something darker. I’d been beaten and hadn’t had anything to drink in a while. This was death. Or a coma, at least. I slid deeper into the lethargy, into the melancholy, unable to do anything to stop it. And then, as if in a dream – a nightmare – I was smashed up against metal lockers. A familiar voice growled in my ear. “I wasn’t about to let you die without tasting you, chica.” It wasn’t Zachary. Not even Carlos. No, it was Juan. His hands easily pushed aside my torn clothing, and then his cock invaded me. It was a smal comfort, I thought idly, that Zachary had come in me earlier. At least I wasn’t dry. I made a smal protest, perhaps, pushing at him with my arms and legs, but it was as feeble as a baby bird. I was nothing. I had no strength left at al. And when I thought about screaming, if I could even do it, I couldn’t risk it. Who would hear me? Zachary. Zachary who should be out there trying to get a car to work so he could get away. That was the important thing. I just needed to stop here, be quiet, and let Zachary escape. He’d be safe. I repeated it to myself like a mantra, a prayer – Zachary wil be safe. I opened my eyes to see a spray of red across the lockers. Was it my blood? That would be a relief. A heavy weight from behind pushed into me and then was gone. Someone was yeling my name, and al I could think was that death was very loud. *** It was a different hospital, but everything was the same. The too-bright lights, the smel of sickness and rubbing alcohol, the doctors and nurses with their probing questions and probing fingers. It was a different kind of torture than the one I’d had at Carlos’ hand, but it was a torture al the same. Zachary was fine, they said. But that was al they told me. And then the police came. My heart skipped a beat at seeing the same policeman as before. I didn’t care about him, but he’d known Zachary. He could probably tel me who Zachary realy was. But when he looked at me, it wasn’t with the hardness, with the almost-annoyance or impatience as last time, but with pity. And I hated him. I wanted to punch him, and as soon as I could lift my hand or move at al, I would.

It almost wasn’t worth hearing how Zachary was to have to deal with this guy and his pity. Almost. “How is he?” I said, hating myself for my desperation. He knew who I meant. “He’s…okay.” I stared at him. Realy, I’d gotten better information from the nurse. He sighed. “Physicaly, he’l recover fine. The rest …” He let it trail off and so did I. Physicaly was good. The rest would folow. Zachary was strong. Stronger than me. He’d be okay. I relaxed back into the pilow and let his questions wash over me. I answered a few, when the answer came to me, but ignored most of them. Even the information he offered did nothing for me. Juan had been kiled by a knife slice to the jugular, administered by Zachary. The bomb had gone off, but no one had been inside. Carlos had gotten away. I had nothing to say. It wasn’t that I was refusing to talk about it. It wasn’t that I didn’t remember what had happened. It wasn’t even that it hurt too much to think about. It was that I just did not give a fuck. *** I studiously avoided looking at the tree off to the side of the bench. I bit into my sandwich, trying to ignore my shadow. But after four months of this, it was getting damn hard. I’d see him in a car down the street, leaning against a building near my apartment, and once even in the back of my Political Science class. Most of the time I couldn’t see him, but I stil knew he was there. I felt him. I should get his ass arrested for stalking. But I wouldn’t. And he probably knew it, the fucker. For so many reasons, realy, I could never get him in trouble. I knew I owed him my life several times over. Then there was whatever sick sort of relationship we’d indulged in those months ago. But it was the last reason that was the most compeling. I liked it. I liked his attention – his stalking. Zachary. I just didn’t know what the heck it meant. I knew it wasn’t anything malicious. I just felt that it wasn’t – and realy, who better to recognize malicious intent than me. Besides, he’d had plenty of opportunity to do something bad if that had been his intent. But did it mean he cared? If so, he certainly didn’t care enough to come up to me, did he? It made me hope and long and wish, and that made me angry. Goddamn furious. How dare he give me hope when I shouldn’t care at al? Or better yet, I should hate him. But no, I shook my head at my turkey sandwich. This wasn’t hate. Love, denial, anger, but not hate. Anger, though. That was a good one. I made a decision and stood up from the bench and turned directly toward the tree. Immediately, the figure melted back onto the trail, toward the copse of trees on campus. I folowed determinedly. “Stop!” I caled. The figure increased his pace. “Dammit, stop!” I ran, because I wasn’t the one who had to hide my actions here, was I? And then when I was close enough, I threw my sandwich at him. And missed. Wel, it was stupid, for sure. But I was mad. And it worked actualy. He stopped and looked at the remains of my sandwich on the grass. Then he turned back to me, an incredulous expression

on his face. Good. It was high time I surprise the man. “You heard me,” I shouted, even though we were close enough to speak in regular tones. “I said stop. What are you doing here anyways, huh? Always with the hiding and the skulking. I’m tired of it.” “I’m sorry,” Zachary said helplessly. And that just made me more angry. I was so fucking tired of sorry. He was sorry. I was sorry. It pissed me off. I hit him. There realy was no good excuse. There’s never a good excuse for hitting someone, save maybe self-defense, but this was entirely offensive. It was pure rage. At him, certainly. At me, at Carlos and Juan and even his dumbass cop friend with eyes ful of pity. I slapped him and punched his arm and literaly rammed my shoulder into his stomach. This was hurting me, a lot, actualy , but it was okay so long as it was hurting him too. He didn’t hit me back. He didn’t even try to stop me. In fact, I vaguely heard some of my felow students – seriously confused at this point, probably – offering to help him, but he refused. God, they’d probably cal campus security and then I’d be the one getting arrested. He said he was fine, there was no problem here, even as I aimed a kick at his groin. That one he blocked. I turned into a crazy person. No, I’d been crazy for a while, I knew that. Maybe I had just finaly let the crazy out. I beat him up, as much as a smal woman can do for a built ex-FBI agent, which turned out to be not much. And then I was crying on the grass, and he was down there with me, holding me. “I hate you,” I sobbed. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you so much.” That’s al I could I say. I thought of other things, things on the level of a little girl but stil meaner. I hope you die. Go away and never come back. But I couldn’t say any of those things. I didn’t mean them. I didn’t even mean that I hated him, or maybe I did hate him, in my own crazy, loving way. He murmured things to me, I don’t know what. They weren’t important, the things he said. It was that he was there, he hadn’t left. He realy should leave and not look back, but I wasn’t able to say it, even in anger, and risk him actualy doing it. And then when I’d finaly wrung out every drop of moisture in my body as tears, I asked, “Why didn’t you come to me?” “Ah, Rachel,” he said. “You know.” That made me smile through my splotchy cheeks and puffy eyes. “I honestly don’t, you ass.” “Don’t make me say it.” My watery smile died. “I don’t know what it is, Zachary, but if you don’t want…” “I couldn’t keep you safe,” he interrupted. “I don’t know why I even folow you now, pretending I can keep you safe when I couldn’t before.” “You did what you could…” “And it wasn’t good enough, not even close.” His teeth were clenched and the side of his face ticked. “It’s over now… isn’t it?” “Yes,” he said. “It’s over, for now, but… I’l never forget, Rachel.” “Is that what you think? That we have to forget to move forward? We don’t ever forget it. We can just stay together, that’s al.” “It can’t be that simple,” he said. I shrugged. Now I was the helpless one. “I don’t think it wil be easy. But I don’t see any other choice. I’m ridiculously, stupidly in love with you.” I couldn’t see his face through my tears, but I heard his groan, felt his hands tighten around my waist. “I love you, too. I can’t stay away. Every morning I tel myself to leave you alone, to let you find peace, but I just have to see you. I have to make sure you’re okay, and if you ever need anything I can give you, I’d be right there.” “I don’t want anything else, Zachary, just you.” I felt his own sobs from the heaves of his chest and his hot, damp breath against my neck as he clutched me close to him. It was probably the time for a passionate kiss of consummation, but we didn’t do that, at least not right then. To be honest, I was al teary and a little bit snotty, and this desperate embrace was sweeter than any kiss, more intimate than sex. And not long after that, the campus cops did come by. They made us go to their offices and give a statement, but hel, I was like an expert at statement-giving by then. One retired cop, future occupation undecided, and one new student engaged in a domestic dispute, resolved peacefuly. No charges pressed.

Check out these other titles from Skye Warren: BELOW THE BELT, an erotic romance novela Abe won the bet, but lost the girl. Maybe he could

have let her go, if only she hadn’t returned to chalenge him, igniting both his competitive nature and his lust. Paris lives on the sidelines, so this stifling feeling was nothing new. But a little London fling could be exactly what she needs. When it’s time for Abe and Paris to part, wil he take her newfound sensual power with him? BELOW THE BELT is a 28K-word novela of erotic romance, featuring explicit sex, graphic language and lots of story. Not for those under 18 years of age or those uncomfortable with the subject matter.

BEAUTY TOUCHED THE BEAST, a free, short erotic story Erin cleans Mr. Morris’ house twice a week, soaking up every moment with the reclusive ex-soldier. Blake Morris knows that he’s scarred both inside and out and no good for someone like her. Then Erin walks in on Blake touching himself, moaning her name, and al bets are off. Beauty Touched the Beast is a short erotic story of lovers finding refuge with each other. Not for those under 18 years of age or those uncomfortable with the subject matter ISBN: 9781466055780 KEEP ME SAFE Copyright © 2011 by Skye Warren Al rights reserved. Except for use in a review, the reproduction or use of this work in any part is forbidden without the express written permission of the author. Contact the author at [email protected]. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. For questions and comments about this book please contact the author at [email protected].