Chapter 7 Cade #2
Obsidian bruises, open wounds, and fresh bite marks sink beneath her skin. There are pathways of blood that have crusted over, leading to new lesions slowly bleeding down her slim frame.
I used to admire how milky her skin was—imagine what it would feel like to touch it—before she grew into my sister. I pictured her soft, but now all I can see are the hard angles of her bones, protruding and threatening to break through her delicate skin.
Clara’s mouth falls open as Culver spreads her wide, but I hear no sounds, only the blood rushing to my head as Ramirez lifts me off the ground. Dizzy, with vomit hanging off my lip, I can’t process anything other than my friend, the girl from home, who is looking for me to save her.
I try.
When Ramirez brings me to stand behind Clara’s bent-over body, I try to go for his gun. I know that if I get it, I can get out of this. I can get us out of this. With that gun, I can fucking kill them all.
I tried to get it, but he knew.
The butt of that gun flies straight into my eye, distorting my vision. His hands tangle in my hair next. It’s overgrown, so it’s easy to grab at my scalp and rip. That same sound spears through the air, my hair tearing from me.
“Fix her,” Ramirez laughs, shoving my face between Clara’s split legs. “Fuck her straight, boy.”
I curl my face away, physically trying to invert my facial features back into my body. With my eyes squeezed shut, I hold my breath. I don’t want to see her like this or smell the fear coming off her in waves. I fight as hard as I can, pulling away whenever there’s any slack in Ramirez’s hold.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Ramirez questions after I’ve done it three times in a row, shoving my face directly against Clara’s opening.
Unlike the times before, there’s no slack, and Ramirez holds me against Clara’s skin until I have no choice but to open my mouth and breathe.
“Aww, yeah! That’s it! Eat her up, boy!”
The men laugh while Clara screams and struggles against her restraints.
Over the commotion, Hannidy’s voice rings out.
I can imagine his scarred, pimple-faced leaning close, right in her face, because that’s the only way he knows how to intimidate anyone while spitting, “Keep screaming! I can’t wait until we can’t hear you anymore. ”
At the same time, Ramirez is in my ear, laughing beneath his breath. “Is that how you treat a lady? You’re never going to be a proper lover like that, boy!” With one hand in my hair, the other drops the gun to take hold of Clara’s hip. “Let me show you how.”
Ramirez, with the grip he has on Clara, smashes her down onto my face, rubbing her skin across my lips. “Open your fucking mouth, boy. I’m trying to teach you something.”
I refuse, so he presses Clara against me with more force, prying my lips open with her opening. I taste her, but not intentionally, and it triggers the bile in my stomach. Unfortunately, my cock swells, completely disconnected from my brain.
“There you go! That’s fucking right! Show her a good time!” Neither of us is having a good fucking time, though the part in my pants doesn’t seem to fucking understand that.
When I’m straining in my sweats enough to please Ramirez, he pulls me away from Clara and stands, forcing me to follow. For a moment, I can breathe normally, settling my stomach. It only lasts a moment, though, and then I look at her.
Clara had been quiet for a while. I assumed it was because of Hannidy’s remark about her losing her voice. She’s stubborn. She has been for as long as I’ve known her. And I know it wasn’t that long, but it was potent—her pride. I had hoped her silence was a result of that.
It isn’t.
Hannidy has his dick shoved down her throat while she remains still, body tied to the chair, stuck in a bent position. There’s a sort of relaxation to her muscles as if she’s given up the fight.
“I thought you were dead.”
“I am.”
That’s what she meant.
I can see it now. Something in her has died. There’s a crack somewhere in my chest that spreads across the rest of my sternum when Ramirez snaps, “Now, fuck her.”
Hannidy pops himself free to second that command, and Culver sits back to watch, his tiny, fat dick already in his hands.
Any relaxation in her muscles vanishes instantly, replaced with tension that coils up and down her back. She turns to look at me over her shoulder, pleading and resignation flashing in her eyes all at once.
“Go,” Ramirez orders, shoving me back toward Clara. The bile that had settled previously roars back to life, threatening to spill out of my raw, strangled throat.
There are so many things that rapidly speed through my mind, but all I can choke out is, “No.” No, I’m not. I-I won’t. “No.”
“No?” he laughs, sharing a look with his fellow guards. “What makes you think you have a fucking choice?” The rhetorical question is asked with harsh severity in his glare, and a gun pointed at my face.
“Cade,” Clara whispers, worry entering her wide-eyed stare and tone. I barely spare her a glance, my glare fixed solely on him.
“No. I’m not going to fucking touch her.”
“Oh, yeah?” The taunt ends with a bullet. It only skims my outer leg, but it takes pieces of my sweats and flesh with it. And it hurts like fucking hell.
“Fuck!” I go down on my knee, my hand pressing against the bleeding gash.
“You better get that dick back up and fuck her, or I’ll make the next one count.”
“My dick’s not going to do anything now, you dumb fuck! You fucking shot me!”
Racing to get into my face, Ramirez presses the barrel between my eyes. “And I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t get up and fuck her!”
I test his word, and he loads another bullet, snickering, “Try me.” His finger twitches, itching to blow my brains out. There’s an eagerness sparkling in his eyes that makes me forget the incessant throbbing in my leg and take him seriously. “I’m not fucking her.”
Ramirez pauses, a flicker in his glare before a smile takes over. “Fine.” The gun moves from my eyes to Clara’s, who immediately cowers and begs for her life.
“Fuck him. I want to see you squirting on his cock, you little bitch. Understand?”
A heavy stream of tears falls from her eyes, but she nods in agreement, waiting to be untied.
“No!” I shout, but Culver and Hannidy throw me back onto the ground, kneeling to keep me pinned, while Clara slowly straightens and makes her way toward me. She avoids my eyes as one of the guards shoves their gun against my throat, the thick metal acting as a bar to keep me still.
“Clara!”
“It’s okay,” she cries, tears fully swelling her entire face as she pulls my pants down past my knees.
I grew up watching the men in my life put their hands on the women around them.
I swore I’d never turn out like them. I’d rather cut my hands off than use them to hurt a woman, but I threaten to kick Clara now, to send her flying into the wall, as far away from me as possible, so she can’t follow through.
There’s some relief in her eyes when she’s forced to jump back, a silent thank you passing through our glances.
Desperation makes people stupid. We both know that.
Still, we allow our defiance to trick us into thinking we can actually stop what’s happening.
Ramirez stomps on my ankle, shattering the bones—all to prove that we can’t.
“Fuck him. I’m not going to tell you again!” he shouts over my wails, spit flying from his mouth while the vein in his forehead threatens to explode.
Clara wastes no more time falling between my legs and taking hold of my limp dick.
“Stop!” I cry, unsure if it’s from the pain or how much I don’t want this. All Clara says is, “It’s okay” and “I’m so sorry” repeatedly until I’m stiff in her palm and easy to slide onto. I can’t stop my groans as she rocks back and forth, and she can’t stop her tears.
Culver laughs, “Look at her go. She’s had some practice by now, obviously.” At that moment, that becomes the hardest thing to bear—the pure anguish in her eyes.
Pain becomes a secondary thing, as do the guns pointed at my face.
I push it all behind me while I fight to rise from my current position.
No one expects it then, so all the guards can say is, “Whoa! Whoa!” before I sit up to flip Clara underneath me.
I have her facing me initially, with her back pressed against the carpet, but then she looks up at me with her wide, watery eyes, and I can’t fucking take it.
My shoulder screams when I flip her back around, but I’ll take it if it means we don’t have to stare at each other. The memory of this will be enough to ruin us, but I won’t add to it by making her look at me.
Even though every part of my body begs me to stop moving, I drive myself into her from behind, rutting loud enough to drown out all other sounds.
Her tears come through, though.
Mine and hers, both.