Four #2
It’s like someone’s hooked my body to a live wire, I leap up and dash for the open window. But before I can reach it, his iron grip clamps onto my hair, yanking my head back so hard my scalp stings.
I claw at his face, but he answers with a slap so hard it turns my world black.
My ears ring with a piercing whistle that drowns out everything else.
When my vision clears, the first thing I see is the giant’s ass in his blue jeans.
The bastard has me slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, carrying me out.
My hair hangs past his knees, blinding me, and I shove it out of my face as I scream, “Father, please. Please don’t do this.”
But we’re already outside, and that piece of trash doesn’t move a muscle.
I pound my weak fists against the man’s flesh, but deep down, I know my blows are about as useful as mosquito bites.
I shove my hair aside again and turn to the old men watching this nightmare unfold with terrifying calm. I beg them to help me, to do something, anything, but not one of them lifts a finger, not one of them spares more than a blank stare, as if the rape of an innocent girl is no big deal.
Tears blur my vision as I glance around, and that’s when I see him.
A young man who definitely doesn’t look like a villager.
He’s wearing a gray T-shirt and black jeans.
His black hair is neatly cropped, and his face is handsome in a rough, dangerous way.
He’s about the same size as the monster carrying me, but his build is strong, athletic, like a trained fighter.
His eyes are narrowed in focus as he watches me and the giant with silent intensity.
Even though I don’t really believe he’ll help, I reach for him like he’s my last thread of hope. “Please, help me. Please. They kidnapped me. This man’s going to rape me. I’m begging you, help me.”
Before I can see if my pleas have any effect on his face, my attacker storms into a foul-smelling hut and slams the door behind him.
He flings me through the air, and I crash hard onto a sagging, worn-out bed. Its springs are practically bursting through the mattress, and the once-white sheets are so filthy they’ve turned nearly black.
The impact knocks the breath out of me, pain searing through my chest, but before I can gasp for air, the bastard looms over me. He shoves his hand under my pants, yanking them down along with my underwear.
I let out a sharp cry and try to kick him, but another vicious slap lands on my already battered cheek. The side of my face that took the hit burns raw, while the other side feels numb. I can tell my face is swollen, my lip split open and bleeding.
He slams me back onto the filthy sheets, and a split second later, a scream rips from my throat as a sharp pain rips through my chest. I realize the savage is crushing my breasts in his fists.
I swing my weak fists at him, but in this lopsided fight, I’m overpowered again.
This time, he tears off my shirt and bra.
Now I’m completely naked beneath his massive frame. If it weren’t for the surge of adrenaline, I’d have passed out by now. He straddles me, pinning my legs under his weight. Sobbing in terror, I cover my breasts with my hands, shielding them from his hungry stare.
He grins, peeling off his t-shirt, and leans over my limp body again. For a moment, he gropes my sex savagely, his teeth sinking into the skin of my neck. I’ve screamed so much that my voice comes out like a kitten’s whimper.
Just when I’m certain I’m going to die under his crushing weight, the door splinters with a crash, and suddenly, the monster is yanked off me.
He is slammed against the wall with a sickening thud.
Without caring who my savior is, I scramble back on the bed, wrapping the filthy sheet around my trembling body.
Two men are locked in a brutal fight, fists flying.
Squinting through my panic, I realize my hero is the young man I saw outside the hut. With terrifying calm and a chillingly composed demeanor, he dodges the attacker’s wild punches, landing blows to his face so fierce they spin him around.
It’s clear he’s in complete control of the fight, able to end it whenever he chooses, but he seems to relish this lopsided brawl.
The attacker grabs a knife from a small table beside the bed and lunges, but my hero sidesteps the slashes with deadly precision. In one swift move, he disarms the brute, sends him crashing to the floor with a single punch, then raises the knife and drives it through the man’s palm into the floor.
The attacker’s scream fills the hut. Barely a second passes before my hero pulls a switchblade from his pocket, grabs the bastard’s other hand, stretches it out, and drives the second knife straight through it.
The rotting wooden floorboards, swallows both blades, effectively nailing the monster to the ground. The young man glances at my swollen, battered face, then, ignoring the bastard’s whimpers and pleas, he unleashes a barrage of punches that turn the man’s face into a bloody pulp.
The motherfucker is still breathing when my hero wraps his bloodstained hands around his thick neck. He squeezes and squeezes until the man chokes, his eyes bulging as if they’ll pop out of their sockets, until finally, the last traces of life drain from his body.
The whole time, I stare, wide-eyed, my body numb and my mind reeling.
When the choking stops, the young man rises, walking calmly to an old sink.
He turns on the faucet, washing the blood from his hands with methodical care, scrubbing away the blood.
Once his hands are clean, he leans against the sink, pulls a cigarette from his pocket, lights it, and exhales a cloud of smoke.
Without even glancing at me, he gestures toward the crumpled clothes on the floor.
“Get dressed.” His deep voice snaps me out of my daze.
Clutching the filthy sheet like a lifeline, I grab my clothes from the bed and dress, careful to keep my body covered from his gaze. He doesn’t look at me, but I make sure nothing is exposed.
When I’m fully dressed, I perch uncertainly on the edge of the bed, still dazed, my body aching, my face throbbing and swollen.
His eyes stay fixed ahead, avoiding me. My gaze drifts to the hard lines of his stomach, visible beneath his t-shirt, and the tattoos on his arms. On one wrist, a snarling tiger with sharp fangs is etched into his skin.
“Got someone you can go to?”
I nod, my hoarse voice barely escaping my sore throat. “Sister Maria, the nun I was living with. She can help me. I just need to call her.”
He takes another drag from his cigarette. “You can’t go back where they took you. They’ll come after you again. Can this Sister Maria set you up somewhere else?”
“I don’t know. I think she can.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s thinking something over. Then he drops the cigarette to the floor and grinds it out with his boot. As he steps closer, I flinch, trembling, my head bowing instinctively. I still feel like I’m in danger.
Staring at his boots, I hear his voice, “I’ll have one of my men take you wherever you need to go.”
He slips a gold business card and some cash into my hand. His voice drops lower. “If you ever end up in a mess you can’t get out of... you’ll find me at this address.”
Without another word, he turns to leave.
“What’s your name?” I blurt out.
He glances back. “Maxim.”
Before he steps out, I choke out, tears blurring my vision, “Thank you, Maxim.”
“No son of a bitch ever gets to touch a woman against her will. Never forget that,” he says, just before the door shuts behind him.