Claiming Crusher (Savage Brothers MC #4)(73)

It takes everything I am and everything I have inside of me, not to close my eyes and get lost in the nightmarish memories he triggers. Instead, I beat them back down and give Michael my best f*ck-you look and spit in his face. His face goes stony hard and I know I’m going to pay for that. I watch as he reaches into the pocket of his suit-coat and takes out a white handkerchief. He uses it to wipe off his face. Once that’s done, he takes his sunglasses off, carefully folds them and places them in his now empty suit-pocket. He then takes the handkerchief, and even though I try to scoot back and get away from him, he grabs me by my hair, jerks my head back hard, and slams it into the concrete wall behind me.

The pain from the blow radiates through my entire body. I feel like I’m in a tunnel and I’m having trouble getting the room to come back into focus. There’s a roar in my ears and I’m doing the best I can to shake it off. Before I can, he’s stuffing the handkerchief into my mouth. I gag and choke, but he makes sure the entire thing goes in my mouth.

“There, I forgot how f*cking annoying your voice was,” he says, standing up.

“I believe it’s time for lesson number one, Donald,” he says and the sick pleasure in his voice is heavy in the air.

I push back further against the wall. I know it’s useless. I have nowhere to go even if there is some space between us—still, I do it. It must be some fight or flight reflex. It’s the absolute wrong thing to do. Now I’m against the cold, hard cinderblock with nowhere to go, and Donald and Michael are standing in front of me. They are the two most vile and disgustingly evil men I have ever known in my life. If I could talk, I would scream, yell, berate, and curse… anything to make me feel better and to feel less…helpless. I pull on the bindings on my wrists and there’s a little give. I pull and tug harder and harder, hoping with everything in me to get them free.

That’s when I see it. The shiny steel pipe that Donald is holding and that is why being against the wall is a bad thing. There is nothing to cushion me when my body absorbs the blow. It comes hard and the breeze from the swing reaches me first, sending chills from the cool air over my body. Then the pipe connects with my knees. As blows go, it could have been worse. There are much worse places to be hit than in your knees. I’ve had them all, so I know. Yet, the force is so strong and the pipe is so heavy that it doesn’t land with a thud. No, it cracks into the bone and pain radiates immediately. Tears gather in my eyes and spring free. I hate giving them tears, but there’s nothing I can do.

I’ve barely recovered from the first blow when another one follows it. This one is higher up on my legs, just above the knees. He’s trying to break my legs. I see it in their smiles, in the sinister way they look down at me, knowing they will get everything from me. I vow then when I die, I will find a way to reach around them and drag them down into f*cking hell with me. Michael reaches down and grabs my head, pulling out the handkerchief he leers at me.

“Are you ready to be nicer, Melinda? Surely you’d rather this go easier on you? At least die with the dignity you never possessed in life.”

“Fuck…You…”

I’m gasping and the tears clog my throat, but he looks at me strangely. I think my reply surprises him. I count that as a moral victory. The pain in my body is so intense there are black dots floating in my eyes and I truly want to pass out.

“Melinda, you are even more stupid than I gave you credit for,” Michael says resignedly, stuffing the handkerchief back in my mouth.

Another hit by the pipe, this one lands against my stomach and my body feels like it’s being split in two from the blow. I don’t get to recover, before there’s another and then another. Four repeated hits in the same area and I’m close to losing consciousness. I think the last two went higher than I first realized, because my breathing is ragged. Broken ribs? Maybe…I can’t be sure. Donald grabs my foot and pulls me roughly down to the ground. I lie there in misery. I can’t do anything else. Then I see the knife in Michael’s hands. A moment later I feel the cold metal of the blade dance under my stomach. I’m waiting for the red hot fire of the blade slicing into my skin. I don’t get that. I can’t be happy about it though, because I feel the chill of air hit my skin as the blade slices through my shirt and bra.

It’s my worst nightmare come true. Lying on the cold floor, my body exposed to the two men that have violated me, haunted me…destroyed me. Michael puts the blade flat against my face and slides it down my forehead and further to my nose and my chin.

“It’s time for the fun to really begin, Melinda. If you tell me where my money is, I might do you a favor and end you before there’s too much pain.”

I close my eyes and try to pretend I’m somewhere else. It’s impossible with the pain. I can do nothing but cry and scream against the gag, as the knife slices into my stomach. I almost lose it at the white-hot agony that comes with the slicing of Michael’s blade against my skin. It’s familiar, but new and more intense than I remember. Perhaps time had soften the memories after all, I’m not sure, all I know, is that with the second…or maybe it was the third….it all goes hazy. I feel Michael cut from the bottom of my ribcage, down my stomach, and darkness swallows me. I welcome it.

I can’t be sure of what happens next. Which is good and bad. I could have sworn I heard Nicole crying and for the space of a minute, I thought I might have been rescued. Then I feel the far-off dull pain of someone kicking my stomach and the stretching of the cuts on my stomach. I hear crying and it sounds so mournful, so sad. I want to reach out and hug the person for the pain they must be enduring. Then I wonder…if maybe I’m the one who is crying? I hope I don’t give him that…I hope it’s not me.