Back in the Saddle (Jessica Brodie Diaries #1)(41)

When I was nearly cooled, not ten feet from the door, I turned back to the beckoning light and pounding music. A few more dances and I’d hint about heading home. William had been avoiding me, and the other guys were treating me like some sort of fragile vase, so there wasn’t much to hang on for.

A fist clutched my hair and ripped my head back.

Chapter Nine

Confused fear shot through me as I bounced off the wall. My body hit one of the large metal beams so hard my teeth chattered. I slid against rough canvas, dragged away from the door, and safety, by my hair.

Dusty was right in front of me with the reek of alcohol on his breath. He still had my hair, and was now grabbing my throat, squeezing. Panic welled up as my air supply dwindled.

I tried for a big gulp of breath to scream. Sticky hands covered my mouth.

“You thought you was safe with all them big bastard’s, huh?” he whispered in a harsh voice filled with rage. “Well, you didn’t know I’d be waitin’ for ya, did ya, darlin’? Huh, did ya?” He shook me.

Black specs appeared in my vision. I couldn’t get enough air. We were far now, way down the wall, almost around the corner. There was no one out here. No one to help. With his hand on my throat, I couldn’t get enough air to scream loud enough to be heard.

Panic was still in control. I dug in my feet and wiggled, trying to get free from his grasp. His hands slipped off my sweaty arm and I was free for one brief, adrenaline filled moment! I turned to run, a scream welling up immediately. I didn’t make it far.

It felt like the side of my face exploded, then I was landing against canvas, my mind fuzzy from the blow. He pulled me up by my hair, other hand over my mouth. His alcohol filled panting making me nauseous.

“Not so fast, darlin’.” His hand released my face long enough to reach back, then slam his palm against my cheek so hard it felt like my left eye would pop out of the socket.

My head lolled back, consciousness fleeting.

“That’s right. You’ll like this.” I heard.

A knee roughly wormed its way between my thighs. A hand forcefully squeezed a breast.

“No,” I breathed, groggy. Confused.

Fingers. Thick, male fingers, probed me. Grabbed the small piece of fabric covering my sex and yanked. Material squealed, tearing, but thankfully still somewhat intact. A tiny hindrance. A few seconds of time.

“Remember that night I taught you to fend me off, Jessica?” It was Lump’s voice in the back of my head. “Remember how I taught you? You gotta be strong. You have to be present, Jess. Fight!”

Fight.

Up until this point all I could think of was getting away. Getting help, or getting free. Thoughts couldn’t get through my fear chocked brain. Logic was lost to the raging panic that froze me like ice. I couldn’t scream, I could barely breath. Hysteria had me shutting my eyes in mute horror.

Fight.

If I did nothing I would be raped in two minutes.

Survive!

My mind cranked into overdrive. The scared animal in me was pushed into a corner and chained tight. What emerged was a calm woman devoid of the ability to feel. Unable to succumb to fear. A woman enclosed in a bubble of her own devising, ready to fight her way out of this by any means possible.

The horror of his fingers feeling around my vagina, readying the way, and my desire to fall into helpless sobs, were pushed away. In this bubble I found an animal. I found my primal being. I knew in a heartbeat that I was capable of killing this maggot if it came to it. I would kill him, to save me.

I held still and did nothing for a second. I needed to take measurement of what was going on. I needed to think. I needed to find the path out. There was one. I just needed to find it.

He was working at his belt, metal jingles and the whine of leather. I had a fraction of time to do something to save myself. Time slowed down. Lump’s moves and advice flickered through my head like a slide show, faster than the speed of light.

I latched onto a couple things, settled on them, and got ready for action. No one was coming. No savior this time. Just me.

Step one: do what’s expected.

I began to cry.

Large, wracking sobs, begging to be let free. Pleading for him to stop. Willing him to believe I had given up.

His hand holding me relaxed a fraction, his other hand yanking his belt away. Now working at the buttons on his jeans. His head looking down, monitoring his efforts, looking between my gaping legs, at my half-visible vagina. He was not bothering about my face. He had no belief I would retaliate.

Good.

Step two: set the stage.

I leant my head back as far as it would go, pushing in the canvas. Making as much room as I could. Relaxing the muscles in my arms, but not forgetting how vital a tool they would be. Crying, all the while. Making him believe. Making him confident.

Fly open now. Zipper torn down. He worked at his erection. I didn’t have long.

My skin started to crawl. My bubble wobbled. Everything in me was screaming to run, to yell and scream in blind fear, to shatter my calm bubble completely.

I was a breath away from losing control. It had to be now.

Adrenaline fired within my brain like pistons. I felt him lowering his pants. His penis bobbed out, touching my inner thigh.

My vision crystallized, every detail registering. Rage welled up. My body now floating on the adrenaline, pushing past that beast of fear.

Action!