Soulless Devil (Sons of Valentino #3)(34)

“Don’t scream. Don’t fight. And this will all be over very quickly for you,” a thick Russian accent says. I kick out. I don’t care how big this guy is. I’m not going down without a fight. My dad taught me self-defense. Yet, in this moment, when I really need those skills, I’ve got nothing. As my foot connects with his shin, another pair of arms grabs me from behind, lifting me off the ground.

“Stop! Help!” I scream the moment my mouth is uncovered. My arms and legs are flailing to no avail. I’m dragged behind a building, into the shadows, where I’m forced to the ground. I know the grass is cold. Damp. But I can’t feel it. I can’t think about anything but getting away.

Get up, Livvy. Do not let them do this. My inner voice is telling me I need to fight.

Using all my strength, I struggle against them. The fingers digging into my skin. The limbs bearing down on me. I thrash and attempt to connect with anything solid. Something hard strikes my temple, and then my arms are grabbed and tugged above my head. Tears roll down my cheeks. There are two of them. One holding my wrists, the other straddling my legs. No matter how much I fight, try to buck this guy off me, it’s no use. I’m not strong enough. But I’m also not going to give up. I scream until my throat is hoarse. I try to call for help. This only serves to gain me a backhand across the face. My head snaps to the side, and a metallic taste fills my mouth.

It doesn’t stop me from fighting though. “Get off. Please don’t do this. Please.” I resort to begging, although I can already tell it won’t work.

“Fucking shut the fuck up, bitch.” The man on top hisses into my face. Another Russian accent. I stare at him. Take in every detail I can make out. He has a scar across his right cheek. My continued struggles are getting me nowhere. When his fingers reach for the button on my jeans, I scream as loud as I can.

A hand reaches out and pulls on my hair, forcing my head to roll backwards. “Shut the fuck up,” the man behind me says, right before his closed fist connects with my nose. My vision blurs, and I fight to not let the blackness take over.

I don’t know if it’s been seconds or minutes, but my eyes snap open right as an extreme, sharp pain radiates up my core. “Please, stop,” I cry out. My voice is weak.

He doesn’t stop. He continues to use my body for his own sick pleasure, smirking down at me throughout his assault. There’s nothing I can do. I have never felt more helpless in my life. I’m left with no choice but to lie here and hope that this is over soon. I need this to be over soon.

I’m not this girl. I’m not the victim. Except, I am. And the worst bit is that no matter how much I fight, I can’t get myself out of this situation. The man pulls out of me, and I feel liquid spill all over my stomach. The sounds of his grunted finale make me turn my head and vomit all over the grass.

“Fucking sick bitch,” he says, standing. And I lie there and watch as he walks away.

“Next time, I’ll make sure it’s my turn,” a voice hisses from above my head.

My eyes roll up and I can just make out his bright-blue irises before he follows his co-conspirator into the shadows. I don’t know how long it takes but I finally manage to pull myself up off the ground. I need to get into my dorm. Everything hurts as I slide my jeans back up my legs. I don’t bother to fasten them as I search for my bag in the grass, the contents of which have tumbled out and spread across the lawn. After scooping it all up, I stumble to the back door of my dorm.

I just need to get inside. Once I’m inside, I’ll be okay. Hopefully. I close myself in my dorm room and allow the sobs to rack my whole body. I sink to the floor as the events that just took place really hit home. I was… I can’t even say the word in my head. I don’t know what to do. What are you supposed to do after this happens to you?

I need to get clean. I need to wash them off me. I pull myself up and walk into the bathroom. I avoid looking in the mirror, too afraid of who will be looking back at me. Turning the shower on as hot as it will go, I peel my clothes from my body and step under the water. I can see marks and bruising already forming. There’s dried blood between my legs. I snatch the bodywash from the shelf, grab the loofah, and soap up my skin. It’s not enough though. I repeat the process, doing my best to scrub their touch from me.

After the entire bottle is empty, I still don’t feel clean. The water has gone cold, so I shut it off and wrap a towel around me. I change into a pair of sweats and a shirt before I crawl under my covers and let myself fall apart. Everything hurts. I try to close my eyes but they snap back open. All I can see is his face, the scar running down his cheek. I can still hear the groans, their voices, the thick accent.

I spend the entire night tossing and turning. Thankfully Sandra didn’t show up at the dorm this morning. I should take myself somewhere else, a hotel. If only I could afford it. I thought about calling home. I really want my dad right now. But I don’t. If I do that, then I’ll never be allowed to return. He will come and make me go home, probably after he does something that will ruin the rest of his life. And I can’t let that happen. I won’t let what happened to me impact anyone else. I just need to make sure no one ever finds out.





I must fall asleep at some point. Because I wake to a loud banging on the door. My first thought is they’re back. They’ve come back for me.

I pull the cover up over my head. I know it’s stupid. It’s not going to save me, but if I can block the world out, maybe it will all go away.