That does it.
The biggest one backhands me so fast I barely see the swing coming. My head snaps to the side, cheek exploding with heat. I stumble, let my knee buckle, let my breath hitch like a wounded thing.
They want helplessness. I can give them that.
Another one shoves me from behind. I stumble forward and fall to the ground, catching myself with my shoulder, letting out a sharp scream that echoes off the concrete. They love that sound. I see it in their eyes. Sick, hungry satisfaction.
Perfect.
Hands grab my shoulders, dragging me up only to shove me down again. A boot nudges my ribs. Fingers knot in my hair. Someone laughs a little too loudly, too eagerly, thrilled by the vulnerability they think they’re seeing.
Every part of me burns, not from the pain but from the restraint it takes not to snap their necks where they stand.
Their laughter thickens the air, a sound that crawls across my skin like insects. The hit to my cheek still burns, a hot sting that radiates outward, but I let it anchor me. I stay small on the ground, appearing as pathetic as possible. The concrete is gritty beneath me, dust mixing with the copper taste of blood in my mouth.
They breathe harder now, crowding close enough that their heat prickles across my shoulders. A hand slides down my back, fingers digging in like claws as he presses his hips forward. He grinds against me, slow and disgusting, a groan tearing fromhis throat. Another grabs the back of my neck, squeezing until my vision blurs. A third grabs my waist, pulling me upright so the one behind me can rut against me like some starved animal.
They’re getting off on this.
My pain.
My stillness.
My illusions.
Every breath I take is measured. Every tremble I give them is deliberate.
One leans in close, his lips brushing my ear with a sickening sweetness that turns my stomach. “That’s it. Cry for us.” His hand drags down my side, fingers slipping under the edge of my shirt. “Little bitch acts tough but look at her now.”
Behind me, another laughs as he presses harder against my back, using me like a post to get himself worked up. I feel him panting, like a dog on its last nerve. “She’s shaking,” he says. “Feels good, doesn’t she?”
The fourth man stands in front of me, rubbing himself over the front of his pants while watching the others paw at me. His eyes gleam with that sharp, predatory glint I’ve seen too many times in my past. “You know,” he says, voice thick with anticipation, “it might be fun to loosen her up. Let her fight a little. Make her earn it.”
A murmur of agreement ripples through them.
The one behind me grinds harder, groaning. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Let her struggle. I want to see her try to scratch me. Make it a game.”
My heart thuds. Not from fear. From opportunity.
Another man grabs my hair and yanks my head back sharply. He leans down, breath rancid against my face. “Should we cut her loose?” he asks, looking around at the others with a grin that belongs on a dead animal. “Let her squirm a bit?” He chuckles, smug and stupid. “Four against one.”
Four against one.
I almost laugh.
They think they’re gods in this room—kings on a filthy throne. They believe numbers make them untouchable.
They’re catastrophically wrong.
But I let my body shudder like cornered prey. Let my breath hitch. Let my eyes widen just a fraction. It makes them hungrier. Sloppier. Exactly what I need.
Another hand slides between my shoulder blades, shoving me forward so I stumble. Someone licks the side of my neck, a hot, revolting drag of tongue that sends rage screaming through every nerve in my body. I bite back the urge to snap right then and there.
Not yet.
Not until the zip ties are off.
Not until they think they’ve already won.