Bitter Angel by Megan Hand Page B

into brick about twenty or so feet away, which told me we were high up, probably in some slum apartment building. That seemed like good news. Apartments meant fire escapes.
    Please, God, I prayed.
    My feet teetered, rising slightly to the balls. I wasn’t sure if I had the strength to sprint, but I would try. Adrenaline would hopefully be my best friend.
    Suddenly, Trigger looked at me, and I tucked my plan away for the moment. As he approached, I felt myself sliding to the ground, either from my shaky legs or the sheer need to put some distance between us. In an instant, he grabbed me by the hair and yanked me back up. I yelped.
    “So, it’s my turn,” he said harshly. He gestured to the zip tie. “Alpha said I might need this.”
    With one hand, he tossed me on the bed, wrestling me to my stomach. My thrashing and writhing didn’t slow him down in the slightest as he bound my wrists again. I was making noises that were meant to be words, but they only came out as grunts and cries.
    He turned me onto my back. “You girls are all the same.” He seized my face by the jawbone, trying to be stern but noticeably avoiding my injury. “You all think you can toss me aside. I don’t matter. Go ahead. Say it!”
    I ignored him. “Where are my friends? Are they really okay? What did you give us…me…” Hell, I can’t think. If my hands were free, they’d be rubbing my forehead, but they weren’t. They were trapped beneath me. Once again, cutting my chances of escape. How can I get out the window with no hands?
    He leveled me with a black stare. “Tell me, who did you torture?”
    “What?”
    Gripping my shoulders, he held me up. “Tell me,” he demanded. “What did you think when you first saw me? Pathetic, right?” His eyes were wide with vindication.
    That’s what that look meant earlier when he’d pulled me out of my daydream. This geek was pissed off for being tormented in high school and for probably never getting laid?
    I chose a new tactic. “I’ll pay you,” I offered hastily. “Let me go, and I’ll pay you.”
    He laughed humorlessly. “How could money equate to what I’m going to get tonight?” The lust in his eyes was prevalent as they slipped down to my black lacy bra that left little to the imagination.
    “This is not revenge! It’s rape!” I fired back, forgetting to keep my voice low. I took it down a few notches, keeping my tone fervent. “This is sick, and you’ll never be able to undo it. You know this is wrong.” I was trying really hard to level with him and not plead as I looked him straight in the eye. “And what if my friend dies? Then you and your rat pack will be going to jail. For murder.”
    His split-second hesitation told me everything I needed to know. He was breakable. I just might be able to win this guy.
    “Let me go.” I tried again, softer and more urgent. “Let my friends go, and we’ll never speak a word of this to anyone. We won’t go to the police—”
    “You all say that.” His face twisted in anger again.
    “This is your first time, isn’t it?” I was totally going on instinct with this one. By the looks of it though—the awkwardness and delay as he touched me, the fact that he was still fully clothed—I was dead on. “I can tell. Whatever this is these assholes are running, this is your first time. You can end this now. Please.” My last word was a whisper.
    His lips hiked up into a sneer, and I saw a small minute shake of his head. “No,” he said, determined. “It’s my turn now.”
    With that, he kissed me hard on the mouth. I couldn’t fight back because I had no hands. Every brain cell was screaming at me. Every inch of my skin crawled as he ripped my bra and dug his fingers into my hip.
    His lips made it down to my collarbone, his body now on top of mine. I hadn’t realized I was crying again until I felt his cheek smearing my tears. Even if I could knee him somewhere, it’d be useless.
    “No, no, no,” I wept so softly. I was