four men turn around to see what their brute of a buddy has discovered, eyeing me with devilish grins. They gallop over to the two of us in their excitement, eager to begin tormenting their new victim. The Brute releases me, dropping me in the middle of the circle that has formed around us. They surround me just like they did the woman, but I do not feel her fear. I meet each of their stupid faces and sadistic smiles with a cold, measured stare. Even if I actually possessed any emotions to display, I would still keep them hidden from these vermin because they feed on misery and suffering like leeches sucking the blood from their prey, growing fat at their expense. They thrive on fear-struck eyes and shaky voices, and I would never give them the satisfaction of watching me tremble and plead for my life. If I must die, I am going to die with dignity.
But I do not plan on dying today.
“Why hello there,” purrs one of them—the same one who dealt the deathblow to the woman—the tone of his voice hinting his amusement. He is a dark, stocky man with a shaved head, beady black eyes, and a forehead reminiscent of a billboard. Everything about him screams danger. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
I do not answer, instead meeting his gaze evenly.
A hard blow to the back of my head staggers me, and suddenly I find myself on the ground. The men laugh.
“He asked you a question,” says The Brute.
“Nightshade,” I mutter grudgingly as I push myself back to my feet, reluctant to answer but also just as reluctant to receive another blow.
“Nightshade,” repeats the first, who, because of the authority in his voice, I assume to be the leader. “Like the flower. Beautiful . . . but deadly. Is that why you’re called that?”
“Would you like to find out?”
The Leader laughs. “Oh, you’re a spirited one, ain’t ya? I like that.”
I begin to weigh my options. I can think of only three: negotiating, acquiescing, and resisting. Although the gang seems conversational now, I’m pretty sure I can’t talk my way out of this. Option number one is out. And even if I let them rob me of the few supplies I have left, they will probably still beat me half to death, or worse. There goes option number two. It looks like I will have to fight my way out. Good, I enjoy a good fight every now and then. It’s been awhile since I’ve had one.
But the fact is they’re armed and—unluckily for me—I’m not. If I were to even attempt to draw my guns, I have no doubt I’d receive a bullet in the head before I had a chance to raise them. There’s no way I can outdraw these men, not when there’s this many of them.
The Leader eyes me with a crooked smile, then raises his still bloody machete. My hands burn for my own weapons, but I dare not reach for them. He approaches me slowly, studying his machete as he does so, and presses its cold, flat blade against my cheek. I can’t help but grimace at its wet touch upon my skin, and he chuckles at the sight of this involuntary reaction. With a wry, wicked smile, he begins to move the machete down my face, then lower to my neck, where he pauses, his grin widening.
“Ya know,” he says, tracing the blade along my collarbone, “a young girl like yourself shouldn’t be wanderin’ around all alone out here in the open. It’s dangerous. There are some real scary people in these parts.”
He runs the blade down my neck, then along my chest, and I fight the urge to spit in his face.
“Alone?” I laugh. “What would make you think that?”
Upon hearing this, the other four men begin to fidget uncomfortably, casting anxious glances at their surroundings. The Leader, however, remains collected.
“Are you implyin’ you’re not?” he asks.
“My people aren’t far behind. Boss sent me ahead to check out the area, scout for trouble—you know the deal. Last I checked they were about a quarter of a mile back.”
Smirking, he asks, “And how many people are we
But I do not plan on dying today.
“Why hello there,” purrs one of them—the same one who dealt the deathblow to the woman—the tone of his voice hinting his amusement. He is a dark, stocky man with a shaved head, beady black eyes, and a forehead reminiscent of a billboard. Everything about him screams danger. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
I do not answer, instead meeting his gaze evenly.
A hard blow to the back of my head staggers me, and suddenly I find myself on the ground. The men laugh.
“He asked you a question,” says The Brute.
“Nightshade,” I mutter grudgingly as I push myself back to my feet, reluctant to answer but also just as reluctant to receive another blow.
“Nightshade,” repeats the first, who, because of the authority in his voice, I assume to be the leader. “Like the flower. Beautiful . . . but deadly. Is that why you’re called that?”
“Would you like to find out?”
The Leader laughs. “Oh, you’re a spirited one, ain’t ya? I like that.”
I begin to weigh my options. I can think of only three: negotiating, acquiescing, and resisting. Although the gang seems conversational now, I’m pretty sure I can’t talk my way out of this. Option number one is out. And even if I let them rob me of the few supplies I have left, they will probably still beat me half to death, or worse. There goes option number two. It looks like I will have to fight my way out. Good, I enjoy a good fight every now and then. It’s been awhile since I’ve had one.
But the fact is they’re armed and—unluckily for me—I’m not. If I were to even attempt to draw my guns, I have no doubt I’d receive a bullet in the head before I had a chance to raise them. There’s no way I can outdraw these men, not when there’s this many of them.
The Leader eyes me with a crooked smile, then raises his still bloody machete. My hands burn for my own weapons, but I dare not reach for them. He approaches me slowly, studying his machete as he does so, and presses its cold, flat blade against my cheek. I can’t help but grimace at its wet touch upon my skin, and he chuckles at the sight of this involuntary reaction. With a wry, wicked smile, he begins to move the machete down my face, then lower to my neck, where he pauses, his grin widening.
“Ya know,” he says, tracing the blade along my collarbone, “a young girl like yourself shouldn’t be wanderin’ around all alone out here in the open. It’s dangerous. There are some real scary people in these parts.”
He runs the blade down my neck, then along my chest, and I fight the urge to spit in his face.
“Alone?” I laugh. “What would make you think that?”
Upon hearing this, the other four men begin to fidget uncomfortably, casting anxious glances at their surroundings. The Leader, however, remains collected.
“Are you implyin’ you’re not?” he asks.
“My people aren’t far behind. Boss sent me ahead to check out the area, scout for trouble—you know the deal. Last I checked they were about a quarter of a mile back.”
Smirking, he asks, “And how many people are we
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