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Anya
I strained against the ropes that kept me bound to the bed. The room was silent beyond the steady spinning of the ceiling fan. It was a weird space, the décor a combination of a biker’s garage and a seventy’s swinger’s idea of “seductive”—lots of girly posters combined with furniture of garish colors. It was a horribly unsettling room, even beyond the reason why I was in there.
My stomach had been a tight, hot ball of anxiety and fear ever since Donny and the rest of his gang tied me up in here after the crash. So far, they’d left me alone, but I knew that wouldn’t last. When I thought about what these disgusting animals likely had in mind for me, I wanted to cry. My only hope was that Bryce might come and rescue me, but I had no idea if he was even conscious; Donny had told me that he was still alive, but that was it.
The door opened with a creak, and the now-familiar form of Donny stepped in. I’d only known this man for an hour or so, and I already hated him with every fiber of my being. He was sleazy, pervy, and scheming. He hadn’t let me in on his plans for Bryce, but I knew that there was no way he planned on letting him leave here alive. My heart pained for Bryce; I hadn’t realized how much I wanted him by my side until he was taken from me. How had I let myself farllso hard for a man I’d barely known, a man who brought with him such danger?
I didn’t have time to ponder the question. Donny stood at the end of the bed, looming over me with his massive frame.
“Damn,” he said, shaking his head, “I don’t blame little Brycie for letting you tag along; you’re a real piece—old lady material, maybe.”
“Fuck you,” I said, my words venomous.
I hadn’t known I was capable of such anger, but Donny and the rest of his gang had a way of bringing it out of me.
“Definitely old lady material with that attitude. Problem with you normie chicks is that you don’t know how to handle real men. You spend all days around these soft little fucks who’ve never thrown a punch in their lives. When you meet guys like me, you don’t know what to do with yourselves. Most of you turn into little weepy girls, but some of you show that you’ve got a hard edge down there somewhere after all. I’m glad to see you’re one of them.”
He was right, and that made me even sicker. I didn’t like the idea of having to become hard. But I needed to defend myself somehow, even if it was just with words.
“Anyway, I think we’ve had enough foreplay,” he said, slipping out of his kutte and tossing it to the side. “Whatddya say we get down to business?”
My skin crawled at the idea of this disgusting beast putting his hands on me. But there was nothing I could do.
“Don’t you dare fucking touch me,” I said, trying in vain to pull my body away from him.
“Yeah, just like that,” said Donny. “It’s more fun when you put up a fight.
He walked slowly over the side of the bed, squatting down to my level and looking me in the eyes. He was so close I could see the ruddiness of his skin, the texture of his scar, the dandruff in his thinning hair. I could smell the sharp tang of his body odor, the whiskey and cigarettes on his breath, the grease in his clothes. He breathed heavily through his nose as he reached up to put his fingers on my face. I shuddered hard at his touch.
“Yeah,” he said. “Young and soft, just the way I like ’em.”
Standing back up, he pulled off his shirt, revealing a burly body covered in black, curly hair. His eyes still on me, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his zipper.
But before he could go any further, a series of soft pops sounded on the hallway.
“What the fuck?” he said to himself, turning his attention to the door.
Another pop sounded, followed by a man screaming in pain. Donny shot me a harsh glare, as if I were the one responsible for whatever was happening, before running over to the door.
More pops sounded, these ones louder.
“Hey!” shouted Donny, yelling at some unseen person.
My heart soared when I considered the possibility that it was Bryce. But I tempered my joy, not wanting to get my hopes up.
“You little fu—” shouted Donny, his words cut off by a bullet right to his upper arm
“Fuck!” he shouted, rushing back into the room and slamming the door behind him.
Donny ran to the corner of the room, his hand pressed onto his upper left bicep where he’d been shot. Blood pulsed from his wound, but by the quick glance I was able to take, I could see that it likely wasn’t fatal.
Too bad.
A banging sounded at the door, followed by the handle jiggling.
“Donny, you backstabbing fuck!”
It was Bryce. A smile spread across my face as tears of happiness formed in my eyes.
He’d come for me.
Donny struggled to move the large credenza nearby in front of the door, but his wound prevented him from putting much strength into his efforts. More banging sounded at the door, the door shaking hard with each impact. It was only a matter of time before Bryce got through.
Donny continued to struggle and sweat, his previously confident expression now one of fear.
Then, with one final bang, the door burst open, revealing Bryce who stood at the entrance with a gun on his hand and a look of fearsome determination on his face. I looked over to Donny as Bryce looked at me, signaling that he was just over to the side.
Bryce stepped into the room and locked onto Donny. With two long strides he closed the distance between him and the now-whimpering Donny, Bryce grabbing him by his hair and pulling him to his feet.
“Good to see you, D,” said Bryce as he stared at Donny with murderous eyes.
With a shove, Bryce tossed Donny into the corner. Donny was whimpering like a little kid who’d just been punished by a father who’d returned from work. Bryce ran over to my side and undid my bindings.
“Did he touch you?” he demanded, looking me over with fierce concern.
“No,” I said. “Not yet.”
Bryce looked at me with eyes narrowed in anger, as if he needed a moment to calm his rage. Finally, he turned back to Donny, who was still cowering in the corner.
“Not so tough without your little gang, huh, you little fuck?” said Bryce as he stood over Donny.
He trained the gun on the Donny, who looked up at the weapon with wide, fearful eyes.
“Wait!” he shouted.
“Give me one good reason,” said Bryce, pulling back the hammer of the gun with a click.
“Because I’m not the only one who wants to kill you.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Bruce asked, Donny’s head right in the sights of his gun.
“This ... all this ... your father, everything ...”
“Speak!” he demanded, clearly not wanting to play any more games.
“Just, just promise you won’t kill me and I’ll talk!”
He looked down at Donny with something like pity in his eyes. It was almost painful to see him reduced to such a pathetic, cowering state. Shaking his head, Bryce lowered the gun.
“Thank you!” he shouted, scurrying across the floor and wrapping his arms around Bryce’s legs, his face pressed against his jeans, snot running down his nose and onto the denim.
It was a disgusting display.
“Get the fuck off of me,” Bryce said, pulling one leg back and stepping away.
“And you have to do something about this!” he said, looking down at this gunshot.
Sitting up, I looked over at Bryce. We shared a brief look that contained an entire conversation. Finally, I nodded.
“You’re fuckin’ lucky that she’s a doctor,” said Bryce, plopping down into one of the room’s chairs
It made me sick to think of helping out the man who would’ve had his way with me if Bryce hadn’t shown up just in time. But looking at this sniveling, weeping, wounded man, I couldn’t feel anything but pity mixed with a little disgust.
I climbed off the bed and shook my limbs to get the blood flowing again. Then, I squatted down at Donny’s side.
“Move your hand,” I said, my voice slipping instinctively back into my professional nurse’s tone.
He did, revealing the wound. I took a look on the other side of his shoulder and saw that it was a clean-through shot. Sure enough, looking up I spotted a bullet hole in the wall above.
“Not too bad,” I said. “Bullet went right through, and the entry wound is nice and clean. You got a first aid kit?”
“Yeah,” he said, sniffling. “In the bathroom.”
I nodded to Bryce who, rolling his eyes, heaved himself up and out of the room. Moments later he returned with a white plastic kit, a red cross emblazoned on the top. He handed it to me and I popped it open, noting right away that any sort of pain relief had been long taken out, likely shot up by one of these lowlifes in some pathetic attempt to get high.
But everything else was there. I fished out the necessary supplies and went to work.
“You got any vodka?” I asked.
Donny, his eyes still downcast, gestured to a nearby cabinet. Bryce grabbed a bottle of vodka and handed it to me. Opening the top with a “thoomp,’ I dumped the clear liquid on both sides of the wound. Donny moaned as the alcohol did its job, hissing through his teeth like a little kid who’d banged his shin on a coffee table.
“Don’t be a baby,” I said.
Too late for that, I thought.
I went to work, cleaning and dressing the wound.
“Keep this clean,” I said, stepping back and looking over the gauze, double-checking everything. “Change the bandages and watch out for infection.”
“Do I have to go to a hospital?” he asked.
“Not as long as you do what I just said.”
“Thank you,” he said, his eyes low and his voice quiet.
I said nothing, simply shaking my head. Part of me wanted to let the fucker bleed out, but this world of Bryce’s hadn’t made me that hard. Yet.
“Now,” said Bryce, standing up out of his chair and pointing his gun at Donny. “Speak.”