Beware. Part 27

With a quaking hand, she raised the pistol and pressed its muzzle to her head.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO.

"Go on," said the voice in front of Lacey. "I'll f.u.c.k you anyway. Only thing is, you won't get a chance to enjoy it."

She tried to force her finger to move, to squeeze the stiff, curved metal of the trigger just a bit, just a quarter inch, just enough. But part of her mind resisted. She wanted to live. She gazed at Scott's unmoving body, and didn't want to leave him. She wanted to see him smile again, to hear his laughter, to feel his gentle arms around her. Even if only one more time. As she stared at Scott, he moved one hand slightly.

She thumbed back the pistol's hammer.

"Adios," said Hoffman.

She stabbed the pistol forward, felt its muzzle stop against Hoffman, and jerked the trigger.

"b.i.t.c.h!" he shrieked through the gun's roar.

Something clubbed her face, knocking her head back against the wall. Her hand stung. The pistol fell. Another blow struck her face. As she sagged, a hand clutched her throat. It held her to the wall. The neck of her tank top jerked out. The fabric stretched taut, popped, and tore down the front. Pain erupted in her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as he grabbed them and tugged her to the floor.

Her knees pounded the tile. He forced her backward. Down beside Nancy. Beside Jan. She tried to raise her head, but had no strength. Warm fluid spilled onto her legs as the gym shorts were yanked down. Hoffman's blood! Her pan ties were ripped away.

Where's Scott? her mind screamed. He's alive. She'd seen him move. Why doesn't he stop this!

She gasped in agony as Hoffman shoved into her. He rammed hard, one hand gripping her breast as if to keep her from being shoved over the floor by the force of his thrusts. A wetness splattered her shoulder as he plunged.

She should've...why hadn't she pulled the d.a.m.n trigger on herself and ended it? Better that than...

He pushed her head sideways. As he chewed and sucked the side of her neck, she saw Jan's face inches away from her own. The blank, staring eyes. The flap of dark flesh hanging off her cheek. The torn lips baring her broken teeth.

Dead.

Better this. Hoffman grunting and s...o...b..ring, twisting her skin, battering her insides with his vile organ. Better this than like Jan.

She lowered her gaze to the wide, blinking eyes of Nancy. They were filled with terror, but alive.

Where's Scott!

Hoffman's weight was on her now, crushing her chest, his mouth mashing her lips, suffocating her as he pounded down with his pelvis. Then he was rigid. Lacey felt his jerking throb inside her, the spurt of fluid.

He lay on top of her, breathing heavily. At last, his weight lifted. She felt his organ slide out.

She raised her head enough to see Scott and Dukane still unconscious on the floor.

"Guess what's next," Hoffman hissed.

Lacey shut her eyes and said nothing.

He grabbed her hair and pulled her to her feet. "One guess, c.u.n.t." He paused. "No? Well, just watch and see."

The door flew open behind Lacey. A hand squeezed the back of her neck. Another clutched between her legs. She was lifted off her feet and hurled outside.

She hit the ground hard, tumbling, gasping as gravel and cactus tore her skin. Then she lay still and awaited the hail of bullets.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.

Dukane's head throbbed with fire. He lay motionless, feeling the floor under him, wondering what had happened. Slowly, he remembered. Guilt hit him like a club.

What have I done!

He forced himself to open one eye. The living room was bright with sunlight. Nearby was the sprawled body of Scott, hands cuffed behind him.

Dukane was tied with electrical cord. As he struggled to free himself, he heard a quiet sob.

"Scott?" he whispered.

The body rolled over. "Matt?" His face was wet with tears. "I thought you were dead."

"Where's Hoffman?"

"I...I don't know. He took Nancy into the bedroom a few minutes ago. Probably in there. Matt, Lacey's..." He choked back a sob. "Lacey's gone."

"Where?"

Scott shook his head. "I came to...asked Hoffman. He just laughed."

"s.h.i.t."

"Oh G.o.d, Matt..."

"Take it easy." He jerked his hands free. Grimacing as pain cut into his head like a lance, he rolled onto his side and untied the knotted cord at his feet. He scanned the room, and flinched. In the rocking chair facing the broken front window sat Jan. The shotgun rested over the sill, aiming outside.

"Beau Geste," Scott muttered.

"Maybe the shotgun's loaded." Dukane forced himself to stand. He took one step.

A tinny, amplified voice said, "We want Hoffman. You've got five minutes. Bring him out, and we'll let you go. If not, you'll all die. The girl first."

"Lacey," Scott whispered.

Dukane rushed to the window. As he reached for the shotgun, he looked out.

He saw Lacey. A hundred yards away. Sprawled across the hood of the Rolls Royce. Her arms and legs were outstretched and tied.

A dozen men and women stood near the car, watching as a woman lashed her once with a thin, golden chain.

The woman was naked. Glossy, blonde hair draped her back. Her gold arm bands glinted sunlight.

Laveda!

In spite of the heat, gooseflesh p.r.i.c.kled Dukane's skin.

Lacey's quiet gasp of pain came through the silence as the chain struck again.

Dukane grabbed the double-barreled shotgun. He broke it open. The chambers were empty. Turning from the window, he looked for other weapons. The pistols were nowhere in sight. He quietly closed the breach.

"Four minutes," the distant voice announced.

Dukane hurried to Scott. He fished a key from his pocket and knelt to unlock the cuffs.

"Is it Lacey?"

"Yes."

"Oh G.o.d."

"Come on." Dukane tiptoed into the hallway, Scott close behind him. The bathroom door stood open. The bedroom door was shut. Almost.

He stepped quietly toward it. Stopped.

From inside came m.u.f.fled grunting sounds, the creak of bedsprings.

Nancy lay on the bed, her sweatslick body pounding against the mattress, arms stretched overhead, b.r.e.a.s.t.s oddly mashed, legs wide open and twitching, the lips of her v.a.g.i.n.a spread far apart like an open, sucking mouth. Dukane heard the slap of flesh, and wet, smacking sounds.

"Three minutes," announced the amplified voice.

Dukane shouldered open the door. He ran for the bed, reversing the shotgun, raising it high by its barrels.

Nancy's wet eyes looked up at him. She turned her head away as he swung the shotgun down.

It stopped before hitting her, stopped six inches above her face, stopped with a crashing thud like a coconut hurled against concrete. The stock of the shotgun split on impact. Teethmarks appeared in Nancy's cheek-empty, ragged holes that quickly filled with blood.

Scott dived onto her. He groped above her left arm, grabbed, snapped a handcuff in place, closed the other bracelet around his own wrist.

"Got him!" Scott cried.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.

"You have two minutes," said the man with the megaphone.

Even as he spoke, the thin chain twirled over the head of the woman beside Lacey, its gold links flashing sunlight, and whistled down. She cried out as it cut fire across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. A smile trembled on the woman's lips. Her nipples stood erect on her sweaty b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

She's getting off, Lacey thought.

It must've been at her command that the rifles hadn't opened up on Lacey, that instead the Rolls had come for her. She'd watched it approach, too frightened to move, thinking it's dead, Dukane got it with a Molotov c.o.c.ktail, how can it be coming? It bore down on her, its grill blinding in the sunlight. She thought it might crush her into the gravel, but it slipped sideways and its black front tire missed by inches. A door flew open. She was dragged inside the chilly, air-conditioned car.

Two men held her across their laps, pawing her as the car sped away.

The chain whipped down, lashing her belly.

The woman was breathing hard. But not from the exertion. She licked her lips, and struck again. Lacey jerked rigid as the chain cut her thighs.

It was the woman who ordered her tied to the car's hood. The sunbaked metal had scorched her, but the pain of the burned flesh faded when the whipping started.

The chain whished down, biting into her shoulder and breast.

A man suddenly threw himself onto her, licking the blood from her breast.

The woman lashed him. "Not yet!" she snapped.

Others jerked him away.

"One minute," said the man with the megaphone.

"They won't come," said a stocky, red-faced man.