Air rushes into my oxygen-starved lungs, and I swing my fist blindly, aiming at that smug face. He intercepts it with ease, brutal fingers catching my wrist and pinning it to the ground as he jams the barrel of the gun under my chin.
âMove again, and I blow your fucking head off,â he growls, and I believe him.
I see my death in his flat, dark eyes.
âWhat the fuck, Arnold?â a second voice exclaims, and another man appears above us. Also armed with a gun, he looks to be some dozen years older than my captor, with receding salt-and-pepper hair and ruddy skin flushed from the exertion of the run. Breathing heavily, he orders, âPut a bullet in her and be done.â
âNot yet,â Arnold mutters, eyes glued to my mouth. âSheâs pretty. You ever notice that?â
The other manâs voice turns gruff. âThatâs not the way we do things.â
âWho gives a fuck? Sheâs dead meat anyway. Who cares if we enjoy a bite before we bury it?â
My stomach heaves with a fresh surge of nausea, and only the cold barrel jammed under my chin keeps me from clawing the assholeâs eyes out as he lets go of my wrist and presses a thick, dirty thumb to my tightly clamped lips.
âJust finish the fucking job already.â
The older manâs tone is sharper, more impatient, and for a moment, Iâm half-afraid, half-hopeful that Arnold will obey. But he just leans in and drags a wet, jerky-scented tongue over my cheek, like a dogâand as an involuntary cry of disgust escapes my throat, he jams his thumb into my mouth, pushing it so far in I gag.
âThatâs nice, bitch,â he whispers, eyes gleaming with lust and feral excitement. âThatâs realââ
A sharp crack shatters the silence, and he yanks his hand back. A millisecond later, heâs on his feet above me, gun coming up as he spins around lightning fastâyet still not fast enough.
The second bullet slams him into the tree behind me, and as I scramble backward on my hands and ass, I see the older man already on the ground, mouth slack and skull blown open, brains spilling out like moldy cottage cheese.