Stray
Page 85
Miguel let go of his swollen nose. His left hand shot past my head. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, twisting it around his palm. Using his grip on my hair for leverage, he pulled me down, pinning me to his chest. He yanked my head back, wrenching my neck to expose my throat.
I tried to swat his hand away, but my left arm wouldn’t move, and my right hand was stil stuck in his pocket. With his free hand on my hip, he pushed me to the left and rolled on top of me. My injured shoulder hit the ground and I screamed.
We wound up on the mattress, with me on the bottom.
Miguel leered down at me. He gave my hair one more vicious tug, then let go.
Several strands came away with his hand, stuck to the drying blood. Smiling, and dripping more blood on my face and shirt, he plucked my hand from his pocket and pulled my arms over my head. Tears standing in my eyes, I bit my lip to keep from screaming again as he jerked on my injured arm. He pinned my wrists to the mattress with one hand. “I’l take the top, if you don’t mind, gatita.”
I swal owed back a sob, speaking through teeth gritted against the agony in my shoulder and the panic in my chest. “I do mind. Get the hel off me.”
He sat up, straddling my hips, and pulled my hands forward. My fingers dangled in the air above my stomach, my wrists trapped in his left hand. I struggled to free my hands. He drew his right arm back and slammed his fist into my cheek.
Pain erupted in my face. Lights floated in front of my eyes. I opened and closed my jaw to make sure it wasn’t broken. My face was stil intact, but it sure didn’t feel like it.
Miguel forced my wrists back onto the mattress, and by then I had little resistance left to offer. At least physical y. Verbal y, I could have sparred al night, but apparently he no longer appreciated my wit. “I’ve had just about enough of your mouth,” he said, dribbling a trail of blood from my chin down to the center of my shirt as he repositioned himself over me.
“Real y?” I tried to ignore the throbbing in my face. “I’d have thought you’d be more bothered by my fists.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, tabbycat.” He shoved my shirt up over my stomach, smearing me with blood. “Compared to mi padre, you hit like a toddler.”
“Not bad for a girl, though, huh?” I said, stil trying to free my hands, despite the pain in my shoulder.
He glared down at me, nostrils flaring in anger. “I’m done playing, bitch.
You’re risking your life every time you open your mouth.”
A smart woman would have shut up. Did I? Hel no. Intel igence is overrated anyway. “Oh, come on. Wouldn’t you rather go upstairs and lick your wounds?
Maybe make an ice pack for your crotch?” I was trying to get him mad enough to make his concentration slip again. He wasn’t fal ing for that twice.
“I’d rather make you pay for my nose.” He unbuttoned my shorts with one hooked finger. Definitely a scary skil .
I swal owed thickly as my pulse thundered in my ears, begging me to take the easy way out for once and keep my mouth shut. But there was no easy way. It was either rape or death, and I couldn’t live with rape. “Don’t forget your teeth,” I said as he jerked down on my zipper.
Miguel’s eyes narrowed and he sat straighter, running his tongue over newly jagged front teeth. His face turned purple with rage. He hadn’t even noticed them.
Maybe I should have left well enough alone.
He punched me again, on the same side of my face, and that time I didn’t even see it coming. “That’s for my teeth.”
My head rocked to the side. Tears formed instantly, running over when I blinked. My vision darkened and for several seconds I felt nothing. But then sight and pain came roaring back as I won the battle for consciousness. My face was alive with pain, and my body begged for relief. But I couldn’t oblige. To stay awake, I let the pain take over and block out everything else—even fear.
“Okay, that’s not funny anymore,” I growled, hiding my bruised cheek against my arm in case he took another shot. The left side of my face felt hot and swollen, throbbing with an agony al its own, yet somehow in harmony with my shoulder.
“Let’s see if you think this is funny.” He tugged on one leg of my shorts, which slipped halfway down my hip, dragging the waistband of my panties along for the ride.
No, in fact, I did not think that was funny. And it was even less funny when he pulled down the other side.
Panicked, I kicked and bucked, trying to toss him off my legs. Miguel hung on tight. He seemed to enjoy the ride, in fact, which made my stomach churn. Luckily, he hit a snag when my shorts were at midthigh. He couldn’t get them any lower while he sat on my legs, but he couldn’t get up without letting go of my hands. Or so I thought.
He leaned forward, his weight threatening to crush my wrists, and got to first one knee, then the other, straddling my lower thighs. He reached down for my shorts, and I brought both knees up into his crotch.
I didn’t have the leverage to put much power behind my thrust, but I didn’t need much after that last kick. He let go of my wrists to clutch his groin again, and I saw my chance. I shoved him in the chest with both feet. He fel over backward on the floor. His head smacked the concrete with a promising thud. I mental y crossed my fingers as I sat up, hoping he was unconscious.
No such luck. Miguel was one tough son of a bitch. But he was hurt. He was bleeding from his nose and his mouth, and had taken two strikes to the crotch.
Surely he’d had enough.
I tried to swat his hand away, but my left arm wouldn’t move, and my right hand was stil stuck in his pocket. With his free hand on my hip, he pushed me to the left and rolled on top of me. My injured shoulder hit the ground and I screamed.
We wound up on the mattress, with me on the bottom.
Miguel leered down at me. He gave my hair one more vicious tug, then let go.
Several strands came away with his hand, stuck to the drying blood. Smiling, and dripping more blood on my face and shirt, he plucked my hand from his pocket and pulled my arms over my head. Tears standing in my eyes, I bit my lip to keep from screaming again as he jerked on my injured arm. He pinned my wrists to the mattress with one hand. “I’l take the top, if you don’t mind, gatita.”
I swal owed back a sob, speaking through teeth gritted against the agony in my shoulder and the panic in my chest. “I do mind. Get the hel off me.”
He sat up, straddling my hips, and pulled my hands forward. My fingers dangled in the air above my stomach, my wrists trapped in his left hand. I struggled to free my hands. He drew his right arm back and slammed his fist into my cheek.
Pain erupted in my face. Lights floated in front of my eyes. I opened and closed my jaw to make sure it wasn’t broken. My face was stil intact, but it sure didn’t feel like it.
Miguel forced my wrists back onto the mattress, and by then I had little resistance left to offer. At least physical y. Verbal y, I could have sparred al night, but apparently he no longer appreciated my wit. “I’ve had just about enough of your mouth,” he said, dribbling a trail of blood from my chin down to the center of my shirt as he repositioned himself over me.
“Real y?” I tried to ignore the throbbing in my face. “I’d have thought you’d be more bothered by my fists.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, tabbycat.” He shoved my shirt up over my stomach, smearing me with blood. “Compared to mi padre, you hit like a toddler.”
“Not bad for a girl, though, huh?” I said, stil trying to free my hands, despite the pain in my shoulder.
He glared down at me, nostrils flaring in anger. “I’m done playing, bitch.
You’re risking your life every time you open your mouth.”
A smart woman would have shut up. Did I? Hel no. Intel igence is overrated anyway. “Oh, come on. Wouldn’t you rather go upstairs and lick your wounds?
Maybe make an ice pack for your crotch?” I was trying to get him mad enough to make his concentration slip again. He wasn’t fal ing for that twice.
“I’d rather make you pay for my nose.” He unbuttoned my shorts with one hooked finger. Definitely a scary skil .
I swal owed thickly as my pulse thundered in my ears, begging me to take the easy way out for once and keep my mouth shut. But there was no easy way. It was either rape or death, and I couldn’t live with rape. “Don’t forget your teeth,” I said as he jerked down on my zipper.
Miguel’s eyes narrowed and he sat straighter, running his tongue over newly jagged front teeth. His face turned purple with rage. He hadn’t even noticed them.
Maybe I should have left well enough alone.
He punched me again, on the same side of my face, and that time I didn’t even see it coming. “That’s for my teeth.”
My head rocked to the side. Tears formed instantly, running over when I blinked. My vision darkened and for several seconds I felt nothing. But then sight and pain came roaring back as I won the battle for consciousness. My face was alive with pain, and my body begged for relief. But I couldn’t oblige. To stay awake, I let the pain take over and block out everything else—even fear.
“Okay, that’s not funny anymore,” I growled, hiding my bruised cheek against my arm in case he took another shot. The left side of my face felt hot and swollen, throbbing with an agony al its own, yet somehow in harmony with my shoulder.
“Let’s see if you think this is funny.” He tugged on one leg of my shorts, which slipped halfway down my hip, dragging the waistband of my panties along for the ride.
No, in fact, I did not think that was funny. And it was even less funny when he pulled down the other side.
Panicked, I kicked and bucked, trying to toss him off my legs. Miguel hung on tight. He seemed to enjoy the ride, in fact, which made my stomach churn. Luckily, he hit a snag when my shorts were at midthigh. He couldn’t get them any lower while he sat on my legs, but he couldn’t get up without letting go of my hands. Or so I thought.
He leaned forward, his weight threatening to crush my wrists, and got to first one knee, then the other, straddling my lower thighs. He reached down for my shorts, and I brought both knees up into his crotch.
I didn’t have the leverage to put much power behind my thrust, but I didn’t need much after that last kick. He let go of my wrists to clutch his groin again, and I saw my chance. I shoved him in the chest with both feet. He fel over backward on the floor. His head smacked the concrete with a promising thud. I mental y crossed my fingers as I sat up, hoping he was unconscious.
No such luck. Miguel was one tough son of a bitch. But he was hurt. He was bleeding from his nose and his mouth, and had taken two strikes to the crotch.
Surely he’d had enough.
