Page 73 of Dirty Hot Valentine
In a swift move, my shirt, the last piece of clothing covering me, tore with a loud ripping sound under his hands. He held my wrists and pressed them to the floor, his eyes filled with animalistic rage and lust. “Like father like son.”
“What?” I gasped through the gag.
“You haven’t figured it out yet? Dusty was never Roar’s. He’s always been mine.”
Nauseated and shocked, I stared at his eyes, and I finally figured out why they looked so familiar. They looked exactly like Dusty’s.
Except they were menacing and brutal and cold.
The sick revelation dawned on me sending a stronger wave of nausea down my core. A man raping his kid’s girlfriend was a new level of sick shit only The Night Skulls were capable of hitting.
“Not that I want you for myself, but I have to do this.” He placed my wrists on top of each other above my head and held them with one grip, the other lowering his jeans. “I know your type. You can’t be with him after I have my way with you, and he wouldn’t touch you again knowing he couldn’t protect you.” He pulled out his penis. “Nothing personal. It’s the only way you’d leave him the fuck alone so he remains President.”
I squirmed, lying beneath him, hope slipping out of me. “He’ll kill you.”
“What? Kill me? Is that what you said?” He chuckled. The fucking bastard chuckled. “Dusty never took a life. He wouldn’t start with Daddy.”
The tip of his penis penetrated me, and I was so tense I couldn’t even piss myself to stop him. I spat, aiming for his face, forgetting I was gagged, and drool streamed down my chin instead of his face. He watched me, his eyes oozing with evil joy.
Choice one seemed appropriate now. I closed the little crack of my eyes that was still open and surrendered to the blackness about to engulf me.
From far away, I could hear his evil laughter echoing in my mind until his voice morphed into a more pleasant one. Dusty’s.
“Get the fuck off her.” I heard him say. Then a click. A gun click. “Now!”
Suddenly, the weight pressing over me vanished, and buckle jiggling chimed.
Was I dreaming or dead?
My eyes barely opened at my command, and I thought I saw Dusty standing at the door, over Ashley’s body.
The world stopped for a moment. No noises. No pain.
Stillness.
Surrender.
Peace.
Then, right before the last shred of resistance left my body, Annie’s image flashed in the back of my head.
Roar’s.
Ashley’s bloody corpse.
Rush’s face.
My eyes strained to look at that monster in reality. He was mumbling something to Dusty, but I couldn’t hear it.
One voice boomed inside me. Took over me in a way that made it impossible to hear anything else.
Finish him.
Finish him!
As if it had a mind of its own, my hand moved on its accord and grabbed Rush’s gun from the back of his jeans.
The son of a bitch’s head jerked toward me, and I aimed with whatever vision I had left.
