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Raven

G unshots. Breaking glass. Shouting. That's all I could hear. Flashes of light and people I knew ran through my memory. Everything was fuzzy, and my body felt so heavy. I couldn't move, couldn't think.

A shock of red hair caught my eye. Nix. I had to get to her, had to keep her safe. Another flash and wave of broken glass. The door between us snapped shut, separating us. But there was no room for me. I had to keep her safe.

A groan of agony and blood, so much blood. One of the prospects . . . I had to help him.

My vision grew dark, fading in and out, and when it cleared, I was staring at someone I didn't know—a stranger. He wasn't on our side. His vicious smirk told me that.

I heard his voice, that familiar, menacing voice. Dom.

No!

It was hard to breathe. I was choking, suffocating, then it all went black.

My head hurt, and I could hear voices nearby, so many voices. A door opened, and more strangers came toward me. My adrenaline kicked in; I had to fight. They weren't good men; they weren't our men.

Closer and closer they came. Their mouths moved, but I couldn't make out the words. The way the one's eyes moved, though, and the way he licked his lips . . . I knew enough by reading his face what he had planned.

Anger. Cold, hard, bitter anger coursed through me as he came closer. His mouth was still moving, but I couldn't hear him, not in this memory. All I knew was what came next—his downfall or mine.

And I wouldn't let it be mine.

Hinges creaked— that damn door again. My eyes were closed, but I wasn't sleeping. It was all the rest I'd allow myself. If I gave in to fatigue, that would be the end. They'd win, and that was the last thing I wanted. I'd stay up as many hours, as many days as it took to get free. I wouldn't let them win.

Heavy footsteps grew closer. His footsteps—the one who thought he could take what he wanted, the one whose nose I'd broken. He didn't take it well, lashing out as blood poured down his face. He fought like a crazed animal, swinging his arms like a rabid ape. A couple of shots landed, but nothing like what I unleashed.

It surprised them that I could fight back so well. They didn't like it. It frustrated them and made them fight like amateurs. That first fight was easy. They backed off fast when I broke another one's finger and shattered the last one's testicles.

How satisfying it was to hear their screams—these men who got off on rape and torture. It felt good to take them down a few pegs. It felt good to watch them bleed.

The next few times were harder. They brought someone I recognized—Dom—and he was all too happy to spar. He fought harder, better than the others. He was more skilled, more calculated. He landed the most blows—to my face, my torso, my arms. He was the hardest to fight, but he didn't get what he wanted.

None of them did, not really.

What's a palm full of tit when what they truly wanted was further south?

They could have used weapons to make me submit, but they enjoyed the fight too much, got off on it. They wanted to wear me down and drag out their torture. They aimed to break my spirit, but I wouldn’t let them.

Days blended like that. Rest my eyes while I listened for their return, then fight with all I had until they decided to give up.

Rinse. Repeat.

The next time they came was the hardest yet. I was so tired, so worn down. When they showed up, I was all but depleted. I don't know how I managed to fight them for so long, but I did. My blocks weren't as strong, and my jabs weren't as hard. They could tell, and they took advantage of their upper hand.

The broken-nosed prick got ahold of my arms, trapping them behind me as Dom's hand circled my throat. That was the first time I truly felt panic. It was the first time I thought they'd actually won.

I kicked and squirmed, but they were too strong. I was so tired, so weak by then that I had nothing left. Still, I didn't give up. Even as Dom's nasty mouth nipped at my skin and hands wandered all over me on top of my clothes. Lower. Lower.

His cohort cupped my chest from behind, telling me all the horrible things he had planned for me. Anger and rage fueled me then, kept me going, made me keep fighting.

They were starting to work their hands under my clothes when someone came in—all members were summoned for a meeting with the boss.

Dom tried to pull rank. Told him he'd be there when they were done with me, but Scar was adamant, according to the messenger. Immediately. They had to meet immediately. It was important.

I almost couldn't believe it when they relented. I thanked the universe when they let me go, even as they left with a promise to return and pick up where they'd left off.

It was enough. I'd rest a while more; then, I'd have more energy to fight them when they came back.

It was enough.

It had to be.

I'd keep fighting until the Sons came. I could do that. I would survive until then, and if, by some tragedy, they didn't find me, I'd still keep fighting.

I'd fight until the bitter end.

Creaking. Heavy footsteps.

They were back.

Soon, too soon. But it didn't matter, they were back, and I had to fight. Everything felt heavy, muddled under a cape of exhaustion. Pain seeped through my muscles and into my bones. My throat was parched and sore. My skin was caked in dirt and dried blood.

Get up. You have to keep fighting.

Get up!

I tried to open my eyes, but they were so heavy. So. Tired.

Muffled sounds I couldn't quite make out echoed in the tiny room. I took a breath and tried to steady myself for the fight. After that, everything was hazy. Bits and pieces of visions sped through my mind. My heart was racing, my limbs felt like anchors, and my body was so tired.

A light touch. A familiar face—two familiar faces—one kind and concerned, the other broody and intense.

I smiled at the memory of their faces, or at least I think I did. Jesse. Reaper. Did they come for me? Or was it my exhausted mind playing games? I wasn’t sure.

At least if I had to go now, I'd go out thinking of them. My friend and my—

Darkness overcame me and my mind faded with exhaustion, too tired to keep up the fight.

Did I speak, or was that all in my imagination? Did they? Was any of it real?

I didn't think defeat would feel like that—warm and safe. It must have been my mind's way of protecting me.

Huh . . .

I sighed as I slipped into that warm, safe place, and the world around me faded to nothing.