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FIFTY-NINE

The concussive boom of the gunshot rattled Erica’s teeth. A thunderclap of pain slammed into her head, ripping through her ears. Something hot and wet splattered across her face. The small basement room couldn’t contain the vibration. It reverberated all around them. Her and the three men. Except now it was her and two men because the other one collapsed at her feet, and she knew from the way his head looked that he was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. Was he one of them or someone completely different? She’d been too busy fighting the assholes who took her from the hotel as they shoved her into the room to realize there was another man already inside. Then he was gone. In a heartbeat.

A scream tore from Erica’s throat before she could stop it. It kept going and going. Her entire body was numb except for where the blood and bits of bone and tissue clung to her skin. Then one of the other men—she never did learn their names—stepped forward and slapped her across the face. Her head whipped to the side so hard and fast that she stumbled and fell, catching herself awkwardly on a hand and a knee. If there was pain, she didn’t feel it. Cold eyes stared down at her. His lips were moving but she couldn’t hear him. The echo of the gunshot was too loud in her brain.

Everything was moving too fast and too slow. Strong fingers dug into her bicep, dragging her body upright. She was pretty sure she was screaming again. Another slap landed on her face and the dim room wavered. Then the barrel of the gun was right there, between her eyes, nearly touching her skin, and she knew this was it.

The end.