Page 48 of Purgatory (Devil Dogs of the Apocalypse #1)

Alessandra

Pain. All over. Everything fucking hurts. My head. My arms. My ribs. Even my fucking toes hurt. I can’t even open my eyes all the way, let alone utter any coherent words. What the fuck happened to me?

The last thing I remember is that I was walking down the main drag, headed to Jax’s place, or at least in the direction I was told his place was in, and then, boom. Nothing. Why can’t I remember anything?

The clarity in my mind is slow but I start to realize that I’m on the floor.

The cold, hard surface must have settled into my bones, making even the smallest movements painful.

I try to lift my hand to ease the dull throb on the side of my head when I realize my hands are tied together in front of me.

Thick, course rope secures both of my wrists as well as my ankles.

The rough fibers digging into my skin the more I twist and try to wiggle my way out of them. Needless to say, my efforts are futile.

I decide to take a break from the stupid ropes and force my eyes open just a little to look at my surroundings.

The pain from the single light in the middle of the room makes me wince but I force them open anyways.

From what I can see, it looks like a basement.

Hard cement floor, storage totes, a work bench off in the corner and my broken ass in the center of it all.

The floor above me creaks and I pause, taking in what I can hear, utilizing any senses I have to figure my way out of this absolutely fucked up situation.

There’re voices. Lots of them. And the footsteps creak from all over the ceiling.

Great. As if being bound on the floor wasn't bad enough. I’m also outnumbered.

All at once, like a spark in my hazy brain, the fog from the evening seems to clear. The truck, the assholes that jumped out of it and surrounded me, then the haymaker to the head that finished the night for me, taking me to whatever part of hell this is.

Who kidnaps someone and keeps them in a basement?

Do people honestly still do this shit? Do they not realize there’s a fucking zombie apocalypse going on right now and they don’t need to do this shit anymore?

! The zombies have filled all of the killing jobs, find a new occupation, dickwads!

Fuck’s sake, why couldn’t the zombies just kill off these assholes and leave the nice people alone. Is that too much to ask?

I nearly jump out of my skin when the door to the basement opens and four guys stomp down the stairs.

I take them in one by one, trying to force a straight face but I’m sure all I’m projecting is disgust and dread.

I know I'm not supposed to judge a book by its cover and all that, but looking at these guys, I'm definitely judging.

Nothing about the way they look or carry themselves indicates happy sunshine and daisies.

No. They reek of sadistic fuckery and genuine grade A asshole douchebaggery.

I try to scoot back as far away from them and as close to the wall as possible but all that does is make them laugh amongst themselves.

The evil gleam in their eyes as they see my fear only makes it worse.

The short one, who looks like he had to borrow five teeth from his neighbor just so he could have enough to eat a dick, turns to the one in the middle, waving a hand at me.

“Lookey what we found on our way back from town. Thought you might like a snack, seeing as Deena’s not around anymore. Just be careful, she’s scrappy, this one. Bitch got me fucking good,” the man grunts, holding the bandages on the side of his head.

Haha! That's right! I bit off his fucking ear when he grabbed me. Serves him right, ass hat.

The one in the middle brings his meaty hand to his chin, looking me up and down, assessing me. Even though I'm fully clothed, his look makes me feel naked and the thought makes me want to crawl even further into the wall.

This man has obviously been beaten with an ugly stick.

Multiple times. Broke that one and was then beaten with another one.

Holy fuck. The man’s face looks like it’s melting off.

His sweat’s dripping profusely down his neck and collects on his shirt, staining it yellow and gross and ick.

Paunchy does not even come close. He would need a roadmap, flash light and a hazmat crew to find his dick, his belly is that large.

And oh my gravy , the yellow teeth. I count maybe seven.

Not even sure they’re all real. At least he’s doing better than the Evander Holyfield lookalike over there.

Mike Tyson, eat your heart out. I look, reluctantly, back at Mr. Potbelly.

His tongue sneaks out to lick his lips and I have all I can do to not vomit on myself.

“Mmmmm. She does look rather delicious, Sam. I think I might have a taste. Anyone else want to join me for some dessert?” His Southern drawl heavy and deep. He looks back to the others as they all nod their heads excitedly.

“Thanks, Earl. I always did say, sharing is caring,” the first man, Sam, says. A disgusting grin taking over his face as his eyes take my helpless form in.

“Well, FUCK OFF! I get her first. Then, you bastards can do what you want with her,” the middle man, I guess Earl is his name, says, sending a shiver of panic through my body.

He takes a step toward me, then another, holding his hands out to grab me in case I tried to fight or escape. As if I could. The bindings on my wrists and ankles are enough to almost paralyze me. Almost.

I’m not dead yet.

I draw my legs close to my body, coiling them in nice and tight and wait for Earl to get close enough. It might not stop him or them, but at least I won’t go down without a fight. They’ll never take me without a fight if I have any say about it.

Earl reaches down to grab my upper arms and I see that as my opportunity.

I strike without delay, hitting Earl square in the chest, making him fall back on his ass.

His heavy landing probably sends enough of a ground vibration to create an earthquake all the way in Nevada.

The sudden blow startles his crew, drawing all eyes to me on the floor, ready and waiting for another one to step forward.

“You mother fucking cunt! Allen, Troy grab her. Hold her legs.” Earl says to the other guys as he stands up and looms over me. “You’re gonna regret that, you little bitch. I’ll treat you like the dog you are, even if I have to beat you to submission.”

“I told you she was scrappy, boss. Bitch needs to be shown who’s in charge here,” Sam says to Earl.

The other guys approach me cautiously, steering clear of my flailing legs.

One guy, who seems about as big as a damn truck, manages to dive onto them, while the other two take me on either side by my arms, effectively rendering me fully and completely immobile. Shit!

“Now be a good little girl and let the boss take a look at you.” Sam says in my ear. The hot stench of his breath covers my face, almost making me retch in their hold. His stumpy fingers grab ahold of my chin and wrench my face up, towards Earl’s prying eyes.

“Fuck you and your missing ear, Van Gogh. You can all eat a bag of dicks,” I manage to grunt out of my clenched teeth. “And you...,” speaking to Earl, “can sit on the biggest dick of them all and fuck yourself all the way to Hell.”

Earl smiles at my insult as he crowds over me. The gesture so small but terrifying all the same. In a quick motion, he rears back at the same time Sam lets go of my face. The back of Earl’s hand connects with my face with a loud smack, eliciting a grunt of pain from me as my head cranes back.

I feel the slow drip of blood from my cut lip, and probably busted nose at this point, and look back at Earl. Training my eyes on him and trying to look as if I'm not afraid of him or his violent tactics. Truth is, I am afraid, but even more so, I'm pissed.

I’m pissed that he hit me. I’m pissed that people like him still exist when good people, who deserve to, no longer do.

I’m pissed at the fact that even now, when over half the population is dead, that I still can’t walk alone at night without the fear of being abducted and attacked.

I’m pissed at myself that I left Cole and Hawk and the safety of the house.

And I'm pissed that I wasn’t even able to find Jax, after all.

Finally, I’m pissed at my own fucking stupidity.

At my casual approach to everything even when I know, and have been told, I shouldn’t be, especially nowadays.

Fuck, Jax even talked to me about that very thing when I tried to pick raspberries.

And here I am, doing the same stupid shit.

The thought of the guys makes my breath hitch just a bit.

I should have never left them. I should have just listened to them and stayed rather than go off on my own.

I don’t deserve them. I don’t deserve their company, the safety they bring or the selflessness they have. I don’t deserve their affection.

I don’t even know if they found my letter yet.

Even if they did, they’d have no idea where I was right now.

How would they? I’m miles from the house and I don’t even know exactly where Jax was camped out.

I was just going to make my way down to the area the guys said he was and wait him out.

Maybe see him walk around one day. Stupid.

So stupid. Why did I think that would work?

I didn’t think. That’s my problem. I only saw Jax and how much I missed him. How much the guys missed him. Saw my guilt in his leaving everything behind to get away from me. Why couldn’t I listen then? Stay out of the West Wing. The rules were simple.

- Stay at the estate unless you had backup

- No fires outside at night because they’d draw the dead

- Drink the damn water Cole places in front of you so you don’t pass out again

- And don’t go into Jax’s room.

That’s it. And I fucked it up. Again.