Page 143 of Soul So Dark

“I’ll be so good to you, Dallas.” He rolls his forehead over mine. “You’ll never want to leave me.”

Shut up, please, just shut up…

A tiny, horrific squeak escapes my throat and I shudder, trying to mentally shut down while I fight the perverse sensation building in my core.

“Are you going to come for me, baby girl?” he teases. “Col’s baby sister’s a wet little whore for me, isn’t she?”

Bowen pushes a third finger inside me, grinning at the obscene sound it makes as it sends a sharp jolt of pain through my groin. I let out a scream and frantically pull against his hands, but the harder I fight him, the tighter his grip gets.

“Please…” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to breathe through my sobs, focusing on the darkness, trying to think of something else—anything else. “I just want to go home…”

He lets go of my wrists and, suddenly, there’s a crack and an intense sting radiates across my cheek.

“You close your eyes again, and I’ll use more than my hand to wake you up!” Bowen snarls.

I want to flee this car and throw myself off the cliff outside, furious that my flesh is nothing but a traitorous pile of mental carrion. It’s not right, this isn’t supposed to happen. Pain and terror aren’t supposed to do this.

“I—I hate you!” I cry out as he buries his fingers knuckle deep inside me. “I hate you!”

“You hate me?” He pauses, fury washing over his eyes. “You don’t know what hate is!”

Before I realize what’s happening, Bowen grabs my pants, jerking them down so forcefully that I think my hip dislocates. I let out a shrill scream as he hooks his arm under one of my knees and pins it to the seat. I try to pull myself up, but each time, he shoves me back down with barely any effort. Until, finally, he thrusts his hips forward, knocking the breath out of me.

My lungs seize at the impact, but soon morph into howls of wet gibberish. Sharp smacks fill the car like a metronome as he slams into me, over and over, each one like a lethal punch to the gut while he invades my body with utter contempt. But it’s not enough, and the humiliation only drags on.

“Just give it up, Dallas,” he taunts. “Fight me all you want, but you’re going to let me finish you.”

I fight as hard as I can, every neuron firing as I desperately try to stop it. I hold my breath, willing myself to freeze, to go numb, to reject every one of his cells touching mine. But moments later, I let out a tortured shriek as my thighs clench around him.

He revels in my agony, biting his lip and pumping harder toward the unthinkable. I jerk my head away, his violent threats be damned, squeezing my eyes shut while I try to suppress my body’s nauseating response. But then it’s over, and I’m still pinned beneath his weight while my muscles involuntarily contract in the worst of ways.

Bowen gently rotates my wet and snotty face. “I’m going to make your eyes this shade of blue all the time,” his gentle tone is laced with malice, “so when you’re the most beautiful, it’s because I’m tearing you apart.”

I fold in on myself, gasping and moaning in pain as he lifts his weight off me. My moans turn to sobs and soon, all I can hear is my chest clicking, my lungs devoid of air.

“Enjoy your freedom, baby girl. The night’ll come when you wake up in a safe place where I can have fun with you whenever I want.”

He pauses, gazing down at me with sickening satisfaction.

“Probably when you start showing,” he adds and gives my ass a sharp smack.

Nausea roils through me as he leaves me curled up in the fetal position, my hands clutching my head as I hide behind my thick wall of hair. Bowen throws open the door and climbs out, but not before ducking down once more, making me flinch at the sight of his face.

“And if you try to get rid of it,” he warns, “I’ll gut you from cunt to mouth and mount your head on my wall.”

Then he slams the door, leaving me a trembling ball in the back seat, unable to move a muscle for the next two hours.

CHAPTER THIRTY

ALEX

“Try not to put your dick in this, it's fucked already.”

I hand Thatch one of the sat phones, the last one on the shelf that should’ve been replaced long ago. That just figures.

“I should just bring my phone,” he grumbles, “it probably gets better service.”

“Could be worse. You know I had to buy this body armor myself before I shipped out for the Corps?” I chuckle to myself as I snap my Glock into its holster.