Page 4 of The Raven

The force of Grim’s kick makes Eric’s body roll onto his front, mirroring my position; his hands bound behind his back with cable ties, just like mine. The only difference in the way we are laying is that Eric hasn’t got his ass up in the air while the gang takes turns to fuck him.

I’m not so lucky.

Butch’s grip on my hips tightens, and the pace of his thrusts increases as the others encourage him to hurry the fuck up so the next one can take their turn.

Fire scorches me from the inside out, and in a bid to block it out, I stare at Eric, wishing the sweet relief of death would come for me too.

I’m sure that’s what will happen after they’re finished.

They’ve already beaten me black and blue, and from the pain inside me, I’m sure I’ve got internal bleeding; it’s only a matter of time before I take my last breath.

But Grim ordered his boys that no one is to finish me off until they’d all had a turn.

It’s impossible to block out what is happening to me, not with their howls of laughter, and the overpowering stench of weed coming from Ziggy’s joint as he pollutes his lungs and the air around me.

Butch grunts as he spills his load, his come mixing with the come that’s already inside me. From my periphery, I see Pyro undoing his belt and lowering his jeans, preparing to take his turn.

Butch suddenly releases me. I lose my balance, and my hips crash to the floor as he steps away. Now would be my chance to try and run, but my body has already given up on me. Not that I have time to run, the second Butch moves, Pyro takes his place and plows into me with one brutal thrust.

I scream as pain rips through me, my body feeling like it’s being sliced in half. But my scream rewards me with a kick to the face from Grim, silencing me as my mouth fills with blood and a tooth flies free.

My teary eyes once again find Boogie. He stands in the corner of the room, his brows furrowed. When his worried gaze meets mine, I see the pity there.

‘Help me,’ I mouth, but like the coward he is, Boogie looks away, and I know then that no one will help me.

“I’m going to see if there’s anything worth stealing,” he says, refusing to look at me again.

“Don’t you want your turn, man?” Butch says, blocking Boogie’s exit out of my living room where the six of them burst in while Eric and I were enjoying a romantic night together, planning our wedding.

Boogie looks down at me, a sneer on his lips. “Nah, man. I ain’t putting my cock in the whore, not now she’s filled up with all of your jizz.”

Without looking back, he walks out, and I don’t see him again.

Tears streamed down Boogie’s face when I released my hands, his face contorted in terror. The torment coursing through my body eased fractionally now that I’d passed it back to Boogie.

He’d just experienced every single thing I felt when he and his buddies broke in and attacked me. Every punch I received. Every kick. Every thrust when they destroyed me.

But I wasn’t done with Boogie yet. Before he died, he’d beg for death.

Just like I had.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, snot trickling from his nose, and the stench of stale alcohol permeating the air.

I lowered my face to his so we were only inches apart. “Sorry for what, Boogie? Sorry for helping them break into my flat? It was you who picked the locks, right? Or are you sorry for standing back and being a cowardly piece of shit while Grim killed Eric, and everyone took their turn to rape me?”

“I didn’t…” he sobbed.

No, he didn’t rape me. But he didn’t stop them either.

He squeezed his eyes closed, muttering under his breath that this was all just a bad dream.

No such luck.

“Boo,” I whispered when he finally cracked his eyes open again, chuckling to myself as I sat back up.

Boogie’s bottom lip quivered in fear when, from behind me, I pulled out a knife I’d stashed in the back pocket of my black leather pants, the light emitting from his bedside lamp glinting off the silver blade.

“I would say this is going to be quick, but I’d hate to lie to you, Boogie,” I said, admiring the sharpness of the weapon I’d chosen to use.

“No, please don’t hurt me, I’m sorry,” he squealed, attempting to thrash again and throw me off.

I placed one hand on his chest to hold him still, his body flinching. “I’m sorry if my hand is a little cold; dead people don’t have a heartbeat pumping their blood around to keep them warm.” I beamed down at him, my grin widening as the color drained from his face.

“You’re not Raven!” he shrieked without a hint of conviction in his voice. “Raven is dead! And dead people don’t come back to life.”

“You’re right. They don’t.” I swiped the blade down the palm of my hand, wincing at the burn it left behind.

Pure terror filled Boogie’s eyes as I held my hand out to him. He tracked a trickle of blood falling from my hand and dripping onto his chest before the wound I’d just made began to heal.

A few seconds later, the cut was completely healed, not even a faint scar left behind. A triumphant grin spread over my lips at the fright written on Boogie’s face.

Now he was beginning to understand how I felt that night.

Helpless.

Alone.

Afraid.

In his daze, Boogie didn’t notice me bring my other hand to his chest until the tip of the knife pressed into his skin. “Let’s begin, shall we?”