Page 89 of Walking in Darkness

He yanked me toward the end of the bed.

“You little bitch. Whore. Didn’t you know we’d be coming for you? He’ll be pleased, and his rewards aregenerous.” He leaned over to hiss the last word into my ear, his sickness oozing out with the vile sound.

My spirit screamed, revolted by the stench of his malignity rather than compelled to heal it.

All hope was lost for his soul. His being was fully decayed and defiled.

The door blew open, and I found a shout, a scraping of desperation that I heaved from my throat. “Timothy, get back!”

But the man’s rod was already coming down. It connected with the top of Timothy’s shoulder and dropped him to his knees.

Roaring, he doubled over in pain.

And I could hear Dani sobbing, her cries as she rushed for him. She slid onto her knees at his side.

“Timothy. Oh my God. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Her confusion was thick as her attention swept into the havoc that seized the room.

Dismay widened her eyes when she saw the second man ripping me from the bed, though I tried to stop him, my fingers digging into the mattress, but I couldn’t hold on.

He jostled me around and pinned my back to his chest, his massive arm as heavy as a steel band around my waist. The other he wrapped around my throat, that hand clinging to a knife.

Still, I clawed and kicked and struggled to break free.

To fight.

To get to my family.

“Aria,” Dani wheezed as the man started to haul me back toward the window.

I flailed, kicking my feet in the air.

But it was no use.

Nothing I could do.

The man was fully overpowering me as he ducked us out through the opening. A jagged piece of shattered glass hanging from the broken frame cut into the back of my arm as he dragged me through.

A scream streaked up my throat.

Torment and a plea.

A meaty hand clamped down over my mouth to mute me just as the second man climbed through the opening behind us.

“You might as well not fight it, because you already know what’s coming for you.”

“No. No. You can’t. You can’t listen to him. You don’t understand what’s going to happen if he wins.” But the words were nothing more than garbled pleas issued into his palm. Garbled pleas that continued to pour out of me as he hauled me across the yard toward a pickup truck idling out front.

Three more men were in the bed, each taken over by the salacious. High-pitched calls of their deranged excitement escaped their mouths.

The one who had me tore open the passenger door, the knife pressed up under my jaw when he dragged me onto his lap, then slammed the door shut.

The other man jumped into the driver’s side, and the one holding me shouted, “Move!”

The driver gunned it, the tires squealing as he peeled out onto the road. Houses whipped by as he sped through the sleeping neighborhood, the night so thick and dark it didn’t feel real.

It was as if the blackened sky had drooped down low, cloaking the earth in a deformed canopy of debasement. Dark, heavy clouds began to move, churning in a toil of wickedness.