The Dom and Her Page 5

  Dominic did not cease his pounding, which Thunder took, without fighting back. Instead, I shook myself free and rushed over to the pair of them.

  “Dominic, Dominic!” I sobbed. “Don’t you see? He tricked you! He lied to me so that you’d see Thunder and I hugging! Please, it was for you! It was all for you!”

  “Why?” He demanded, enraged, demented. “Why? Why? Why?”

  “Because I love you!”

  He froze. Thunder fell away, pushing himself out of reach. Instead, Dominic lowered his fists, and sagged against me.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’d thought...”

  “I know,” I murmured back. “It’s okay. But listen to me. I promise–promise–never to leave you. I’ll never cheat on you. I’ll be with you forever, okay?”

  He gazed at me, tears drying in his eyes. “You...love me?” He gasped. He sounded like a child. So hurt. So unsure.

  “Yes,” I said. “I do.” And I kissed him. He tasted like blood and desperation and despair, but he also tasted like courage and warmth and rebellion. I loved him. I loved him.

  “Aw, isn’t that lovely,” a cold, slithering voice interrupted, snaking between us and pushing us apart like icy fingers. “Promises of fidelity, so soon to be broken.” It was the Hook.

  He approached, seizing me by the shoulders and yanking me away from Dominic. Then, he snapped his fingers, and two Crooked Jaws appeared, hoisting Dominic back up and onto the hooks. He resisted, but I could tell by the blood flowing down his body and into the drain that he was at the end of his strength. Within a minute, Dominic was back on his terrible perch.

  When they finished, they immediately went over and grabbed Thunder, hurling him against the wall and pinning them there. They apparently did not want anyone interfering with what came next.

  The Hook approached me, and, with a single hit, knocked me to the ground. I could have screamed. I could have tried to run. But the door was locked, and I was surrounded by five men–the two guys holding Thunder, the man outside, and Blade and the Hook.

  I had no hope to escape.

  Then, the thought lit through my mind like a firework. The knife!

  I back into a corner, with the Hook approaching, and dug my hand into my bra, searching for it. Thunder and I had been so afraid that it would be found that it was hidden very well. At last, I located it, and whipped it out with a flourish.

  The Hook eyed the tiny thing and chuckled.

  “Stay back!” I cried, pointing its measly blade right at his throat. “Don’t touch me!”

  The Hook shrugged, and stepped back. “Okay,” he said, with an amiability which surprised and disturbed me. That is, until he drew his own knife, and held it against Dominic’s throat.

  “Drop it,” he growled, “or I slice him right open.”

  I stared at the scene in horror. The Hook, his erection obvious beneath his leather jeans, grinning because he knew he had me cornered. Blade, standing near me, wheezing and awaiting his turn. Thunder, silent, bowled over by two men much stronger than he. And Dominic. He looked up at me, shaking his head frantically.

  “No!” He roared. “Erica! Don’t do it! I don’t care if they kill me! Don’t let him touch you–argh!”

  He drew back as The Hook pressed the blade against his throat, puncturing the skin and drawing a dribble of blood. If he moved or spoke again, it would slice into his windpipe.

  “Okay!” I cried. “Okay, don’t hurt him!”

  I dropped the folding knife and kicked it away, holding my hands up in surrender. The Hook grinned, and lowered his blade from Dominic’s throat.

  “Very good,” he snarled. “I knew you’d cooperate. Now, my darling, come here.”

  He approached, and put his hands on me. I did not resist, for resisting meant that he would kill Dominic. Ignoring the pain and the humiliation of him grabbing me, knocking me to the floor, I gazed instead at the man I loved, tormented and covered in blood but meeting my eyes bravely just the same.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  “I love you, too,” he murmured back.

  And then the Hook’s assault began.

  Chapter Six

  Dominic

  I wanted to scream. To fight. To claw. To punch and punish. I tried twisting again, breaking the bounds and the hooks holding me, but to no avail. They had tied me differently this time–and besides, after La Gancho’s most recent torture, I had no strength left to draw upon.

  I wanted to look away. To close my eyes and pretend I wasn’t there. Return, perhaps, the vision of that lovely cottage, and its gentle breeze. But that would have made me a coward.

  If Erica had to endure whatever was about to happen to her, then, I, too, would endure it.

  I met Erica’s eyes, and I watched.

  La Gancho started by undressing her. He did it slowly, like he knew he was putting on a performance. Her shirt first, he lifted up over her head, then her pants, pooling them around her ankles. She stood there in her bra and panties, shivering as the cold yellow light leeched all the heat from her flesh. So beautiful, and so in focus was she to my eyes that I could see the goosebumps rising on her arms.

  Marco, in his sinister, perverse way, seemed to match my thoughts. “Lovely,” he said. “Just lovely.”

  He ran his fingers down the length of her arm. I could see her trying to silence her shudder. Down her arm, across her waist, dipping in the warm cup of her belly button, and then slipping, like the slimy worm he was, beneath the lining of her panties –

  “No!” I roared, thrashing and kicking. “No! No! Stop! Stop! I’ll do anything!”

  Marco rolled his eyes and faced me, his cock bulging out from the leather of his pants. “Someone silence him!” He ordered, and Blade stepped forward to punch me in the gut. He was a weak, pathetic man, so there was not much behind it, but it was still enough to knock the wind out of me for a moment before I could resume my hollering.

  So Marco drew his knife again. This time, he pressed it against Erica’s throat. He bent her over, his bad hand fastened onto her scalp, forcing her head down, his bad hand clutching the blade to her neck, but all the more deadly for its clumsiness. And his erection, thrusting with terrible pressure against the silken film of her panties.

  Erica froze, chest heaving like a cornered animal, and I silenced immediately.

  “I’ll kill her, Dominic,” he whispered. “I swear I will. I cut her throat and pump her full of cum even as she bleeds out. Now, silence!”

  I swallowed my screams of horror. He kept the blade where it was, but released her head so that he could unbuckle his pants. His dick emerged, ugly and mottled and pink as the nose of a balding rat. At the sight of it, so close to my dear Erica, I felt my gorge rising. I knew this was the end. Even if La Gancho didn’t kill me, this was the end of me. There was no coming back from this.

  He spoke. “I’m gonna fuck her,” he growled. “I’m gonna fuck her so good, and then, once I’m finished with her, and pumped her full of my sweet hot cum, I’m gonna kill her, my dick still half-hard in her cunt. And then, with the very same knife I used to kill her, I’m going to kill you–argh!”

  A knife! Not the jackknife, or Marco’s blade, but a new one! Twisted and horrible–from the torture table! It flashed, wicked in the light, then buried itself in La Gancho’s shoulder. He screamed, a comic “o” of surprise on his face as he whirled around to see the perpetrator.

  Not me. I was tied up. Not Thunder. He was restrained by the two Crooked Jaws, who were gaping with such bovine looks of stupidity and astonishment that it could not possibly have been either of them.

  Which left–his ugly face distorted by hate and bloodlust–Blade.

  “You promised me you’d let me have her when you were finished,” he raged, tears on his pink, paunchy cheeks so that he looked like a toddler in the heat of a tantrum. “You said I could have her–but now you’re going to kill her!”

  “You idiot!” La Gancho shrieked, stumbling as he lost blo
od. He fumbled for his gun, aiming it at Blade, all while his stupid, ugly dick softened, retreating back into his pants.

  It was then that I noticed something very strange: Erica, rising to her feet, and, quite oddly, smiling.

  Blade and La Gancho glared at each other.

  “You can’t kill me,” Blade said. “I know where all the money is. Only I can keep the Crooked Jaws afloat!”

  “You bastard! You thieving, traitorous, bastard!” La Gancho shot back. He seemed enraged beyond sense–beyond words. “I’ll kill all of you!”

  His gun was flailing. Blade had stabbed him in his good shoulder, so now he was rapidly losing control of his good arm. He could not switch the gun to the other hand. He had no choice.

  He would fire. He was about to any moment. And from the tightness of the room, and his wild raging, he could shoot any one of us.

  I locked my eyes on Erica. If this was to be the end, I wanted the last thing I saw to be her. She gazed back and nodded sadly.

  Boom!

  The whole foundation of the building seemed to shake. La Gancho whirled, now pointing the gun at the door. Meanwhile, Blade blanched, and sunk back against the wall in terror.

  Two Crooked Jaws burst in. “The Broken Spires!” They cried. “They’re here! They’re waging war upon the compound!”

  “Haha!” I roared, but the sound of it was lost amid the sound of more gunshots, and what very well may have been explosives, coming from above.

  Thunder chose this moment to heave himself out of his stupor. He slung both Crooked Jaws off him, slamming them into the wall, and rushed towards me. Blade shrieked in fear, thinking he was coming towards him, and then darted towards the door. With three quick fumbles with the latch, he was out.

  “No, you don’t, you bastard!” La Gancho cried. He whirled back on the pair or Crooked Jaws. “You! Get Blade! And you! Hold the prisoners!”

  By this point, Thunder, with Erica’s help, had managed to hoist me off the hooks and place me gently on the ground. The floor seemed to sway under me, but I managed at least to keep my footing. Thunder grinned and grabbed one of the knives from the torture table. Erica, too, bent down to retrieve her folding knife, lying forgotten on the floor. The pair held both blades up, pointing directly at the Crooked Jaw.

  Boom!

  Another explosion shook the room! The remaining Crooked Jaw looked from our blades, pointed right at his heart, to the debris being shaken from the ceiling, to the wild, demented face of La Gancho, and decided to book it.

  Yelping like the dog he was, tail between his legs, he bounded towards the door.

  “No!” La Gancho screamed. He drew his gun and fired at the three of us. The shot went wild, the three of us diving aside in time to avoid any injury–that is, from the gunshot. To Thunder and I, hitting that cold cement floor was agony.

  Erica was the first on her feet. Though I admired her quickness, this was a mistake, for La Gancho darted forward, seized her by the arm, and dragged her, screaming, from the room.

  “No!” I cried, leaping up despite my agony and bounding after them. Thunder was a split-second behind. We burst through the door, looked left, and looked right.

  Nothing!

  “Go left!” I ordered him, while I took the right hallway.

  I was naked. Armed only with my fists–which was probably for the best. My tormented wrists were so swollen and sore that I probably could not have managed a knife or a gun anyway. And still, I sprinted in search of Erica. I didn’t care if La Gancho had a gun and a knife. I would kill him with my teeth if I had to.

  The corridor seemed empty. In the distance, I heard the shouts, cries, and explosions of a gun battle going on overhead. My heart swelled with pride for the Broken Spires. They were brave and loyal. Unlike the lowly Crooked Jaws.

  I ran. My bandages loosened and trailed behind me, a red and bloody banner. My naked feet smacked against the floor, leaving red footprints in my wake. My genitals slapped against my thighs, cold and exposed. And yet, I felt wonderful.

  I turned the corner.

  “There you are–Urgh!”

  I’d seen Erica, hurled on the floor, struggling to her feet, just before there was a flash of steel out of the corner of my eye. It connected with my temple, and the next thing I knew I was on my knees, the world swaying in nauseating colors before me.

  I saw La Gancho overhead. He dropped the steel pipe he’d used to hit me, and then drew his gun, centering it right on my forehead.

  “Farewell, Jasy-Baby,” he sneered, and then fired.

  Crack! The bullet exploded against the wall behind me. I stared in wonder, trying to regather my wits, and saw Erica, pounced on his back like a wild imp, clawing at his eyes and hair, her long naked legs wrapped around his waist.

  “Stinking cunt!” He swore, and tossed her off him, so that she hit the cement floor with a gasp. But she’d done was she needed to: she bought me time.

  Once again on my feet, I dove at La Gancho like a drunken brawler, knocking the pair of us to the floor. My vision was in a haze. Blood loss. Concussion. Everything swirling about in gleaming black leather and dingy cement. I bit, clawed, and punched, and yet, I felt myself losing. La Gancho was like a crocodile in my arms, savage and powerful.

  “No...” I murmured. “Erica...”

  Crunch!

  La Gancho stopped, sagging, suddenly useless in my arms.

  Crunch! Crunch! I felt drops of hot blood spattering my face. Slowly, my vision cleared.

  La Gancho lay upon me, unmoving. His skull was busted in, a cavity of blood and exposed bone like a bite taken from a jelly donut. Above us both, was Erica.

  Her lips were drawn back in a savage grimace. Her breasts heaved in her bloodstained, tattered bra. And above her head, clasped strongly in her fist, was the same steel pipe La Gancho had used to hit me.

  I swear, I could see bits of La Gancho’s brain on the cold metal.

  Marco Herrera, La Gancho, leader of the Crooked Jaws, was dead.

  I pushed him off me and gazed up at Erica in wonderment.

  “You are,” I said, my voice completely serious, “the most beautiful, wonderful, amazing, bad-ass woman I have ever met.”

  And then I passed out.

  Chapter Seven

  Erica

  “Oh, my God!” I gazed in astonishment in what I had done. The Hook was dead. There was no question about it. I could see bits of brain and fractured skull on the steel pipe I–I!–held in my hand! Part of me filled with horror so great that I considered leaning over and retching. But the rest of me–the stronger part of me–was fascinated, and, dare I say, a little proud.

  Dominic blinked at me, all his suffering blurring his eyes, but he still managed to say, “You are the most beautiful, wonderful, amazing, bad-ass woman I have ever met.”

  And then, he collapsed to the ground, unconscious. A trickle of blood flowed from his temple, joining the tableau of gore that covered the rest of his body.

  “Oh, no, Dominic!” I cried, wrapping my arms around him to try to heave him to his feet. Above me, explosions shook the whole building, dashing dust and debris from the ceiling as gunshots joined the fray. Then, in the distance, the most terrifying sound of all:

  Police sirens.

  “Come on!” I insisted. “We have to get out of here! Thunder! Thunder!”

  At last, Thunder appeared, limping and gasping and sweating with his broken ribs and his injuries, but in infinitely better condition than Dominic was in.

  “Christ!” He swore, rushing over. “La Gancho! He’s dead!”

  “Yes,” I grunted back. “And we will be two if you don’t help me.”

  “Right!”

  Together, we were able to heave Dominic up, and throw his arms around our shoulders. My heart broke as I touched him. His skin was sticky and hot, lying tattered across terrible, slicing wounds.

  “My God,” I muttered. “What did that monster do to you?”

  “Don’t worry,” Thunder grunted
as we trudged along. “He can take it. Dominic is the strongest man I know.”

  I nodded, accepting his comfort. Together, we were able to drag Dominic out the back exit, and up those slimy, slippery stairs.

  We were just in time, too. From our new vantage point, I could see that much of the top floor of the Crooked Jaw compound was on fire. Broken Spires were everywhere, swarming about the building like excited flies on a dying carcass. In the distance, I could see a huddle of defeated Crooked Jaws, their hands raised in surrender as the Broken Spires bound them, one by one, where they would wait for the police to arrive. The sight of it did not fill me with horror, as I once would have thought, but with joy. Both the Crooked Jaws and the Broken Spires might be criminal, but the difference between the two was enormous.

  “This is all well and good,” I complained, “but how are we going to get out of here?”

  “There!” Thunder pointed. In a far alleyway were two motorcycles, waiting, their keys already in the ignition. Beside them, I could see the cause: a pair of Crooked Jaws, lying dead on the pavement. I recognized one of them as the man who had been holding Thunder. They’d been shot in their attempt to escape.

  “Wonderful” Thunder cried, rushing over and stroking them as if they were prize stallions. Hurriedly, he heaved Dominic on one, then mounted the other, exclaiming, “Perfect!” As he did so.

  “Perfect?” I demanded, approaching hesitantly. “How the hell do you expect me to ride that thing?”

  Thunder frowned. In the distance, the sound of sirens grew louder.

  “I’d just assumed you knew how to ride,” he confessed, shrugging. “You fit the part so well in everything else.”

  “Thanks,” I responded sourly. “Can’t we all three ride on one?”

  “Maybe, but with Dominic’s dead weight and your lack of experience, it would be dangerous.”

  I scowled, thinking to myself. There was only one alternative.

  “Leave me here,” I said at last.

  Thunder gaped. “What?”