Antonino didn’t get her bloomers past her knees before Charlie started sobbing, reaching out her crooked fingers towards Tommy, “Please don’t let him.”
Tommy took her chin, turned up her tear stained face, and murmured, “There now, Lottie. I can be reasonable. You have something to say to me?”
Blubbering too badly to make sense, the only word understood was, ‘please’, over and over.
The collected, soft smile of her tormentor grew. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. So long as you obey, do as you’re told, and serve your husband as a good wife should, I won’t let my men touch you.” He cradled her bleeding body against his shoulder, the softness of his voice a lie. “But if you do disappoint, or use that tongue in any fashion that does not please me—next time after they beat you, I’ll let them fuck you in ways that won’t put a bastard in your belly.”
He wanted her to swear faithfulness, to watch her sell herself into servitude in exchange for reprieve. But the only thing he truly offered was a lifetime of Hell. She’d been momentarily weak... she’d faltered. But what difference was rape now versus rape later?
It took a moment for her head to clear, for vision to sharpen, and intention to turn razor sharp. There were only two broken words Charlie could offer. “Fufffufuuck yoouuu.”
Furious, shoving her back to the floor, Tommy roared, “Hurt her! Hurt her bad!”
She didn’t scream when dragged to her hands and knees, she said nothing when pawing hands began to poke between her legs. And thank God she didn’t, because if she had, she might have missed the sounds of distant deliverance.
Masses of gunfire.
Each cold pop was near enough to mean only one thing. “S
ounds like not all of Beau’s men were keen on having a traitor play boss, Tommy. They’re comin’ for you.”
She got a kick in the head for her lip, a kick that dropped her.
There was sweet silence, the men far too busy scrambling at Tommy’s orders.
“Antonio, take care of her. Marco, you’re with me.”
One guard, one vengeful woman, and one piece of discarded rope wet with her blood hanging conveniently from her wrist...
Once they were alone, Antonio flipped her onto her welt covered back and tried to jam his cock between her thighs. All he got for his trouble was a garrote around his neck, twisted by a woman with nothing left to lose.
The Italian tried to fight back, slamming her down against the floor. All it did was tighten her grip. He went red, then purple, then blue, Charlie pulling hard enough her bound wrist dripped blood between them.
In a matter of minutes, the goon fell full upon her, eyes bulging. Even so, Charlie did not let up on the garrote’s hold until the bastard’s soul dropped straight down to Hell.
He was a heavy motherfucker, but she was past pain—past feeling.
Rolling him off, she took the revolver tucked into the bastard’s belt. She ignored the burn on the bottom of her feet, and scrambled as fast as unsteady legs could carry her.
Using the wall for support, Charlie stumbled out of the building—falling, standing, forcing herself forward. Beau’s office wasn’t far, and the near sound of breaking glass and blasting guns promised her the revolt was far from over.
She stumbled on.
Behind a barricade of cars, Beaumont’s loyal men shot up the front offices.
And he was there.
Radcliffe... with that frightening look in his eye, led the assault. He was pale, had a wound bleeding from his gut, another in the shoulder. And he was losing.
Charlie clicked into tunnel vision. Raising the hand gripping her stolen pistol, she aimed right for the Italian scum shooting at her old boss.
Standing in the dark, unseen, gave her the advantage. Charlie pulled the trigger; the foremost Italian was shot straight through the throat. His buddy’s head exploded, and the other man who hurt her—he looked up just in time to see her, so Charlie might enjoy his face when she shot him in the cock.
Firing two more times in rapid succession, two more bodies fell to the ground, the front ranks of Tommy’s borrowed men broken.
Dropping her empty revolver, Charlie stumbled through the remaining crossfire to rob a corpse of his loaded Colt 45. She checked the chamber, ignored the sounds of someone shouting her name, and killed every man between her and the side door, before shoving her way through.
And then there he was. Tommy crouched for cover behind Beaumont’s overturned desk, three men hunkered beside him.