Part 27 (1/2)
With a quaking hand, she raised the pistol and pressed its muzzle to her head.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO.
”Go on,” said the voice in front of Lacey. ”I'll f.u.c.k you anyway. Only thing is, you won't get a chance to enjoy it.”
She tried to force her finger to move, to squeeze the stiff, curved metal of the trigger just a bit, just a quarter inch, just enough. But part of her mind resisted. She wanted to live. She gazed at Scott's unmoving body, and didn't want to leave him. She wanted to see him smile again, to hear his laughter, to feel his gentle arms around her. Even if only one more time. As she stared at Scott, he moved one hand slightly.
She thumbed back the pistol's hammer.
”Adios,” said Hoffman.
She stabbed the pistol forward, felt its muzzle stop against Hoffman, and jerked the trigger.
”b.i.t.c.h!” he shrieked through the gun's roar.
Something clubbed her face, knocking her head back against the wall. Her hand stung. The pistol fell. Another blow struck her face. As she sagged, a hand clutched her throat. It held her to the wall. The neck of her tank top jerked out. The fabric stretched taut, popped, and tore down the front. Pain erupted in her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as he grabbed them and tugged her to the floor.
Her knees pounded the tile. He forced her backward. Down beside Nancy. Beside Jan. She tried to raise her head, but had no strength. Warm fluid spilled onto her legs as the gym shorts were yanked down. Hoffman's blood! Her pan ties were ripped away.
Where's Scott? her mind screamed. He's alive. She'd seen him move. Why doesn't he stop this!
She gasped in agony as Hoffman shoved into her. He rammed hard, one hand gripping her breast as if to keep her from being shoved over the floor by the force of his thrusts. A wetness splattered her shoulder as he plunged.
She should've...why hadn't she pulled the d.a.m.n trigger on herself and ended it? Better that than...
He pushed her head sideways. As he chewed and sucked the side of her neck, she saw Jan's face inches away from her own. The blank, staring eyes. The flap of dark flesh hanging off her cheek. The torn lips baring her broken teeth.
Dead.
Better this. Hoffman grunting and s...o...b..ring, twisting her skin, battering her insides with his vile organ. Better this than like Jan.
She lowered her gaze to the wide, blinking eyes of Nancy. They were filled with terror, but alive.
Where's Scott!
Hoffman's weight was on her now, crus.h.i.+ng her chest, his mouth mas.h.i.+ng her lips, suffocating her as he pounded down with his pelvis. Then he was rigid. Lacey felt his jerking throb inside her, the spurt of fluid.
He lay on top of her, breathing heavily. At last, his weight lifted. She felt his organ slide out.
She raised her head enough to see Scott and Dukane still unconscious on the floor.
”Guess what's next,” Hoffman hissed.
Lacey shut her eyes and said nothing.
He grabbed her hair and pulled her to her feet. ”One guess, c.u.n.t.” He paused. ”No? Well, just watch and see.”
The door flew open behind Lacey. A hand squeezed the back of her neck. Another clutched between her legs. She was lifted off her feet and hurled outside.
She hit the ground hard, tumbling, gasping as gravel and cactus tore her skin. Then she lay still and awaited the hail of bullets.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.
Dukane's head throbbed with fire. He lay motionless, feeling the floor under him, wondering what had happened. Slowly, he remembered. Guilt hit him like a club.
What have I done!
He forced himself to open one eye. The living room was bright with sunlight. Nearby was the sprawled body of Scott, hands cuffed behind him.
Dukane was tied with electrical cord. As he struggled to free himself, he heard a quiet sob.
”Scott?” he whispered.
The body rolled over. ”Matt?” His face was wet with tears. ”I thought you were dead.”
”Where's Hoffman?”
”I...I don't know. He took Nancy into the bedroom a few minutes ago. Probably in there. Matt, Lacey's...” He choked back a sob. ”Lacey's gone.”
”Where?”
Scott shook his head. ”I came to...asked Hoffman. He just laughed.”
”s.h.i.+t.”
”Oh G.o.d, Matt...”
”Take it easy.” He jerked his hands free. Grimacing as pain cut into his head like a lance, he rolled onto his side and untied the knotted cord at his feet. He scanned the room, and flinched. In the rocking chair facing the broken front window sat Jan. The shotgun rested over the sill, aiming outside.
”Beau Geste,” Scott muttered.
”Maybe the shotgun's loaded.” Dukane forced himself to stand. He took one step.