Free The Edge of Honor by P. T. Deutermann Page A

for Tizzy, but it was hopeless. Bob said to stay right there, that he was going for some more drinks, but she thought that it was probably time to get the hell out of there.
    Embarrassed and a little tipsy, she pushed through the crowd, fanning her face with the jacket and walking unsteadily from the heat and the drinks. She was perspiring and starting to feel uncomfortable with what had been going on out there on the dance floor. What on earth had gotten into her to act like that? She looked at her watch, looked again, and saw that it was well past midnight.
    Sobered, she hurried past the crowd of drunks milling around the front door and headed for the parking lot beyond, her shoes scrunching on the gravel walks in quick time, some bawdy comments following her from the club steps. She peered again at her watch. Damn, no doubt about it. And she had been the one pinging on Tizzy \ Her carping words about the witching hour echoed in her ears and the sinking feeling in her stomach was confirmed when she could not find the white convertible.
    As if hoping to make it reappear, she walked slowly over to the empty spot, looked around the nov/-half-empty lot, dropped her purse onto the gravel, and said, “Shit!” in a loud voice. Then she heard a scuffling noise behind her.
    She started to turn but was seized from behind by two strong arms and literally pulled up off her feet and up against a large male body that stank in equal proportions of beer, sweat, and cigarette smoke. She struggled, but he was immense and he had her arms pinned along her sides, inside of his own arms, and his hands were fumbling with the sides of her skirt. She tried to yell for help, but his arms were squeezing the breath out of her. All she could manage was a series of small yelps. She tried kicking back at him, but he was much too strong.
    She realized with growing horror that she could feel his erection pushing against the small of her back. He was talking to her in a low, slurred voice: “Gotcha, baby.
    Come to papa now. You been wigglin’ yer pretty ass at me all fuckin’ night, and now, yeah, now—there, yer gonna love it, baby. Stop yer kickin’ now. Just lemme— yer gonna— “
    He was dragging her backward toward the bushes lining the edge of the parking lot, her struggles doing no faod, her stockinged heels barely touching the ground, he realized her shoes were gone and that he now had her dress pulled all the way up over her hips, the night air suddenly, shockingly cold on her thighs. He was fumbling with his own pants as he dragged her toward the shadows. Her eyes filled with tears as she realized that she had absolutely no leverage, no way to get away from him, no—
    “Problem here, miss?” said a man’s voice from behind them. “Why don’t you put her down there, Marine.”
    Her assailant stopped in his tracks and turned his head, lurching sideways, and relaxing his grip for an instant.
    The movement landed her back on her feet and she dropped straight through his arms, sprawling on her bottom. She bounced back up to her hands and knees, then, rising, spun around to face him, backing away rapidly, yanking her skirt down. She could see the figure of another man behind the Marine, but his face was in shadow.
    “Help me, please, help me,” she cried. “He was—he was—”
    “He’s going to go back to his buddies, aren’t you, Marine? Going to go eighty-six for the night. Had a little too much beer, right, Marine?”
    The man’s voice was flat, emotionless, but somehow menacing.
    The big Marine was fumbling with the front of his pants. Maddy could see that he was weaving unsteadily, trying to keep her in sight while looking at the other man.
    She backed away a few more steps, laboring to get control of her breathing and her runaway, pounding heart.
    “Who the fuck’re you?” grumbled the Marine.”
    “Wasn’t gonna hurt her or anything. I was only gonna fuck her, for Chrissakes. You saw her. Askin’ for it, man.
    Who