Free A Vampire's Honor by Carla Susan Smith Page A

these bastards touch me while I was on my knees.
    â€œYou have no idea what he is, do you?” I said, panting from exertion and looking at the morons watching me.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Rat Boy asked suspiciously. The constant movement of his hands was starting to give me a headache. Fiddling with his collar, tugging at his jacket, hitching up his jeans.
    â€œPetrov. You’re completely clueless about what he really is.”
    â€œHe’s the guy who’s gonna give me a lot of cash to mess you up,” Gus said in a cold, calm voice that sent a shiver of fear down my spine.
    I shook my head and realized trying to enlighten them was futile. They would never believe me.
    â€œSo what d’you think, Gus? You think she’s still got some fight in her?” Rat Boy had watched me struggle to my feet with something that could pass for reluctant admiration.
    â€œHard to say,” Gus replied. “Any bitch that’s cornered is unpredictable.”
    â€œYeah, but she’s only got one good hand, Gus. I don’t think she’ll fight. Maybe she would’ve before, but not now.”
    The bigger man shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn’t make much difference either way. I just need to hear her scream.”
    â€œWell, you’ve always been good at making them do that.” Rat Boy clearly idolized his bosom companion. “So, you wanna get started?”
    I didn’t have to ask what Gus was going to get started on. The look on his face said it all.
    Rape has its own particular violence, its own savagery, and the man who succumbs to its cruel lure, using it to crush the body and conquer the will of its victim, cannot help but be forever tainted by its evil. Make no mistake . . . rape is a weapon. Which explains why it was—and still is—such an effective way for conquering armies to subjugate and terrorize entire populations.
    Knowing that you’re going to be raped is its own torture. Deciding how to react to the violence that will be committed is a choice I believe most women make without any hesitation. God knows, I’ve watched enough TV to know the most important thing a victim can do is survive. But when survival has already been taken off the table, it becomes a completely different ball game.
    But was I going to survive? Until I had proof of the effect of my demonic bargain, I was taking nothing for granted. Besides, why would I think a demon would tell me the truth?
    Because you kissed him?
    Wow, you just can’t let that go, can you?
    You would have known if he was lying.
    When my inner bitch sounds this smug, it’s because what she’s about to tell me is something I either already know or should know.
    You would have tasted it on his breath.
    See what I mean?
    Unfortunately, her words didn’t exactly fill me with confidence as I watched Gus pull his T-shirt over his head, revealing a tattoo of a coiled snake on his left pectoral. Dropping his hand to the waist of his jeans, he slowly unbuckled the belt at his waist before popping open the button on his fly. His zipper seemed unnaturally loud as he pulled it down, but to be honest, my own anxiety acted as an amplifier. I watched in disgust as he slipped a hand inside his pants and began stroking himself. With his gaze firmly fixed on my face, he watched for my reaction. I curled my lip and, with moisture I didn’t know I had in me, spat in his direction.
    Unfazed, Gus continued to stroke himself. There was absolutely nothing sexual or erotic about what he was doing. No pump or grind accompanying the masturbation, and judging by the expression on his face, he didn’t seem to be getting any pleasure from it, which I found even more disturbing. But then again I’ve only ever watched one other man masturbate, and he definitely enjoyed it. Not as much as having me do it, but seeing Gabriel pleasure himself is something I find extremely erotic. And highly arousing.
    It took me a