Free The Concrete Grove by Gary McMahon

She knew it, and the men in her flat knew it. This was a game, a routine, and they were all aware of the rules. They would intimidate her for a little while, maybe even rough her up a bit more, and then they would take whatever they wanted in lieu of money owed.
    Her right cheek was burning. The pain where she’d hit the wall with her head was a gentle throbbing, subsiding as she spoke to the men.
    The big man stepped forward. His leather jacket creaked and his footsteps were loud and heavy, like sacks of wet earth being dropped onto the floor. “You know why we’re here.” He pushed Terry out of the way, bringing up his hand to stroke her cheek. “We’re going to take your stuff and go away. Then we’ll come back again, but for the money next time. This is a warning. We won’t hurt you, not today. But next time we’re going to have to break some fingers, or maybe even a pretty little hand. Not an arm or a leg – that’ll come after. It gets worse each time.” His meaty fingers slithered across her face, cupping her chin. He squeezed, forcing open her mouth. “We might even take something else... something that you won’t want to give freely. You have a very pretty mouth.” He blinked rapidly, as if there was something in his eyes. “So does your daughter.”
    Lana was breathing heavily, as if her heart was approaching a cardiac arrest. It was panic, building in her chest and spreading outwards, like a fire. She fought to control her rage: lashing out would make things worse, and probably result in even greater violence.
    Just a warning , she thought. That’s all .
    “There’s a message, too. From Monty. You want to hear it?”
    Lana nodded. He was still gripping her chin, keeping her jaws locked open. Her mouth was wet. Saliva filled the back of her throat, but she was unable to swallow.
    “If you want to pay off the debt in another way, come and see him at the gym. He’s always willing to negotiate, and you’re a very attractive woman, Miss Fraser.” He paused, cocked his head to one side like a dog. “You don’t mind me saying that, do you?” He pushed his knee between her legs, forcing them apart.
    “No,” she said, her breath coming in short, sharp stabs. “No, not at all.”
    The big man pressed his broad kneecap into her groin. Her legs began to tremble.
    “Thank you, Miss Fraser,” he said, pulling away from her. “Now we’ll just take a few things and be on our way.”
    Lana felt her body crumple like a discarded suit. Her legs buckled and she slid down the wall, rubbing at her chin. Her face ached; her legs felt like partially disassembled plastic toys, unable to hold her upright. She sat on the floor and watched the three men as they moved around the flat, mentally cataloguing her belongings. When Terry, the one with the leather gloves and the quick hands, entered Hailey’s room she fought the urge to scream.
    It took them less than thirty minutes to clear her out. They knew what they were doing and the type of goods they were looking for. They only took the stuff that was worth something in terms of resale value; everything else they either left behind or destroyed for fun. The last thing they carried down the stairs to load onto the back of their van was the television. Hailey would be distraught if she couldn’t watch her shows: lacking close friends or any kind of regular social life, she used her video games and the TV as her main sources of distraction.
    But at least they’d left her books. Thugs like these were not renowned for their love of literature, and Hailey had a shelf filled with classics and science-fiction novels, books that had belonged to her father. Hardy, Wells, Vonnegut; the girl loved her books, and would have been distraught if she'd lost them.
    The men said little more before they left: just a few words, a couple of vulgar promises that washed over her, not even touching her where it mattered. The big man grabbed his crotch in his massive hand and blew her