Trashy (Take It Off #10)(50)
Author: Cambria Hebert

He thought I was just going to perform right here, right now because he slapped me? No way in hell.

I rushed for the office door again and he gave chase, shoving me from behind. I hit the desk and slid across it, scattering most of what was on it onto the floor.

My cell being one of those things.

I scrambled up to lunge for it, but he caught me by the ankle and spun me around, dragging me across the desk. He jumped on me, pinning me to the wooden top, and stared down at me with angry eyes.

Who was this man?

He was so different than the boy I’d met at seventeen.

“You will do this, and when you do, I’ll walk away.”

“And if I don’t?” I asked, struggling against him.

“I’ll kill you. And then I’ll kill him.”

I started to scream. I swung at him, my fist connecting with his jaw, and his head snapped back. I used the momentary distraction to roll out from beneath him. I fell onto the floor, but I kept moving. My phone was just feet away so I scrambled over. Just as my hand closed around it, Craig jabbed his foot into my rib.

The air whooshed out of me, and I sprawled across the floor onto my stomach. The sharp pain in my middle caused me to groan.

“That’s it, bitch. Make those sounds in the film.”

I sat up and glared at him. “I’ll never do it willingly.”

He appeared as though a light bulb came on over his head. “Even better.”

He grabbed a handful of my hair and dragged me out into the bar. The cameraman trained the camera on us.

“You ready?” he asked the man who used to sit in the bar and stare.

“Oh, I’ve been ready.”

Oh. My. God. Was this the man I was supposed to sleep with in the video? Chunky bile rose up in my throat.

“She’s not too willing,” Craig said. He made it sound amusing.

The man with the camera smirked. “You know how much money perverts pay for a rape fantasy video? This will pull in a shit ton of money.”

They planned to stand here and watch and record this animal raping me and then sell the video for profit?

I’d rather be dead.

I started fighting.

Craig had a hold of my hair so I punched out with my fist and hit him in the side. He made a wheezing sound and released me. I realized I was gripping my phone. I dialed 9-1-1 and hit SEND. Before the operator could answer, the phone was knocked out of my hand and it slid across the floor and under the table.

“Get her,” Craig ordered my stalker.

The man I recognized from the bar was wearing jeans and a wife-beater tank top. He gave me a sick grin and stalked forward. I ran to put the nearest table between us. He kept coming.

“You’re going to like it,” he said. “Fighting me will only make it better.”

I gagged and grabbed up a chair that was upside down on the table. I didn’t have much arm strength, but I launched the chair over the table at him.

He dodged it easily.

“I like a woman with some spunk,” he said, still coming closer.

I started screaming again, yelling for help, and I made my way around the room. I needed to get to my phone, but he was in front of it. Then I remembered the phone behind the bar. I rushed forward, skittering across the floor and behind the bar. My hand closed around the closest bottles of liquor, and I threw them at the man pursuing me.

Craig and the cameraman just stood back and watched like this was the best show they’d ever seen.

A sob ripped from my throat as the man leapt over the wooden bar.

I picked up the phone, but he snatched it out of my hand and dropped it on the ground. His viselike arm went around my waist and lifted me off the ground so my legs were dangling in the air.

He carried me back around the bar, the broken glass crunching beneath his feet. I was kicking and screaming and clawing at his arm. Still he did not let go.

“This one’s a little hellcat,” he said, directing his words to the camera.

He threw me down on the table and leapt at me, forcing his way between my legs. “No!” I screamed, punching him.

He grabbed my wrists and pinned my arms above my head. With his free hand, he took a handful of my top and yanked, the soft fabric gave way and I heard the seams ripping.

Cool air brushed over my chest as it heaved.

Fat tears rolled across my cheeks as a rough hand gripped my breast and groped it coarsely. He started thrusting his jean-clad hips into me, dry-humping me while I screamed.

He tore away the lace of my bra and snatched my nipple between his finger and thumb and pinched it so hard I cried out.

He grunted and slammed his hips into me. I could see the bulge in his jeans, and it made me sick.

I tried to kick him. I tried to roll away. The more I struggled, the harder he squeezed my breast.

His hand finally released my bruised flesh, but he still pinned my wrists. His free hand reached for the buckle on his jeans.

“Please, no,” I whimpered.

“I like a woman who begs.” He grunted. He undid his jeans and shoved them down over his hips. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, and his penis sprang out and pointed to my body.

I started crying.

I couldn’t believe this was happening. I couldn’t believe Craig would go so far as to watch me get raped.

My rapist took a moment to stroke his cock, rubbing it back and forth and then dragging it along my clothed core.

I scissored my legs closed and tried to buck him off. He spanked me, leaving my ass burning.

Fight, Roxie, fight!

I could not let them do this to me.

“Drag her to the stage,” Craig ordered, his voice cold and lacking emotion. The man kicked off his jeans completely and then pulled me off the table. My knees threatened to buckle, but I held strong. I prepared to kick him, but before I could, he threw me over the table again, stomach side down, and ground his raging hard-on against my ass.

I screamed.

He reached beneath me and I recoiled, his hands on me was the most disgusting thing I’d ever experienced. I felt the buckle on my jeans give way and the zipper slide down. I threw my head back and the crown of my head slammed into his face. He grunted and stumbled back. I rushed away as pieced of my ruined, tattered shirt trailed behind me.

I ran into the office, knowing I could call for help with the landline and then at least barricade myself until the police arrived.

The rush of feet followed along behind me, but I didn’t turn to see. I heard Craig ordering the cameraman not to miss a thing, and I heard the grunts of pain from the man who was trying to rape me. I made it inside the office and grabbed the door.