Beautiful Evil Winter Page 6

  I’d like to take that machine gun to shoot off his penis and stuff it in his mouth!

  I hear him breathing hard as he grabs her waist with one hand and claws at her turtle neck collar with the other. He bites her neck hard as she screams “No!” Ignoring her, he moves his hands from the back to the front of her sweater, clawing upward under her bra and grabbing her breasts roughly, squeezing, biting and dry humping her. He makes sucking sounds as he nestles into her neck. I see him open his mouth wide and bite into her skin over and over again. The blood begins to ooze out as he uses his teeth with more force. He moves his hand to her midriff and savagely forces it down the front of her pants—busting the button and zipper.

  She jerks toward the wall and shrieks. With an easy smile and a pause to glance around, he moves his hand to the back of her pants and pushes them down.

  He steps back to look at her exposed bikini panties, his head tilting in a vertical stare of evaluation. With lightning speed, he produces a switchblade and moves in close behind her—brushing against her while whispering in her ear.

  Pushing then holding her sweater up, he traces her spine in a zig zag pattern from top to bottom with the point of blade. From the side, I can see tears well up in her eyes as she prepares to be stabbed. Then, in a flash, he lets the sweater fall and tears through one side of her underwear with the knife then the other. He tosses them aside with a chuckle and pushes her head into the wall while pulling her waist to his body. He unzips his fly and shoves his body into hers with a grunt of nauseating satisfaction.

  I’d like to take that knife and shove it up his ass! I look away in disgust. My teeth are grinding and my nails are digging into my clenched fists.

  I hear the scream of another woman who is being manhandled in the room –it’s the bleached blonde with the Louis Vuitton purse.

  Oh, no! What is this—commando orgy?

  My heart races and my palms sweat as I stand like a mannequin, frozen in fear of being noticed.

  I continue to watch, a captive audience member not wanting to draw any additional attention to myself.

  I watch with nausea as she looks away from the leader’s groaning face chewing on her neck—suckling on the control, the power and the blood. She stares blankly at the entrance of the bar. Her eyes look dull and blank. Her jaw is clenched and rigid.

  I scream silently as my thoughts race.

  Chunks of her soul being torn away by that parasite! Her eyes tell everything. Maybe, she’s holding out hope for help. If she looks at the entrance, she doesn’t have to see the horror in the faces around her. I hope she survives. I hope all of us survive.

  I look down at the floor to break from the tragic scene. Then, I glance at Ethan quickly. He is transfixed in disbelief.

  One of the men calls to him. Even more startled, I glance around. The man with the pony tail smiles broadly and speaks in broken English, for the benefit of Americans in this popular tourist hotel.

  “You enjoying the slut, Mikhail? Will you have her once or twice? Maybe, we all try her. She looks like she taste good,” he smiles again, a dirty lustful smile.

  The leader humps her harder and laughs loudly. He holds up two fingers in response and thrusts his body into hers again.

  “Twice is good. The second time-no clothes and more blood. Everyone gets to stop and watch,” the militiaman translates with a wink.

  I turn my head away in revulsion, choosing to look at the floor as I rotate my body.

  I saw a documentary about violent crimes – one young virgin in the 1930’s lured by a man onto a train under the pretense of a date. He sexually attacked her–gnawing and biting her naked skin. She eventually died from the wounds… and that was before HIV.

  She should pee or fart, something to disrupt his savage train of thought.

  Think—rain, shower or dripping faucet.

  His humping abruptly stops, and he grunts in pleasure.

  “Mikhail! Another tall man with short-cropped red hair crosses the room toward him. He drags along a dark-haired panicked man, stymied by a strangle hold. He angles his machine gun into the man’s portly belly.

  “Let’s go! We’re finished,” another militiaman apparently shouts.

  I venture a look around.

  Across the room, the screaming woman, a willowy tall blonde with ice blue eyes, stops screaming. Her attacker shoves his forearm under her throat—muffling her screams. He unzips her pants. His switchblade positioned near her face. I stare in abject terror.

  His face! It looks like someone sliced it…. from the top of his right check across his lips to the bottom of his left jaw. One long jagged gash severing lips which healed—unevenly.

  I swallow the “potato’ wedged in my throat.

  In one swift move, the blade easily tears through the line of buttons on her scoop necked sweater. The other men notice the scene, watching with glistening hungry eyes. A few lick their lips in expectation like hyenas at a kill.

  I slowly cast my eyes back at the leader.

  Please let this be the end of it all. If he goes, they’ll follow.

  “Da!!” The leader snickers looking down at his pants which had fallen around his ankles. He grabs the girl by the waist to position her in front of him. He pulls her blood-caked blonde hair aside and yanks her collar down to show-off her bubbling neck wound on the right side. He licks the wound from collarbone to earlobe—licking it like an ice cream cone. His hand then goes under her sweater and slides under her bra groping for her left breast. He grabs it tightly like a tug of war rope. His hand balls up under the sweater as he digs his nails into her breast deeply, holding her in place. He groans loudly in satisfaction. Laughter fills the room as the group revels in their leader’s joy. He smiles broadly—his mouth and lips smeared with her blood.

  Schadenfreude! What a surprise! Barf!!! Maybe, he won’t kill her since his task is complete. Maybe, he’ll just go. Maybe, it ends now. I think as I shudder.

  I hear a loud slap and turn to look. The disfigured man shoves the willowy blonde against the wall. She turns her face to one side and touches her right check. Tears roll down her face. Her face contorts in horror.

  “Give her something to remember you by, Artur” the man with the pony tail shouts in Russian. He glares at me with bloodshot dark blue eyes—translating with a twisted smile.

  “Hmmm…” He puts away his knife and jerks the woman by the wrist away from the wall. In an instant, he spins her around so she faces him. He clamps his forearm across her throat and grabs his switchblade. With one quick movement, he arcs the blade above her left breast and into her cleavage stopping just below her right breast. The blood begins to seep from the cut. He jerks her around to face him and tilts his head to one side to examine his work. She shrieks and cris crosses her arms protectively against her chest. She crumples to the floor in a heap crying louder. He nudges her onto her stomach with his boot, unzips his pants and straddles her. He pulls down her pants to continue. He grabs her hair with one hand—pulling her head back to center her. Her arms and elbows follow her hair backward and he plunges himself into her. She screams in torment while he heaves and thrusts to the sound of the applause in the room. I look away, my body quaking with fear.

  He repositions himself and continues to pump her furiously while the men whistle and jeer.

  “Ah…” He smiles broadly, stops and pulls away from her

  The faint smell of bleach, of his fluids, fills the air.

  “Please leave me alone,” she cries as she hunches over the floor face down. Ponytail translates mimicking her emotion. He moves in closer to get a better look.

  That heartless bastard! If he didn’t terrify me, I’d try to kill him!

  “One more thing,” Artur sneers as pushes her down and he rolls onto her again.

  He flashes his gleaming blade to the onlookers as he shoves her into the floor—waving it above her head.

  “Please don’t hurt me anymore!” She sobs uncontrollably. Ponytail mocks her and rubs
his eyes as if crying.

  She cranes her neck to look at him. Her eyes widen in horror at the sight of the blade.

  “Please I beg you,” she pleads. He translates and clasps his hands together as if begging.

  He draws back his fist and punches her hard in the side of the face.

  She lay unconscious on the floor.

  I turn to look away and tilt my head down.

  He stares for a few seconds at her left buttock and then pushes the blade into the top of her left hip like he is writing with a pen—carving into her skin.

  I shake uncontrollably at the sight of this woman’s nightmare.

  “Something to remember me by—my initials,” Artur chuckles as he stands up and pulls up his pants. More whistling, applause and a flutter of high fives as the men walk past him to look at the woman on the floor, a prized trophy at a major sporting event.

  Ponytail takes great pleasure in providing an English translation to the group as he stares at me.

  Poor woman. They have their target. They should leave. This blood lust should end now. I could be next…. This is just a spectacle of sadism and sex. Is it over?

  A glacial shiver races down my spine.

  Ethan! He sees all of this and he can’t do anything to protect me!

  I glance quickly over at him. A militiaman points a gun at his head. He obviously noticed our interaction as a couple.

  I shouldn’t have grabbed his hand to comfort him! The sour milk taste of guilt floods my mouth and stomach.

  As Ethan looks at me with helpless horror, Ponytail suddenly moves toward me—lunging forward and grabbing my arm.

  A tree of flaming anger burns through every appendage in my body.

  12. DO OR DIE TRYING

  I grit my teeth. I pull back; then, I allow Ponytail to pull me forward and bring my cowboy boot down hard on his right instep. Taking my left hand, I ram it up to his nose. He releases me, falls backward onto the floor and moans in agony—the perfect opportunity to kick him between the legs.

  I draw back my leg back as quickly as possible and kick him in the crotch with turbine force.

  Make him hurt! It’s payback time for me and those women!

  He grabs his genitals as the team stands stupefied, mouths agape.

  “You bitch! I’ll make an example of you!”

  I look up at Ethan and at the weapon aimed at his head. Ethan stares in wide-eyed shock. My eyes dart from Ethan to the weapon and back again to Ethan. His eyes sparkle in recognition.

  I’ve created the distraction that no one expected.

  Now, Ethan! Don’t stand down! His comrades expect him to win!! They’ll stand down to watch him win to watch him deal with me, the woman who shamed him!! Use that!! Be a surprise to him!! He reads people. He doesn’t consider you a threat!

  “Now!” I mouth—my eyes bullets of motivation.

  Ethan violently elbows the man next to him in the stomach, creating a diversion to grab his weapon, stepping behind him to aim his gun at Mikhail. Ethan’s face is taut as he stares with deadly intent.

  Suddenly, Ponytail lunges toward my ankle and latches on to it while reaching for the other.

  In an instant, I become a bargaining chip—leverage in a fire fight.

  “You don’t realize I wear a … How you call it? A cup.” He cackles with satisfaction as a blood-curdling smile plays on his lips.

  He laughs as I struggle to free myself. He’s pulling himself toward me.

  “Ethan! Help! Do something!” I beg.

  I look at him in horror, wondering if he’ll step up. In one quick move, Ponytail grabs my other ankle, forcing me down to the floor. With a thud, all air evacuates from my lungs.

  His mouth curls in a twisted dark smile as I lie momentarily stunned.

  “My example” he announces huskily as he reels me in flipping me over to face him. My fists pound him furiously fueled by hate and rage, a fiery torch of searing self-righteousness pitted against a tsunami of evil.

  Ethan, you love me. Don’t let this happen! I’ll hate you forever if you don’t protect me!

  “Yes, this is going to be fun,” he smiles. I turn my head to the side, and he grabs my face with both hands and covers my mouth with his—his tongue pushing into my throat.

  As I punch and squirm, he chuckles. He keeps his mouth trained on mine—pressing into me.

  I move my knee ever so slightly. It’s not in position.

  With his thumbs, his hooks his hands on either side of my hips—pulling my pants down and forcing his tongue down my throat repeatedly. My blood congeals and my heart pumps wildly. I continue to wiggle and punch.

  Stay chilled! You’ll find your moment and maybe Ethan will find his resolve.

  The cold air hits me below the waist like a gust of wind. I tremble involuntarily.

  Ponytail suddenly releases me and laughs. I scowl at him in disgust and lie still.

  “You want to see me rape your wife? Everybody watch me rape your wife. And you’ll watch them rape your wife because you are coward.”

  I’ll die before I let that happen. They’ll have to kill me first. Ethan knows that about me. I’m a fighter. I love you Ethan, but I despise you for letting this go this far. I may well die before you figure out what to do. I think Ponytail may be trying to goad you into action with a new target to save Mikhail.

  Ponytail turns back to me with an eager smile, grabbing my battering arms. He pins my wrist above my head with one hand and licks the side of face. Using the other hand he claws at my top until my breast is exposed. With a gleam in his eyes, he moves his head to my breast and suckles it loudly while watching my expression.

  What’s that on his hand? It’s a ring—a ring on his left hand. He’s married! The psycho bastard is married to some poor woman! My level of repulsion just hit a new level, dangerous to my control and focus.

  “You disgust me!” I shout as I buck up underneath him.

  I catch a glimpse of Ethan in my periphery. He’s biting his lip. I’m surrounded by an audience of lascivious cheering men.

  “I like disgust. I want more disgust from you!” he cackles.

  He returns his mouth to my breast—nibbling it and rubbing his free hand back and forth on my crotch. I look to the left and notice a guy dressed in black like the others, but he’s wearing dress boots instead of military boots. I stare at his shoes, disconnecting from the moment.

  The stays are pulled tight across the front with a buckle across the top. And there are… parallel pink and yellow squiggly lines drawn across the toe. A smiley face stares at me from inside the instep.

  I’d bet a kid drew those squiggles. Ewwww!… I bet he’s a Dad—Mafioso/counterfeit cop by day and daddy-o at night.

  A glowing cherry ash of a cigarette butt falls next to his boot as he cheers on Ponytail—his fist raised, his hips thrusting forward and his gun lowered.

  Da! More! Yeah! Go!

  My around-the-knees pants trap my legs. Ponytail is breathing heavily, in full arousal mode. Leaning into me and groaning. We gnarl together like trees, one struggling to survive in the shadow of another.

  My resistance increases his libido. I need to disconnect and be lifeless.

  I look in to his eyes for a moment, they’re dark and glittery like a hyena’s at a kill. He pauses and smiles as he looks towards Ethan.

  “She’s very responsive—your wife. Her body so tight and sexy. I make her groan in pleasure so you can hear her disgust. Everyone else hear her too.” Ponytail returns his hand to my crotch and his head to my breast, nibbling and suckling loudly. His fingers begin to explore aggressively rhythmically, and my breathing changes. He pauses and looks at me, grinning.

  “Da, that’s what I want. You ready for me,” he chuckles as I grimace. I flex my knees to check his position and squirm to escape his continual assault.

  This is self-loathing and disgust. My body likes this, but my mind hates it. I like for Ethan to dominate me, on my terms. I feel safe then, but now I’m a pri
soner of my biology. Now, my surgically-repaired anatomy betrays me. Rancid revulsion roots in my throat like dangerous debris—threatening to damn the stream of life-saving thoughts. He raises his boot between my legs and pushes my pants down to my ankles.

  “You still can’t go anywhere. Does your husband usually fuck you like this?” he says loudly, looking around the room with a smirk. He releases my wrists and pushes me onto my side. His right forearm locks around my neck. He spoons me, panting and forcing his fingers inside one orifice then another.

  The guys roar as I seethe with hate. The laughter and applause anchor my resolve to kill him somehow.

  “Yes, I have fun—great fun with your body. It’s soft and it want me.”

  Retracting my neck back, I lash forward like a snake to bite his forearm. The taste of blood and flesh in my mouth never welcomed until now.

  “Fuck! You stupid kunt! Accept your fate as my prize!” He says as he shoves me away to inspect his now bleeding arm.

  Time is what I need—time to think and time to do.

  Balancing with my elbows on my belly, I check his location. He’s slowly crawling toward me on all fours like a lion stalking a crippled gazelle. With a smirk, he pauses, resting on one side to unzip his pants. I use the moment to look away from him.

  I need to find something to disrupt his thoughts, to thwart his actions.

  Maybe, a cocktail stir stick, a knife or a pen.

  I crawl across the floor toward leather shoes before he grabs my ankle. Fisting my hands, digging my elbows, knees and toes into the floor, I resist the only way I can.

  I glance around to see him on all fours, ready to penetrate me. A loud laugh escapes his lips as he pulls me toward him.

  He grabs my hair pulling my head back as I feel the touch of his naked thigh. His large hand pushes on the small of my back forcing my back to arch and my hips to pop up.

  Oh, no. Please no! The point of no return! Ethan, where are you? If this happens, we’re done!

  I feel his nakedness angling close, his leg and chest hair grazing my skin, as he positions himself behind me on all fours.