Buried (Bailey Roberts Trilogy #1) Editing

12: If I Die Young [3rd Draft]

11pm, January 23rd, 2011

Sam's scream pierced the air, but was quickly muffled by a large hand covering her mouth. The man's body was hunched over hers, holding her while walking down a flight of stairs at the same time. It stunk of bleach and rot, of blood and feces and dirt. The stairs and walls were caked with mud and the dull light coming from below was swinging menacingly from side to side.

"Shh, shh, don't have you in the crypt yet. You can scream all you want when we getcha in there. You're lucky you know that, Sammy? First one I didn't drug. My experiment," his whispered voice panted in her ear. "Gonna be awake the whole fucking time," he growled happily, grinding against her ass.

She jerked forward, hoping the movement would loosen his hold, but instead it knocked the wind out of her as she plowed into a dirty side wall.

"I knew you were a fighter kitten, but how hard are you going to fight when you're being cut open?"

"Please don't," she whimpered.

"Offer to do anything," he prompted, pressing her face forward into the wall, forcing her face to turn sideways.

The pressure of the wall digging into her cheekbones made her whimper. There was just enough light, just enough for her to recognize him too, just enough for the dread to fill her gut and over flow. "No. Not you. It can't be you!"

He smirked, leaning forward to slide his tongue up the side of her face. "That's why I get away with it. All that money behind me, all that power."

"W-what are you gonna do to me?"

His hand slid up from her neck to grip her hair. The sharp pain shot through her head as he yanked it back only to quickly slam her face against the wall. She felt the hot sting of her lip splitting open, before he jerked her up, lifting her feet off the ground so that the tips of her toes just barely grazed the floor. Her vision blurred and the bitter taste of coppery blood filled her mouth. She squealed as she felt his finger nails slide down her skin and wiggled, desperately trying to get away when his hands slipped down her thighs, shifting the material of her wet, white skirt. It's what she'd been wearing when he'd taken her a block from her home.

She sniffled, and braced her hands against the wall, too weak from being slammed into it to actually push off. She gasped as he shoved a hand between her thighs and then with the other hand hurriedly pushed the skirt up.

"No please, don't! Please, don't do this," she cried, sobs wracking her body. She attempted to push with her hands, but nothing happened. He was plastered against her back and he trapped her legs between his thighs, digging his knees in to keep them together.

She gasped as she heard the material of her underwear tearing, the motion causing a jerk of her hips, but it was the haunting small sound of a zipper that seemed to echo in her ears. He pushed against her and she grunted as he knocked her into the wall again. "I'm just gonna give you a taste of what's to come. You did ask after all, I'm just answering."

"Hey! I paid good money for her," a deep voice called from below the stairs.

"You paid to cut, not fuck!" he shouted in her ear.

Sam trembled and inhaled sharply, feeling her vision starting to fade.

"Not interested in raping. Only scumbags have to do that, I just like blood."

"Yeah well this scumbag is running the show, if I want to do 'em first then that's my call. Just remember Bear, I call the shots. in charge."

"Yeah fine, you call the shots."