Buried (Bailey Roberts Trilogy #1) Editing

23: Fighter [3rd Draft]

It was only natural.

The heavy metal door she'd been spying through only a minute ago made a shredding noise against the dusty dirt-gravel ground as it was shoved open. Gwen's heart clenched as she buried her face into Sam's shoulder blades, shrinking down, wanting to hide behind the slightly emaciated blonde.

"Speaking of fun," the asshole said. He was the demon that have been, the man that was supposed to be the one looking for them.

And Gwen knew then that it was her turn.

The asshole was finally going to do what he'd done to Sam repeatedly, so often in fact the bruises on Sam's thighs hadn't even begun to heal. But he was coming for Gwen now, which meant he was getting tired of Sam. Gwen's breath caught in her throat and she eyed Sam's back.

...her nostrils flared with realization. He was going to bury Sam and soon. She could see the excitement in his eyes as he got closer to them. It was more than usual, like he was drunk off the knowledge. The erratic jumping leap in his step, his blue eyes bright with anticipation, they weren't just because he was about to rape her. It was because the time had come for him to bury Sam.

Thoughts of what she could do were racing through her head, but were rudely interrupted by the large hand clamping on her upper arm, yanking her roughly to her bare, dirty feet.

Gwen clenched her jaw and held her head high, wanting to pretend that this was The Green Mile. And for a moment she believed that she was walking towards a death she was ready for, desperately needing the peace that would follow, just like John Coffey. She could only stay there for a minute before the door to the cell slammed shut. She didn't even bother to scream as he pulled her towards the only piece of furniture in the area connected to that cell, the operating table. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of screaming. She couldn't.

She bit her trembling lip and let her thoughts drift to Oliver. She should've let him go.And it was then that she knewthat's what she would do. Think of Oliver, of how gentle he'd been with her that first time. It hadn't been great, she'd been a virgin after all, but the second time had rocked her world. When she'd broken up with him Gwen had tried it with two other guys, but nothing had compared to her time with him. So she settled.

If she survived this, she would never do that again. She would never settle, not ever again.

The startled cry escaped unintentionally as he roughly turned her around so that her back faced his chest. He pushed her down so hard that her cheek smacked into the rickety rolling metal table, knocking it into the tray beside the table, rattling the medical tools in it. The cool metal of the table barely soothed the sting. He adjusted her hips, pulling her towards him, but when he kicked her legs apart the whimper that came out of her mouth pissed her off.

What was she doing? Didn't she say she wouldn't do this? She wasn't going to just take it. He'd have to kill her first. She wasn't going to think about Oliver.

What was she going to do? How could she survive this? Think, think...think about getting him to stop!

Luckily he didn't go for the belt to his jeans right away as he grinded against her ass. It gave her time to think. It was when he let his chest fall against her back so he could whisper obscenities in her ear that she knew what she could do. Gwen reared back and the loud smack of the back of her head crunching his nose almost over powered her own painful cry.

"Oh you fucking bitch!" His nasally response as he pulled away gave her a feeling she hadn't had in a while. She felt powerful, worthy of making it out of this hellhole alive. And it was intoxicating. She wanted this power, she needed it.