Isabelle

"Help!" I scream into the white fury, struggling to wrench free from Garrison's lackeys' grubby hands. The man who yanked me from the car clumps his hand over my mouth.

Vick.

He was always Garrison's favorite goon. I remember because his name rhymed with "dick" and "ick," which happens to describe him perfectly. I raise my head and manage to bite down on his hand, sinking my teeth not relinquishing my hold until he yelps and releases me.

Vick stumbles back, cursing, as his friends howl with laughter at him for being overpowered by such a petite girl. Mockery is the perfect opportunity I need to escape before they can remember their repulsive plans for me.

I crawl toward the front of the van, wincing as the bright headlights worsen my pounding headache, but I don't have time to wait for the pain to subside. I stagger toward the trees, hoping they—in combination with the snow—will help hide me.

"Bitch!" Vick yells, but I don't look back.

I break into a run, unsure which way to go except for as far away from them as possible. God, I really wish I'd paid a little more attention in my Girl Scout meetings. I might have a better sense of direction now, if I did. My pulse steadies with each step that broadens the distance between me and the wolves. But then my breath catches in my throat as Vick's voice cuts through the wind.

I'm not sure if his voice is being carried by the wind or if he's nearby until my hair's yanked back, causing me to lose my footing. I scratch and punch wildly as Vick drags me back toward the others. His hand clamps around my throat, cutting off my air as he slams me against the van's icy metal side.

The force of the impact sends my body's agony into overdrive. My head feels like it's splitting open as it slams into the freezing metal. I groan as the sharp, stinging pain radiates through every inch of my body. I reach for my throbbing head, but two more men seize my wrists, holding me down. I twist and yank, trying to break free, but each tug against my captors seems to only excite them, making their grip even stronger.

"What a feisty one. Now I see why Garrison wanted you so bad. The aggressive ones are always the best fucks," Vick sneers, tightening his grip on my throat.

He leans in, his disgusting grin widening as I feel his bulging crotch press against my pelvis. My brows furrow in rage at his sick pleasure of my torment. My hatred builds as he licks my cheek until, without thinking, I bash my head into his and knee him in the testicles. My pulsating head is quick to reprimand me for the action.

"Fuck!" Vick gasps, clutching his groin with one hand and rubbing his forehead with the other.

God, I hope that smarted him more than it did me—and that he's now completely sterile.

The last thing the world needs is more of his dumbass genes running around.

His eyes narrow when he notices the blood trickling down his face. "I was just gonna play with you a bit, but that little stunt's gonna cost you... a lot."

He yanks my coat open and rips the button off my flannel as I fight against him. He tears my bra, exposing my breasts to the icy air, my nipples hardening from the cold. He licks his lips and clamps his mouth over them. I groan in disgust as his lips suck at me, his tongue teasing my nipple.

"You like this, don't you?" he asks, pulling away with a smirk.

"Fuck off," I choke out, spitting in his eye.

He snarls, wiping off my spit. Then he snickers, unzipping my pants and sliding his hand into my underwear. I tense, cringing as his fingers brush my clitoris as the other two men begin sucking my breasts. He brushes against my clitoris as his other fingers push inside my vagina. I squeeze my legs tighter, but it's no use.

"Just like I thought—you're soaked down here," he says, pressing harder on my clitoris, forcing a groan from me. "You're a nasty little cunt, aren't you? Acting like you don't want this, but—" He grinds his penis into me, and a moan slips out as their hands continue to grope me. He turns to some of the other men gathered around us. "Open the back of the van."

Panic floods my brain as my back smacks the filthy, seatless van floor. I gag, watching Vick unzip and whip his penis out over me as the others restrain me. As he climbs on top of me, I fight to block out the horror that's about to ensue. He leans in, rips off my glasses, and tosses them across the van.

"Let's see those pretty blues," he grunts, licking the side of my face.

I tremble helplessly, shutting my eyes and desperately trying to escape by transporting my mind to a safer place. My family's shop... my mom's garden... but instead, when I close my eyes, Adam's face is the only thing that appears in the darkness.

Why him?

What's wrong with me? Maybe I'm concussed or completely and utterly insanity. I should hate him even more now. If he weren't such a jackass, I wouldn't be in this predicament.

And yet, as filthy, stubby fingers violate me, here I am imagining they're Adam's strong hands—touching me, teasing me, for both of our enjoyment. He saturates my brain as the men begin to yank my pants off, and gradually, a small part of my fear dulls. My imagination is so vivid, I can almost hear Adam calling my name. It sounds so real, so close.

Wait?

My brow steadily arches, uncertain if I can trust my ears, but I swear it sounds like he's actually here.

Yep, I'm off my rocker. I've got stress-induced cuckoo syndrome or something.

Or at least, I think I am, until a loud thud from outside shakes the van.

"Vick, get out here!" My eyes fly open as one of the men outside the van—waiting for their turn with me—tugs the door open.

Vick groans and licks my chest one last time before climbing off me. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"Fuck! Johnny, Carl, get out here, now!" Vick orders, and the two men restraining me rush out of the van.

I scrambled to my feet, find my glasses, and pull my pants back up before creeping toward the doors. I'm startled by what sounds like a neigh, but I keep moving, needing to see what could terrify monsters like Vick and his men. My eyes blur with tears, and warmth floods through me, washing away the icy fear as I see Phillip stomping his hooves—while Adam fights off the five idiots.

Adam swings at them one after another, his eyes wild, like a feral animal fighting for its life. Except he isn't fighting for his life. He was safe in his house.

He's here fighting....

For me?

A smile crosses my face at the thought, but it quickly fades when Adam lets out a gut-wrenching roar. He's been struck from behind with a branch. He collapses to the ground, gasping for air as the men stomp on him, causing Phillip to thrash, agitated.

Adam's eyes catch my watery stare, and he mouths, "Run." But I can't move. I just stare at him until Vick obscures my view, jumping on top of him.

"You trying to play hero all of a sudden, moneybags?" Vick sneers, slamming his fist into Adam's face. "Should've tried that five years ago," he growls, punching him again. "My family lost everything because of your greedy ass." He rains down blows, faster and harder.

He's going to kill him.

I watch as Adam's blood splatters across the freshly fallen snow.

I can't let this happen. I won't let him die trying to save me.

Then hurry.

I rush to the front of the van, throwing open the passenger door. I send up a silent prayer as I open the glove compartment—and there it is. A handgun.

Of course, dickholes like these guys have guns.

I exhale slowly, steeling my nerves as I move back to the men.

"Stop!" I scream over the howling winds, raising the gun and firing into the sky. The men freeze, staring at me—clearly forgetting I was even here.

"Stupid bitch," Vick growls, standing and lumbering toward me.

I point the gun at him and fire again. The bullet grazes his cheek, leaving a red streak.

"The next one won't miss," I threaten, silently thanking my dad for insisting I learn to use a gun for my late nights at the shop.

"You're fucking insane," Vick yells, holding his bleeding cheek.

"And I have amazing aim, too," I add, pointing the gun squarely at his crotch. "Wanna see?"

He quickly covers his junk like the sniveling coward dipshit he is.

"Then get in your van and never come back here," I say, keeping the gun aimed between his legs.

He glares, but when I flick the safety off, he spins around to his men. "Get in the van! We're gone."

As they pass Adam, a couple of them spit on him, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to pull the trigger. As soon as they're gone, I rush to Adam, slipping and sliding on the icy road. I help him to his feet—he's barely conscious—and manage to get him onto Phillip before he passes out. pull myself up behind him and guide the horse back toward the house.