Earning the Cut (Riding the Line Series, Prequel) by Jayna Vixen Page B

gestures. Rhee began to struggle in earnest, employing every one of her self defense class tricks. She stuck her thumb into her captor’s jugular and he grunted with surprise and fury. Rhee screeched in outrage as her bottom was walloped so hard she was sure it would be bruised. Nausea bubbled in her stomach as several of the men at the bar stood up and adjusted their pants. Then, they hauled her, kicking and screaming, into the rear room.
    Rhee squeaked as she was thrown down roughly onto a concrete floor. She landed on her left shoulder, hearing a sickening crack and then it immediately went numb. She wondered hazily if it was dislocated. A small light bulb illuminated above her and she blinked rapidly. Her heart was beating a million times a minute as she gazed at the five men who formed a ring around her, circling her like sharks to wounded prey.
    “Damn, puta. You know how to fight? Fight me!”
    A smallish, Latino man who seemed to have some status approached, and Rhee waited several agonizing seconds before placing a well-timed and entirely unexpected front kick. There were several surprised whoops as she managed to catch the man in his groin and he fell back, hissing violently. The next guy fared no better, she slipped out of his grasp like an eel. Finally, two men grabbed Rhee and held her motionless as the first man, purple with rage, ripped her shirt straight down the front with a jackknife. There was a collective catcall as her lacy white bra was exposed. Her breasts heaved with anxiety and a rosy blush stained her flesh as the rough men stared.
    Stay calm, Rhee. She saw her opportunity as they leered at her chest, her arms pulled painfully behind her back. Both legs came up and her sharp instep caught one of them right in the nuts. Then, stars danced across her vision as someone backhanded her across the face. Then, her arm was pulled straight and she struggled furiously when she saw the needle poised against her arm.
    “Let’s dose this little wildcat. I’m gonna tear her apart,” a voice growled.
    Terrified, Rhee screamed herself hoarse as the needle broke her skin. They’re going to rape me! She tried to struggle, but to her horror, her body stopped responding. After a few moments, she dangled limply in the first man’s grasp, suddenly fascinated by the raised scar on his left cheek. An evil chuckle wafted to her ears as she tried to process what was happened in a detached kind of euphoria.
    Then, Rhee was swimming in a sea of languid confusion. Voices drifted slowly around the room but they didn’t make any sense. There was a slow, deliberate explosion of activity as a series of loud cracks pierced the night. In slow motion, her tormentors wafted out of the room, leaving her crumpled on the floor. Slowly, she managed to pull herself up, her blurry eyes on the dark rectangle that the men had disappeared into. Rhee floated out the door and into the darkness that lay on the other side.
    I want to go home.
    She pushed her arms in front of her as though she were doing the breaststroke. Her father’s soft bedtime voice resonated in her ear as a soft, familiar melody played in her mind. A commotion down the corridor sent Rhee in the other direction.
    Fly away, little butterfly…
    A cocoon! There was a sleek black cocoon in the parking lot. Rhiannon the butterfly floated towards the cocoon and fell inside. She collapsed into the warm, cozy safeness of the haven. Then, she knew no more.
    ***
    It had been a hard sell, but Dax and the crew had convinced The Chicos to hand over the guns. Well, perhaps “convincing” wasn’t the best choice of words. Sonny had Miguel’s pants down, and was threatening to surgically remove his testicles before The Chicos V.P. had acquiesced. Dax didn’t feel bad about the violence. It had, after all, been the The Phantoms’ deal. He was just sick of the constant stress gunrunning produced. They loaded up quickly, filling the Suburban with the A-Ks. Dax leapt into the