Temptation Island by Victoria Fox

won’t spare you nothing.’ Diego lunged for her—to kiss her, to take her by the throat?—but she was too quick. Darting from his grip, she ran. She went for the door, forgetting she had cleaned that morning and the floor was still slick with wet. Her feet vanished from under her. Uselessly she reached out to break the fall, spraining her wrist, and when her chin hit she felt a warmth of blood escape, so quick, as always blood was, as if her skin were an eggshell, or a balloon filled with water, thin-membraned and fit to rupture. A heavy foot landed across her back, pushing down on her lungs so that it hurt to breathe.
    She heard the click of a cigarette being lit. Seconds later, the door opened, tantalisingly close to Lori’s desperate, upturned face, but at the same time impossibly far away. For a brief moment she imagined help had come.
    It hadn’t.
    Three other men walked in. Her ears felt cloudy so it was difficult to understand what they were saying. Her mouth tasted thick, the smell of antiseptic in her nostrils.
    ‘She causin’ you trouble?’ One of the boots nudged her lightly with its toe, then, when she didn’t protest, a bit harder, like a child prodding a frightened animal with a stick.
    Diego hauled her up, holding Lori to him, her arms behind her back.
    ‘Let me go,’ she whimpered, making a futile attempt to break free.
    One glance told her that wasn’t going to happen. Circling her was Diego’s gang. She looked from one to the next, with each pinched, expressionless face feeling hope dwindle—then, worse, a shoot of fear that blossomed and spread, climbing into her throat. The way they were eyeingher, sharply, greedily, and with a satisfied reticence that she had not the experience to consider but knew instinctively put her body at risk. One had a long, thin ponytail down his back. He licked dry lips.
    ‘Try again,’ said Diego, menacingly quiet in her ear. ‘And get it right this time or we are gonna fuck you up so bad that when you look in the mirror you won’t even know who’s lookin’ back. You got that, chica ?’
    ‘Rico didn’t show,’ she spluttered. ‘It’s the truth. I don’t know what more you want.’
    Diego tugged her backwards. Pain shot up her arm. ‘Give it to us, Loriana.’
    She knew what they wanted. An alibi. The words that would set Rico free.
    He was her boyfriend. The man I’m supposed to love . But she couldn’t.
    ‘I can’t lie for him,’ she choked. ‘I can’t.’
    ‘Aw.’ Diego arranged his mean features into something like pity. ‘There was me thinkin’ you were his girl.’ Roughly, he pushed her. She landed in the scrawny grip of the guy with the ponytail. ‘Girls do right by their men, wouldn’t you say, boys? But then if you ain’t his girl, then we ain’t gonna treat you like his girl. We’re gonna treat you just like what you are—a dirty fuckin’ whore.’
    The scrawny grip was wrestling her. Violently she was thrust into another pair of arms, then another, and another, passed between them, playing with her like a kitten on a string, making her dizzy, her vision gather and dissolve like ink in water. The shoving got more and more forceful, she was conscious of hands seizing parts of her, wrenching at her with ferocity. She heard her dress tear. Someone kicked her, pulled her hair.
    ‘Stop,’ she begged. ‘Please, please, stop!’
    ‘Nah—not till we’ve had our fun.’ She didn’t know who spoke. Through the ringing in her ears she thought she heard a belt buckle being unclasped.
    ‘You heard her.’ A new voice. ‘Stop.’
    Lori was thrown to the floor. Through red panic a splinter of blue appeared, like water poured on flames. A hot current travelled down her spine, the hairs at the back of her neck prickling, thousands of needlepoints, each tip like fire. She became aware of her breathing, low and shallow, and her frantic heart.
    Diego spoke. ‘This ain’t nothin’ t’do with you, man. Back away.’
    The stranger