Love LockDown (30 page)

His hand smacks me in the face hard, on the opposite side to earlier, more blood filling my mouth. I have to spit it out onto the floor, the toxic copper taste making me feel ill.

His hand snakes around the back of my neck bringing it close to his own.

“I said, have you got it? Understand?” I nod slightly, the pain in my cheeks spreading like a wildfire to my head.

He leans in and attacks my mouth with his, forcing his tongue in. I take it; doing anything I can to appease the bastard, to protect me and my baby. His nails dig bitterly into the soft skin at the nape of my neck, piercing it.

“Now, we need a way to get our very simple point across.” He looks to me and then he then looks to his men, “Remove her top.” I squirm a little in my seat trying to stop them from getting to it. “If you struggle poppet, I will make promise to my threat a lot sooner than planned. Sit still like the good little whore you are and it will be over quickly.” I stop my movements instantly, all of them, including the rising of my chest as I breathe.

Their dirty hands lift my top over my head, leaving it to drop and land around my tied wrists. The soft material warms my fists, giving them some kind of shield, to stop these animals from seeing the uncontrollable shaking present there. The fire crackling in the room at least gives heat to my otherwise chilly and frozen core.

“Now the bra.” No, no, no I scream in my head at them, wanting to say it out loud but knowing I will be murdering my own child if I am to fight back, my instincts from my street days returning. Take it like a whore, do everything they say and you’ll be safer. A switchblade is flicked open by the man on my right; images of the alley on the day Leighton found me filter through my head, causing my breathing to accelerate and my internal struggle to stop my panic from showing failing somewhat. He walks in front of me and hooks the knife under the center support of my bra and pulls, slicing through the lace easily. My breasts spill unwantedly out from their cups.

The Goosebumps that rise across the flesh of my breasts aren’t from anything exciting, they’re from the pure and utter disbelief, fright and panic I am now in a state of.

“Wow, you are something else darling, what a lucky little prick Leighton is. Why is he at that restaurant of his fucking that whore when he could have you? If I were him I’d be fucking your tight little cunt every second of the day. I might just have to have a tester myself.” I want to throw up, I can feel the warm goo rising to my throat begging for release, my bladder is about to explode and my body screams for help.

“Now, I will leave a nice message for Leighton, right here,” he points the switchblade he has taken from his man and points at my bare chest, “or maybe here” he points it to my face, “or maybe even here. Yes I think he’d definitely get the message here.” His voice splinters my soul as I feel cold metal touch my groin. I thank god I have jeans on right now because I can’t bear for them to see me, bare and uncovered. Only Leighton is allowed to see that. “Yes that’s perfect. REMOVE THEM!” he shouts to the two brutes beside me. “Be sure he gets the message will you.” He smiles bitterly at me.

I start to struggle as my jeans are torn form my body, no matter how much I resist or cry or plead they still end up in a crumpled pile on the floor.

The leader steps a little closer, pressing the blade to my collarbone and presses a little, the metal slightly slicing the skin. Only surface level but it still sends a pain zapping through me.

“Please, don’t. Please stop.” I scream loudly, trying to appeal to their moral side, but the only answer I get is a cloth pressed to my face. I start to become hazy and tired. As I feel I’m going to pass out they remove it, and then a hand slaps lightly to my face waking me up.

“You continue making that god awful noise and I will be forced to shut you up entirely. You have two options, number 1,” he holds up his index finger “you let me leave this message for you fiancé wherever I deem suitable, and then we will leave and you may or may not hear of us again. Or option 2, and my favorite option in my opinion, I tear this cunt apart,” he brings the blade to my cotton concealed vagina, swiping it down the length of my grove cutting me lightly once again. I can feel the tiny trickles of blood soaking my knickers, “I will fuck you, and then he will fuck you and then he will fuck you as well,” he says pointing to the two cronies, “and then just for the fun of it I will fuck you once again. I will make you bleed; I will make you cry and beg, and I will make you scream for a real fucking reason and then, I will slit your fucking throat and leave you and that spawn of Saturn in there to fucking die because quite honestly this world doesn’t need any more whores than it already has. So what’s it going to be, 1 or 2?” he holds up one finger then a second to indicate the options. I felt cold, almost dead inside until those tiny little baby flutters happened reminding me it wasn’t only me here.

“One, please one. Just please don’t hurt my baby.” I beg. I coach myself in my head of what to do. Remain calm, let them do everything they need to and then let them leave and never speak of this again.

“Oh, well that’s a shame sweetness; I was very much looking forward to feeling how tight you are. But I suppose if you’re like any of his other sluts you’ve probably had half of London.”

“So boys, where should I leave this message?” he asks them, all three men now stood in front of me analysing their canvas.

They all stand huddled together for a few seconds with the occasional nods and ah-hums before turning and heading back my way. “So, princess, we have a few things we’d like to say, so we might need a little more than just you. But we’ll start here,” pointing to my chest,” and we’ll see where it takes us okay?” he taps my cheek patronisingly. “This might hurt so here’s a little something to help.” He places the same cloth over my face until I am nearly unconscious and barely coherent.

In my head I am fighting, I am pulling and pushing at them to stop the torture as time and time again their knife penetrates my skin. Every inch of my body has a mark; well that’s what it feels like anyway.

I scream through my haze as the knife for the second time attacks my crotch. The pain is unlike anything else I have ever felt. Forget anything my father has done, forget the streets, forget the emotional pain of Leighton betraying me, because as I feel the agonising tear of that blade ripping me apart I want to die. I want to be gone from this world and away from any more suffering.

“That’s looking mighty artistic boss.” One of the voices says.

I can feel the hot fresh blood pouring from the wound, drowning my thighs and the chair.

“Let’s finish this boy’s” I hear the leader say, as I am untied and thrown to the floor haphazardly. I can feel the warmth of a human body, then the smell that isn’t my Leighton, it is a stranger and my body doesn’t want it.

I wish to god I had a knife in my clutch right now because I want to end this, end everything as I feel something slip inside of my vagina.

“Just how I like it, tight and bloody.” One of them say as that cloth is once again placed hard and forcefully over my mouth, this time sending me into an appreciated and welcomed coma.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Abbi, God Abbi. Jesus Christ. Wake up angel.” It is my Tom; he is here to keep me company. Heaven is a god awful quiet place you know.  “ANT!” I hear him shout, and I am happy he has come too. All I hope now is my Leighton will join our little gathering here beyond the pearly gates to hold me when the clouds become too soft to handle. All though right now, these clouds are rock fucking solid.

“Fucking Hell.” I hear the words leave Antonio’s perfect mouth and it makes me smile.

“DON’T JUST FUCKING STAND THERE, CALL AN AMBULANCE, SHE’S FUCKING BLEEDING YOU DICKHEAD. AND CALL LEIGHTON!” Thomas screams loud and angry. It makes me want to shy away a little, well if I can, I do try moving but nothing happens. “Hold on baby girl, hold on. Please Abigail, don’t leave me. Hold the fuck on.” I can hear him crying and I wonder what the hell is going on.

I feel myself closing off again, drifting away one more.

“No, stay with me.” Tom says one last time before everything is black again.

*****

I hear an annoying beep, beep, beep of something around me, my head and thoughts cloudy. I hear the muffled voices around me.

“Is she going to be okay Doc? Please tell me she’ll be ok?” I hear Leighton worried and panicking beside me. I try my hardest to open my eyes and search for him but they refuse to shift. The feeling of staples holding them together, fusing the lids to one another makes it impossible to open them.

“Sir, please, calm down. We need to take her to theatre. You need to stay here.” What the hell is wrong with me, I feel no pain, no tension, just nothing.

“Calm down? Calm the fuck down? Somebody has fucking mutilated my fiancé. Do not tell me to calm the fuck down. I won’t fucking leave her on her own again.” I can physically feel the rage pouring from my fiancée, I want to sit up, open my eyes and tell him I am fine, but I know deep down inside my foggy mind that I’m not fine, I am obviously in hospital, why? I have no clue.

“Sir, you need to leave, we have to get her to surgery now, I will call security if I have to. So please just go. We’ll find you when we have some news.” The doctor sounds calm and collected trying to reason with Leighton.

“Okay, I’ll go, but please fix her, help her, she can’t die.” I can hear the anger turning to pain. I feel his fingertips brush my cheek. I want to place my hand to his or turn and kiss his palm, anything to calm him down.

“Sir, it’s not that serious, looks as though she will just need a skin graft, a few stitches here and there and maybe some back muscle to repair. I’m going to prepare her for surgery now, so if you would like to go and take a rest in the visitors lounge hopefully she won’t be more than a few hours. I’m sorry this has happened; I want to get herself looking back to her again. I’ll do my best okay.” the doctor and Leighton have both calmed down.

“Okay I’m going. I need to make some calls anyway. Please just tell me as soon as she’s out.” I feel him kiss my forehead “God baby, I’m so sorry, I love you.” I hear him say in my ear, I feel his wet tears slide down his cheek and onto mine.

I feel my arms being prodded and poked, liquid gushing into my veins. Then I really fall asleep. No dreaming, no feeling or hearing anything, completely and utterly comatose.

*****

I see the lights overhead flickering in and out of my view, my bed moving. My eyes feel heavy, lead weights holding them closed.

When we arrive into another room, my bed is situated, the breaks applied and then the tube in my throat removed. I can feel the rubber as it brushes every inch of my esophagus on removal. The movement causes a horrendous gag in my throat; my body turns to the side and proceeds to expel my stomach contents, which isn’t a lot, mainly air, which in turn feels agonising on my stomach.

After what seems like an eternity, I finally manage to open my eyes completely, the lights in the room blinding me. I flinch and hiss as the fluorescents hurt my aching eyes.

“Good to see you awake Miss Adams. You’re in the hospital. How are we feeling?” God I hate when Doctors speak to you in the third person, what was I three years of age?

“Shit.” My one word croaky reply sums up my whole being. All I can feel everywhere in my body is pain, from the tip of my head to my aching and sore feet.

“As expected my dear. Now tell me Abigail, do you remember anything.” Do I? I ask myself, because pretty much most of whatever happened to me is a complete and utter blur, I only remember snippets.

“Some of it. I remember waiting for Leighton to get home, I remember three men in my home. Then I remember the pain.” Oh God the pain, my baby. Please NOOOOO! I reach my hands down to grab my stomach, finding the huge thing still sticking out from beneath my hospital gown. The sigh of relief is probably louder than I expect it to be.

“Your baby is absolutely fine Miss Adams, luckily. You pulled a few of your back muscles, so you’ll have to take it very easy as the weight of the baby could make them worse and tear them completely. You’ll be on house rest until the birth. We have skin grafted your chest; hopefully only minor scaring will be visible after it has settled down. We have stitched up your other bodily wounds and facial injuries; they should heal fine, within a few months you won’t even know they were there. You also had a small bleed within your brain from the bang you took to the head, but we’ve fixed that all up. You will be very sore in your genital area for a few weeks at least, there was some substantial damage done there but we have managed to fix it and should heal fine sweetheart. You’ve just got to rest to allow yourself to heal properly.”

“Thank you; can I see my fiancé please?” I ask him timidly, I just want his arms around me, keeping me safe.

“Of course I’ll go and tell him you’re awake and expecting him, he’s been here for six hours.” The doctor walks from the room. My hand moves up to my chest, seeking the cuts I know are there. I only find thick dressings covering my flesh, the skin underneath the padding tender and sore.

I rub my aching jaw finding it sore as fuck. My eyebrows sport stitches, as well as the back of my head where I had smacked it on brick walling around the fire place in the lounge.

My nerves at seeing Leighton are sky rocketed. I feel so many different emotions towards him at this present moment in time, I don’t know how to deal with them all.

I feel physically sick at the thought of what has occurred, angry at him for provoking them enough that they could have killed me and his child, angry that he was with
her
, her of all people whilst I was being attacked to an extent I still don’t comprehend, sad that he would have felt helpless to do anything, petrified that it wasn’t the end of it, that it was just the beginning of the war, and that any day they could reappear and things could be even worse. That next time he would keep to his threat.