His Princess (A Royal Romance)(10)

The general pushes me through the camp. I trip a few times over loose rocks and stumble forward, and his fingers dig into my arm. A quick shove sends me onto a carpeted plank floor in his tent, and he nudges me with his boot.

“Get up,” he says, in English.

I awkwardly get on my knees and scramble to my feet.

Think, Penny. There has to be a way out of this. This can’t happen. Not to me.

It’s going to happen to me. He’s got a pair of cots with thin mattresses pushed together in a crude double bed.

He steps over to me, knife in hand, and grabs my shirt. He saws through the fabric and tears it away in ragged strips, until I’m down to my bra. He repeats the process with my shorts and I feel the blade skim over my ass, cold against my skin.

He admires me for a moment. His eyes are like disgusting lizards crawling on my skin, leaving sticky trails. I want this to stop now. I want to wake up.

“I speak English,” he says, in the slow tones of someone who doesn’t do it very well. “CIA man says you are not virgin. This true?”

He touches the tip of the blade to my chin. “You not lie. You lie I cut.”

Trembling, I squeak out, “I’m not a virgin.”

I’m not sure that’s what he wants to hear. If I say I am, he’ll probably think I’m just trying to get away from him and hurt me for it.

What choice do I have? God only knows what he’ll do to me if he thinks I’m lying.

“Good. Virgin cost too much for man like me. Used girl feel the same when wrapped around cock.”

Holding the blade edge down, he sticks it between my legs and I tense. The dull back of the knife touches me and I go stone still, my blood freezing. Oh God.

“How many man you f*ck? Not lie.”

I swallow. “One.”

The flat of the blade presses against my inner thigh. One quick cut and I’ll be dead before I hit the floor.

“Not lie.”

“One, I swear to God I’ve only ever had sex with one man.”

“You love him?”

I swallow again. “Yes. Very much.”

“Where is he now? You leave him in America?”

My voice is hollow.

“He’s dead.”

“You sad for dead man you f*ck?”

A horrible urge floods through me. Just tell him to f*ck off and let him kill you, Penny. It has to be better than this.

“Yes. I am sad for him.”

“I make you feel better.” I can’t see his face but I can hear the leer in his voice.

No. No no no no no no please…

When I don’t move he grabs my arm and shoves me over the bed, facedown. Instinct takes over and I start to struggle, until I feel the edge of the blade pressing into the back of my neck. I hear a zipper.

“After I f*ck you, you clean my cock, American whore.”

I squeeze my hands together and clench my teeth and do something I haven’t done in a long, long time: I pray.

God, if you’re up there, help me. Please, somebody help me. This can’t happen. Please.

The general freezes, listening. I hear it, too. A whine, low at first, then louder and more shrill by the second.

The night lights up like day, long shadows rolling over the ground outside as the light source moves. Through the tent flaps I see it, a flare falling out of the sky trailing a column of smoke. The general, his greasy erection still bobbing loose in his fly, turns around and forgets the American whore for a second.

Then the explosion comes.

I can feel it in my chest. It rocks the ground like a giant picked up the entire mountain and shook it from side to side, and I’m on the floor before I realize what happened. The general starts to move and I scream in fury, shove my legs out, and trip him with my calves. He goes down and turns, rolling, the knife rising to plunge into my belly.

I kick him in the face and he grabs my foot.

Another explosion rocks the world, so loud it leaves a ringing in my ears. The general gets up, his fury forgotten in panic. Fly still open, he charges out of the tent, big belly jiggling and bursting out of his undershirt over his belt.

I somehow get up. I’m on my feet before I even realize what happened. My heart pounds in my chest, beating so hard I think it’s going to throw me off balance from the force of it. In my underwear, covered in scratches and bruises I don’t remember getting, my arms bound behind my back, I run outside.

The night lights up again. The flare falling from the sky is blinding. I hear shouting and can’t make out the words. The first pops of gunfire ring out to my left, and more come in answer, echoing off the mountains.

The thumping of a helicopter roars overhead and I land on my ass in the dirt, get up again, run. I need to get my hands free and get the hell out of here. I run in the general direction of the tent where they held Melissa.

It’s not her fault. I can’t just leave her to this, or that other woman. I see the tent and run around the corner toward it, and straight into a cluster of fighters. They spin around with their rifles in hand and aim them right at me.

Time doesn’t exactly slow. It’s like it was running fast, and now it’s at the real speed. I can count the stitches on their gloves and the hairs on their fingers. I see the bones in their hands lever as they tighten on the triggers.

This is how I die. Spared from violation only to be shot down like an animal, left to rot in the dirt because my captors don’t have time to abuse me.