The only valuable item Tahlia had left now was a small brooch attached to her dress and, of course, her bag.
The man suddenly shoved her roughly against the wall beside them, and began to fumble beneath her shawl for her other wrist. He also tried to grab her bag.
“Give me the bag,” the man snarled into her ear.
Refusing to give him anything he wanted, she clenched the bag in tighter fingers and stubbornly refused to relinquish her hold. Trying to do two things at once put the man at a distinct advantage. It left Tahlia free to scream as loudly as she could.
“Shut up,” her attacker snarled.
Rather than appear panicked, the man sneered at her as he cupped her chin in ruthless fingers. One long forefinger pointed upright and was placed firmly over her lips.
“Do that again and I will cut you where you stand,” he warned.
Tahlia’s stomach churned as his fetid breath swept over her, but she refused to be cowed by him. She knew that his other hand still held her now stolen necklace so unless he had a third hand somewhere he couldn’t possibly be in a position to cut her. Fuelled by the man’s evident stupidity, she began to fight harder.
“You are getting nothing of mine,” she bit out.
When he leaned toward her again she began to slap randomly at his face. Her bag hit him loudly against the side of his head, and made him groan in pain. Relieved that she had found a way to fight him, she screamed as loudly as she could and continued to slap at him with renewed vigour. Over and over, she whacked his hands, his face, his head, his shoulders, and any other part of him she could reach. When that didn’t seem to have much effect on him, she slapped harder and harder. The sharp sting of her fingers hitting his flesh made her finger ends tingle but she didn’t dare slow down. He tried to dodge her flailing fists, but she refused to stop.
“You will not get anything of mine,” she bit out. When that didn’t appease her anger, or force him to leave, she began to hit him with her bag.
“Stop it, you crone,” he snarled.
It was only when the solid clunk of her heavy bag hit him, and he cursed roundly as he clutched the side of his head, that she remembered the heavy iron key inside.
“Take that, you oaf,” she snapped in outrage as she swung at him again and was rewarded with another thunk of key striking flesh.
The man snarled in rage.
Sensing he was about to get nastier, Tahlia tried to lunge toward the road, but became disorientated and confused. She was lost. Was she lunging toward the other end of the alleyway? Where was the road? She couldn’t see it. Her fear was palpable as her panic grew. She knew that getting back out onto the main street would mean survival, but she had no idea which way to go. If she got this wrong, she would go further into the alley and heaven only knew where she would end up then. She would be completely at this thug’s mercy, and would probably never be found.
The thought of one very small boy waiting for his mama back at home swept into the forefront of her mind. With a renewed surge of determination, Tahlia began to kick, swing and slap as fast as she possibly could. It was impossible for this attacker to lunge for her again and his stance quickly turned into one of defence.
When no rescue appeared, she screamed as loudly as her voice would go.
“Help!”
She stopped temporarily when a stinging blow slammed into her cheek. It was so hard, so brutal that it stole her breath as effectively as the assailant had stolen her jewels. Stars danced behind her eyes. She stumbled against the force of the hit. Tears pooled in her lashes as she gasped for breath. Stunned, she blinked and willed herself not to fall to the floor.
“Gimme yer bag,” the man demanded more loudly.
“Go to Hell,” she snapped.
The blistering curse that met her ears was horrifyingly loud. The attacker grabbed her shoulders with cruel shoulders, holding her steady against the wall. Pinning her in place with one heavy arm across her chest, he grabbed her wrist in a ruthless hold and tried to yank her bag out of her hand.
She refused to let go.
“No,” she gurgled.
“Give it,” the man ordered.
When she didn’t, he began to drag her toward what she presumed was the back of the alley. Desperate, she slapped her bag against his wrist, but when that wouldn’t work she bit into the grimy fingers clawing into her shoulder.
He immediately yowled in pain. His restraining hold eased enough for her to wrench herself free. When he tried to grab her again, she lifted her bag and swung it at the grasping hand, trying desperately to dodge his hold. If she had the breath left to scream she would have done, but she didn’t. Her energy had started to wane along with her anger. Fury was rapidly being replaced with soul deep fear. That began to feed the helplessness that left her scared, confused, and considerably weaker than her opponent.
In one last attempt to find a way out, she opened her mouth and screamed.
“Help!”