He leads me up to another door, pushes it open and pushes me in. I trip a little as I step into the room, but then my escort yanks hard on my arm, pulling me up so I don’t fall on my ass.
“Get on the table,” he orders.
Looking around the room, I take in the dark panels of the walls, the little stool with wheels, the little table with medical instruments, and finally the table he wants me to get on.
No. No fucking way, I think as I stare at the table. It’s one of those medical tables with metal stirrups my gynecologist uses, but there are leather restraints attached to it.
“Get on the fucking table now,” my escort growls and shoves me towards it.
“No.” I shake my head and pull down on my arm, trying to yank it out of his grasp.
I’ve put up with a lot of shit so far but I’ve reached my limit. There’s no way I can just willingly climb up on that table and allow them to strap me to it.
“Why do they always fight the table?” the other goon chuckles behind us.
“Fuck if I know,” the guy holding me grunts. By the arm, he tries to drag me closer to the table but I’m having none of it.
Unable to free my arm, I turn on him and try to push him off. He doesn’t budge.
His lip curls up with a sneer and my feet nearly leave the ground as he yanks my arm up harder. My shoulder screams in protest as he drags me closer to the table, my toes dragging against the carpet, and I feel my towel fall away.
“No!” I cry out and continue to fight him. I start to kick at him and lean back against his grip even though the pain in my shoulder is nearly excruciating.
He’s going to have to yank my damn arm off because there’s no way I’m allowing them to strap me down.
Right now, in my mind, there are things worse than death.
He pushes me up against the edge of the table, trying to force me up on it, but I twist and take a swing at him.
My punch lands against his chest and he grunts softly.
Taking another swing, this time at his face, his hand captures my hand in mid-punch. He applies so much force with his crushing grip, a scream builds inside my throat and my knees start to give out on me.
“Want some help?” the other guy asks, sounding amused.
“Yeah,” my escort grunts just before his grip tightens.
I scream and then feel another set of hands at my waist before I’m lifted into the air.
They toss me onto the table but I don’t stop fighting them. I kick and scream and throw punches at them, but they still manage to overpower me.
I’ve never felt so pathetic or weak. I’m giving it my all but, the two guys aren’t even winded as they overwhelm me.
Straps are wrapped around my wrists and tightened until my arms are pinned at my sides. My legs are pushed apart, my feet forced into the stirrups, and then more straps are wrapped around my ankles.
Shaking my head back and forth, tears stream down my cheeks as I push and struggle against my restraints.
My escort takes a step back and his eyes roam over my spread, restrained body, as if he’s admiring his handiwork.
“I hate you,” I snarl at him.
I hate them all. I hate them for grabbing us. I hate them for killing Lindsey. I hate them for abusing Amanda.
And I especially hate this sick fuck for getting off on all of it.
He only laughs. “They all say that.”
“I’m going to kill you,” I promise. And in my bones I can feel it, the power of the promise. Maybe not today, but someday… Someday soon.
Two sharp raps sound against the door and then a new, softer voice asks, “Is she ready for me, gentlemen?”
“Yeah, doc, she’s all yours,” the guy who escorted me in says and then gives my thigh a slap.
Instinctively, my body jerks, and I hiss.
“Good, good,” the newcomer murmurs as he enters. In walks a thin, older man dressed in a gray suit. “Clear the room.”
Tears trickle down my face as my escort from earlier tugs, drags, and pushes me down the hallway.
I feel humiliated and violated after the pelvic exam the ‘doc’ gave me. He didn’t use any of the shiny instruments that were laid on out on the little table for him.
No, he used his fingers, his ungloved fingers, to perform my exam.
“Fucking virgin,” the goon gripping my arm growls as we descend the stairs like it’s a bad thing.
Pictures of me were taken after the exam. With a gun pointed at my head, I was forced to stand in front of a backdrop while I was photographed from all sides, naked.