Into the Flames

by Multi-Author

  “Whoa there. Hey, waiter, we need some glassware chop-chop,” Larry said, snagging the bottle from my trembling fingers.

  George kept his gaze on me, neutral and with a trace of amusement. I pulled my hand away from him, determined not to let this spoil my triumph. The glasses appeared. Larry poured three healthy portions and we clinked with plenty of ‘Jane is awesome’ type words flowing around. George stayed quiet. I glared at him and knocked back my liquor in one gulp, swiping the back of my hand across my lips and holding out the empty to Larry with a beatific smile.

  “I knew I loved you. Am I right, Trey? Is this one hell of a woman or what?”

  I shot him an arch look and put my lips to the edge of the glass. He chuckled, shook his head and drank his bourbon. I stuck my tongue out at him behind Larry’s back. After a few more cheers to me, to Trent, and the rest of the sales team, I decided I wanted to dance. Trent obliged me, until he handed me over to one of his flunkies while he checked the status of the bar and food. The night was glorious—full of promise for my successful future and I was by God going to enjoy the hell out of it.

  Wishing for a moment that Max had been invited, I disentangled myself from some guy and stumbled into one of the semi-posh portable toilets I’d had placed a decent distance from the party tent. I wobbled as I tried to reapply lipstick, gave myself a lecture about drinking too much, and made a promise that I’d not go home with any of the guys angling to do that very thing with me.

  When I emerged, I noted that things seemed to be breaking up. Groups were headed around the building to the waiting valet staff. The music was still playing, but the party had the distinct air of being over, which bummed me out since I was sort of getting into it after the warmth of the bourbon had spread nicely through my bloodstream. I waved down the catering staff and told them to start packing up, then signaled for Trent who was hovering nearby as usual. “Party’s over,” I shouted over the noise, leaning into him and almost falling. “Whew.” I blinked and grabbed his arm. “One bourbon too many.”

  He grabbed me around the waist and put his lips to my ear. “Let’s keep the party going.”

  I pushed him away, laughing. “Not likely.” I only half meant it. Aware of all the male eyes on me as I sashayed my way over to the bar to get some water, I gave a half second’s thought to George, wondering how long he’d stayed, where he might have gone. I hugged, air-kissed, real-kissed, and ‘I’ll call you for lunch’-ed my way through the departing throng before finally collapsing in one of the few chairs I’d provided, not really wanting to encouraging sitting, which lead to loitering at an event that had now gone a solid two hours past the planned end time.

  “Jesus.” I put the cool water bottle to my forehead. “Was there enough food?” I asked the staff scurrying around and picking up dropped napkins and toothpicks.

  “Yep.” Some guy whose name I could never remember dropped into the other chair opposite me. He grinned, leaning forward and putting a hand on my bare knee. I watched him from a drunken distance, realizing he’d been one of the two across the table at the bar the night Trent and I had put on a show, more or less to prove we could do it. I respected that on some level, as I observed but didn’t really feel the guy’s hand creep up the inside of my thigh. When he got a little too close to my panties, I smacked him away. He grinned and leaned back, showing off his stupid zipper bulge. I rolled my eyes. Men.

  Deciding to check and see if the space inside that had gotten so crowded needed any clean up—silly since it was slated for demolition—I got up and stretched, knowing he was watching and not even caring. I really wanted an excuse to walk around, get my bearings, and not be the drunk at the party who got felt up in front of the help. Humming under my breath in the absence of the music, I pushed open the door and flipped on the temporary lights, blinding myself for a split second. Once my eyes adjusted and I realized that I was way too drunk to be of much use to anyone, I spotted George sitting on what remained of the steps.

  “What are you doing in here,” I said, reaching down to slip off my heels and sighing with relief when my feet hit the cool marble floor. He didn’t answer, just watched me approach, the light in his dark eyes shining in a way that made my heart race like a fluttery romance heroine.

  “Nice event,” he said, lifting his half-empty glass and knocking back what remained in it before getting up and grabbing his suit coat from the railing.

  “Speaking of events,” I said, unable to stop myself from putting my hands on his chest. “Am I blacklisted from yours or what?”

  “No,” he said, looking down at me a moment before taking my hands and placing them back at my sides. “You’ll get your invite. They go out Monday. I had to finalize some details first.”

  I crossed my arms and cocked one hip, aware that I was swaying more than a little bit. “Huh, you’re just saying that ‘cause I called you out on it.”

  He frowned and stuck his arms in the coat. “I’m late,” he said, moving past me.

  “Well excuse the fuck out of me, Mister I’ve Got a Hot Date.” I shifted so I was in front of him again, jealousy making my face hot. In the last few seconds I’d decided something about Mr. George Lattimer—he was coming home with me tonight. We needed to finish what we’d started on that stupid boat. “Tell her you’re busy, that you have to entertain a VIP,” I said, moving closer, sucking in huge breaths of his familiar smoke-tinged sexiness. I let my breasts brush his arm, went up on my tiptoes and threaded my fingers in his hair. “Come on, Georgie. Let’s go entertain me, whaddaya say?” I bit his earlobe, felt him shiver, and gave myself a mental high five.

  But he moved fast and was outside the circle of my reach in a few seconds, glaring at me in a way I now understood. “No thanks, Harriet.” His voice was quiet, his expression serious. “Want me to help you find a cab?”

  “Fuck off, asshole,” I muttered, pulling open the door and heading back outside away from him and the way I felt when I was around him, willing him gone from my universe but in my arms at the same time. I turned at the last minute and took him in from thick mop of dark brown hair to perfectly suited body. “Better tell your new girlfriend she’ll never measure up.”

  His frown deepened. I let go of the door, marched myself over to him, and got up in his face, knowing better but letting the booze fuel me. “That’s right, George.” I had my shoes on again so was a bit closer to his eye level. I gripped his biceps. “No one will ever be her again. Do us all a favor and get over it, won’t you? I mean, I’m sorry and all but, Jesus, man. It’s been what? Fourteen years?”

  His eyes clouded over and the muscles under my palms tensed. He took a long breath and smiled at me like you would an adorable, over-stimulated toddler on the verge of a tantrum. I kept talking, digging myself even deeper. “That’s a good boy. Nice use of your therapist’s advice. Long, calming breaths. Now, look at me, and tell me you really don’t want to go home with me and fuck my ever-loving brains out.” I tightened my grip and put my mouth close enough to his for me to smell the whiskey he’d just finished.

  My need for him was like a living animal, roaring through my head and deafening me to everything but the sound of his breathing. “Because that’s what I want, George. I want you between my legs, again, and again, and again.” I kissed him then, shoving my tongue into his mouth, keeping my hands on his upper arms. He let me do it but didn’t move otherwise.

  When I broke the kiss, alarmed at myself but figuring he’d buy into my plan now, he still seemed to be in neutral gear, looking at me with a trace of mild curiosity. Rage tinted the edges of my vision. I spit at him, watching as if some other drunk, crazy, horny bitch was acting this way—like a spoiled little brat not getting her way. The glob of saliva hit his cheek. He didn’t even flinch.

  I let go of him, chest heaving, and watched him use his cocktail napkin to wipe his face without a word. As he passed by me, he took my hand, put the napkin in it, and leaned into my ear. “When you’re ready to
act like a grown up, call me.” He pressed his lips to my temple. I closed my eyes and counted to ten to keep myself from flying at him and either ripping off his clothes or scratching his eyes out. I knew he was turned on. I knew it like I knew my own shoe size. I could smell his lust, taste it like a lozenge on the back of my tongue. But he left me behind, bound for his date. The centuries old door creaked open and then slammed shut.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nearly blind with mortified fury and too much booze, I ran around the side of the building and straight for the bar. “Just hand me the fucking bottle,” I growled at the guy trying to break things down and get on with his Friday night. I sucked back a healthy portion of the mid-range bourbon I’d ordered for the party, glaring around at the remaining guests.

  Trent was sitting with his bros, laughing and drinking from a vodka bottle. One of the sales secretaries was perched on his knee, giggling into her wine glass. One of the jerk-off investors who’d made this whole shindig possible still lingered, flirting with some girl I didn’t recognize. A few other couples hovered, some of them in serious lip-lock. I sighed and leaned back on the bar. Propping my heel on the footrest, I felt my body revving as my gaze sought a likely target.

  Mr. Gropey Hands glanced over at me. I grinned and as I slowly put my lips around the mouth of the bourbon bottle, was pleased so see his face flush red. Keeping his eyes on me, he whispered something to some guy I didn’t recognize, then got up and headed straight for me. He was pretty good-looking at least through my booze goggles. But at that point, I didn’t care. I required a connection. He possessed the necessary equipment required to give me one.

  I pictured my imaginary belt, scraped another notch in it, and put it away as I let him put his arms around my waist and pull me close for a kiss. We finished the bourbon between us after a quick mutual grope in the corner. He didn’t have Trent’s skill set, but he’d do. I couldn’t risk another go-round with Trent. He’d gotten a little too eager for more after our first night. Ergo, he did not warrant a second one.

  At one point, I bumped Mr. Gropey Hands’ shoulder with mine, alarmed by a sudden realization: I had no earthly idea what the man’s name was and we’d worked together on this deal—the very reason we were here tonight. He turned to me, and there were two of him for a few seconds until my vision settled. I shook my head. “Come with me,” he said, standing and pulling me up with him. “Let’s go explore.”

  “Uh, wait,” I protested but unable to stop him as he dragged me across the grass and toward the future building we’d sold for nearly six million dollars. Detached, I found myself standing in the cool foyer on the cold marble where I’d had the stupid argument or whatever it was with George earlier—how much earlier?

  What time was it anyway? I patted the pocket inside my suit jacket, seeking my phone. But what’s-his-name had me by the hand again and was twirling me under his arm. As I was dizzy enough already, the motion made me stumble and go down on one knee.

  “Ouch,” I muttered, reaching up so he could help me. Someone grabbed my hand and pulled hard, flinging me forward. Somebody’s mouth covered mine. A tongue breached my lips. Some other set of hands yanked at my hair, while still more slid up my skirt and pulled my panties down. From a strange sort of distance, I heard the silky fabric of my shirt rip and watched it flutter to the floor. I laughed, since this had to be some kind of a joke.

  “Hey! You assholes…Ow!” I got shoved back against the railing so hard it took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes. It was dark in the old building, and I was polluted drunk, but an adrenaline-fueled fight instinct hit my brain. I whirled around and landed a kick to somebody’s shin. My fist connected with something hard, eliciting a loud grunt and a curse.

  “Bitch likes it rough. That’s what I hear.” A stranger’s voice hit my ear about the same time as a fist to my nose. “Better shut her up,” another strange voice said from the dark.

  I’d never been struck by another person. I’d taken a softball to the eye socket once and plenty of basketballs to my midsection when I’d played in high school. But this was something else altogether, tinged by a fresh bite of unfamiliar terror.

  “Wait, hold on, just…stop a minute.” I held one hand over my bleeding nose and the other out in front of me, trying like hell to focus on the other people in the room. I didn’t even know how many there were. “I’m not…shit.” I spit blood before I had to swallow it, which would make me puke. Maybe I should puke. Was that recommended when one was about to be gang raped?

  The utter unreality of this whole thing had me reeling. I must be dreaming. Maybe these guys were messing around. Maybe they’d stop and we’d laugh and they’d hand me my clothes and we’d go drink the rest of the booze from the party like pals.

  My brain shut down for a half second as I reached down and scrabbled around for my phone that had fallen to the floor and was shining its flashlight up onto the ceiling. Thanking the god of drunken women for that bit of luck, I touched ‘recently contacted’ and found a name, tapping it right before the device was knocked out of my hand.

  Three men emerged, looming up out of the gloom, grinning. I only recognized one of them—the asshole who’d lured me up here. “Listen, um, hey, I’m not…you don’t have to knock me around. I’m game. I mean, we don’t have to do it this way.” I was shaking now, which jarred my sore nose.

  The jerk from my office snagged my hand and dragged me forward as someone else ripped my bra in two. “You’re a cunt tease,” he said in a sort of conversational way some men would say nicer words. He pushed me down to the floor. I used the opportunity to flip over and start crawling fast toward the darkest part of the foyer. I was screaming now, I think. I know there was a lot of noise. Blood dripped from my nose, making dark, wet splotches on the floor in front of me.

  Something snagged my ankle. I yanked it free and tried to get up but tripped over something else and fell, sending agonizing pain up both arms from where my elbows landed right before my head. Blessed darkness descended for a few seconds.

  A hard slap to my face brought me around with a gasp. “You get to play train with us tonight, Janey girl,” the one guy I knew said, still in that mildly pleasant tone. “And you’re gonna love it.” He had me pinned on the steps—the very steps where I’d found George earlier. “Hold her,” he said to someone.

  Desperate, drunk, and still not believing it enough to be terrified yet, I went limp, fighting the instinctive urge to tense, to hold my legs together, to struggle against whoever had my wrists pinned down.

  It was just sex.

  I liked sex.

  I even liked it rough sometimes.

  Lie still. They’ll finish soon enough. Men always do. Don’t scream or struggle or god only knows what they’ll do to you.

  They’ll be done soon enough.

  I exhaled slowly, willing my mind to shut down, to stop sending me messages about what exactly the man above me, thrusting and grunting, was actually doing. It didn’t help that he wouldn’t shut up. He was a talker—he liked to narrate, making sure I understood what he was doing as if I couldn’t feel it.

  I closed my eyes, thinking my back might break against the hard edge of the step where he had me. The guy’s sweat dropped onto my face and chest. I tried not to let him know I was crying. He finished with a loud grunt. I kept my eyes closed.

  The next guy wanted a blowjob. After my initial protest was met with another hard punch to the mouth and a twist of both my nipples, I obliged him.

  The third guy yanked me up from my hands and knees as I spluttered and gagged, then shoved me onto the cold floor, declaring it was time I learned how a real woman takes it.

  I was sobbing now. My face hurt, and my scalp burned where the blowjob guy had ripped some of the hair from my head when I’d been disinclined to do what he’d wanted at first. I was still angry, but that was slowly being replaced by flat out physical agony.

  Rape is not about sex.

&
nbsp; For some strange reason that ridiculous phrase rose in my head from some lady safety seminar I must have attended. I begged to differ as I was held down again, this time spread eagle on the cold marble floor. I sucked in shallow breaths to keep from screaming. It felt as if I were being ripped in half, starting between my legs and moving up, the rip coming from inside me. I finally did scream. Something hit the side of my head hard enough for stars to dance across my vision.

  I tried to force myself to pass out, to just die and let them fuck my corpse. It was all I had left, this body, and it was now being used for things I didn’t want but that didn’t seem to matter to anyone in the room but me.

  Warm liquid hit my face. The room went black and silent. I rolled over to my side, curling up tight, sobbing, smelling nothing but blood, booze, and spunk. I had never in my life hurt so much. I thought people in this much pain would pass out.

  A thud, a grunt, and several curses, then a loud scream of pain hit my ears. I used the break in the action to try to crawl away, but I hurt too much. My legs didn’t want to work. I started moving across the floor on my elbows, dragging myself, praying for a dark corner so I could just die alone, like a dog.

  Why hadn’t I said no? I never said no. I never told them no.

  I curled myself under the steps, trying to become as small as possible. The yelling and cursing had gotten louder. I heard the door creak open and slam shut and footsteps running away. I put my aching face on my knees and rocked, counting down from a hundred, willing the pain to stop.

  A hand touched my arm. I screamed and squished further under the stairs, crying, yelling, kicking, and cursing. I don’t know how long I did that, but finally I was left alone. The next thing I saw was George’s face, peering at me in the beam of a flashlight. I screamed again, but it wasn’t loud anymore.

  “Harriet, Jane, shh…honey. It’s all right. You’re safe.”