Twisted Passion

Attack

Disclaimer: This story and all the characters in it are original and belong to me.

lll

“You might as well close up early,” Frank said, his voice distorted by the static on the line. “The city’s nearly closed down and we can’t get back tonight. Besides, I doubt any one else will show up. Go home.”

Claire smiled her gratitude for his thoughtfulness. Since ten-thirty, there had been no customers, no doubt as a direct result of the inclement weather. The storm only seemed to get worse as the night progressed and there was really no point in staying open any longer.

Four inches of fresh snow had fallen since her shift started and in most parts of Canada, this would be considered as a mild storm at best, but here in New York, it was a downright catastrophe. Claire smiled as the snow showed no sign of stopping.

“Thanks Frank. I’ll leave as soon as I put the glasses in the dishwasher.” Claire suppressed a giggle. Since her menstrual cramps had arrived full force an hour and a half ago, she had sneaked many sips of whatever liquor caught her fancy—rum, brandy and gin to take the edge off. As long as she didn’t drink too much, there was no way for anyone to tell how much booze she had consumed.

“Are you sure, Claire? I don’t know—it just doesn’t seem safe, you going home by yourself…damn, of all the days I decide to go to the city…” Frank bit his lip. He hated the idea of Claire walking home alone, but since he was stuck in Manhattan, there was nothing he could do. He almost regretted his decision to treat Trudy to a night on the town.

“You didn’t have a choice,” Claire assured him. “Besides, if you cancelled, you wouldn’t get your money back. And they were fifth row tickets, at what, two hundred?”

“Two sixty two, actually. Each.”

“See? Auntie would have killed you if you cancelled! I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“Just to be on the safe side, take the paring knife with you when you lock up. It’s not much of a weapon, but it’s better than nothing.”

lll

Less than twenty minutes later, after making sure that everything was locked up, Claire hoisted her backpack over her shoulder and left the bar. Not surprisingly, the streets were empty and with the level of snow continuing to build and drift because of the wind, it was easy to see why--not too many people would be outside on a night like this if they could help it.

Under normal circumstances, Claire generally took the better-lit and more frequented pedestrian route to her aunt’s apartment, but the alcohol was already affecting her judgement and she took shortcuts when it suited her.

Aside from the weather, there was another reason why she wanted to get home faster. She had been wearing sneakers during her shift and by this time, her shoes were full of snow, making her feel colder. She quickened her pace as she made her way through the silent streets. Her feet being very cold now, made her turn and take the muralled walkway between McIntyre and Main Street as there was very little snow.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a large, dark figure blocked her path. She sidestepped, thinking that the man only wanted to go around her but he did not.

She cried out when he reached out and grabbed her by the front of her coat and slammed her against the wall of the walkway.

There was a slight weight in her coat pocket and Claire remembered—it was the small paring knife that Frank had suggested she take. Claire reached into her pocket, her hand closed over the handle of the knife, and she held it out at arm’s length in front of her.

“Come any closer and I’ll use this.”

He leered and scoffed at her piss-poor attempt to sound brave. He could tell by the way her hand wavered that she had never used a knife in self-defence before. Nevertheless, he was on his guard--even a terrified woman armed with a kitchen knife can get lucky and cut a man in the wrong place.

He watched Claire carefully and waited for the just the right moment. With instinct born from years of self-defence training and hand-to-hand combat experience, he lunged forward, grabbing her arm and smashing her elbow hard against the wall behind her. Claire fought to regain her hold on the knife, but her muscles would not obey as blinding pain shot through her elbow. By the time she could move her fingers again, it was too late. Her attacker drew his arm back and punched her in the jaw.

Claire’s glasses flew off when her head snapped back from the force of the blow. Bright lights flickered before her eyes. She cried out in pain and tried to break out of his grasp to retrieve her glasses but she could not. Terror triggered the start of nausea and she felt dizzy and weak.

“I’ll teach you…,” her attacker snarled, pushing her face first into the brick wall and twisted her arm behind her back.

“Please, don’t hurt me…”

“I’ll do what I damn well please,” he said, pleased that now he had the upper hand and he wrenched her arm even more to prove it. He laughed harshly when Claire moaned in pain.

She groaned in dismay when she heard her glasses shatter when he deliberately crushed them beneath his heel.

For someone as near-sighted as she, the loss of her eyewear was very detrimental for without it, Claire could only see a foot in front of her face. Everything farther than that was a blur. She squinted hard and tried to make out any detail or distinguishing marks. He had thinning reddish brown hair and Claire thought she saw a gleam of a gold tooth as he grinned at her, but with her head still spinning from the punch, she could not be sure about anything.

Strong, forceful fingers tugged at the opening of her coat and his hands roamed over her body; the forwardness of his touch indicated that he wanted to get a quick grope while he could. He slid his hand underneath her shirt, cupping her breast.

Claire flinched when she felt his hand pinch her nipple and she tried to pull away out of his reach, but the more she struggled, the more her captor seemed to enjoy it. His arm snaked around her middle and he pulled her body toward his until they seemed fused as one. He ground his hips into her buttocks and the moment she felt his burgeoning erection, Claire’s mind was flooded with memories of the four years of sexual abuse at the hands of her stepbrother. She fought to stay in control and not give in to the rising panic but her mind would not relinquish the traumatic events of her past so easily.

Even though she knew it was pointless, Claire began to fight against the hard hands that gripped her.

“You can’t win against me. Let me do what I want and who knows? You may even enjoy it.” He kneaded both breasts until she gasped in pain. “You sure don’t have a rack, that’s for sure. I like my women to have something for me to hang on to, but at this time of night, beggars can’t be choosers.”

Her only chance to get free was if she broke his hold in any way that she could. All she needed a few seconds to catch him off-guard. With her heel, she stomped on his instep as hard as she could. Before he had a chance to recover, she kicked backward where she judged his shin would be.

A howl of pain told her that her blows had struck their intended targets and he released his grip on her arm. He raised his fist to strike her but before his blow could land, Claire grabbed his arm and sank her teeth into the back of his hand as hard as she could. He bellowed in rage and threw her to the ground. Claire scrambled to her knees but before she could get up, he flipped her over onto her back and straddled her, rendering her completely helpless by pinning her body onto the ground with his weight.

“NO!” Claire yelled. Panic stricken, she instinctively reached up and clawed at her rapist’s face in an attempt to thwart his intentions. Unfortunately, a lifetime of biting her nails made this act of defence worthless.

“Little hellcat, aren’t you? I like that.”

Claire yelped in pain as her wrists were pinned together and yanked over her head. With his free hand, he grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head on the ground until she stopped struggling.

Claire blinked owlishly, trying to clear her head but it was useless. Her attacker’s voice sounded far away and she could not make out what he was saying. Blurred images of the angry face above her swam before her eyes and Claire fought to stay conscious; however, the adrenaline that had given her strength up until this point abandoned her as fear took over.

His hands were no longer pinning her arms down, but now he was attempting to slide his hand down the front of her pants.

“No,” she moaned, her voice a mere whisper against the frigid wind that whipped an icy blanket of sleet against her face. Claire squirmed, desperate to get her body away from those groping hands that wanted to hurt and humiliate her. She froze into complete stillness with fear when she felt the icy edge of the knife he had confiscated being gently dragged across one of her cheeks then the other; skimming the outline of her mouth and lightly touching the surface of her lips like the caress of a lover’s hand.

“You have two choices,” the gravelly voice belonging to the man who was above her said, “if you lie there like a good girl, I’ll only take what I want, and when I’m done, I’ll leave you alone. But make no mistake about it, bitch. I am going to fuck you whether you like it or not.”

He had no intention of doing that; his instructions for that evening had been clear on that point, but the wildcat beneath him didn’t know that. Nor was he about to tell her and spoil his fun.

He took her hand and pressed it against his groin. She had no choice but to feel his rigid manhood straining against the front of his pants. He cackled malevolently when Claire whimpered in fear and she jerked her hand away as if touching him burned her fingers.

“Would you prefer this inside of you instead?” He leisurely slid the knife blade from her face to her stomach and downward even further until it rested against the zipper of her jeans. And he pressed the point in. She looked up at him, his face being close enough for her to see that his eyes never wavered nor flickered. He meant what he said.

“Well?” His eyes locked with hers and he smirked as he waited for her decision. Claire was the first to look away. She lay back, unresisting, and stared at the night sky above her, waiting for him to make the next move.

Numbness that had nothing to do with the bitter cold of a New York winter’s night settled throughout her entire body, rendering her incapable of moving. The only thing she felt now was scalding hot tears that slid from her eyes and trickled into her ears and hair. Petrified in mind and body, she could only lie on the ground and wait for the violation to begin.

“Please….don’t do this. I won’t tell anyone, I swear. Just let me go.” Claire’s teeth started to chatter and it was difficult to get the words out. “It’s so co—cold...”

“You’ll be warm enough soon, Claire, don’t worry,” the man on top of her said. He shifted his position until his knees were on either side of her hips again. Claire tried not to flinch when he trailed his fingers leisurely down her stomach, hooked into the leg band of her panties, and deftly pushed the crotch aside, discovering and savouring the delicate female flesh accompanied as it was by a thatch of soft hair.

“Your cunt is so wet,” he said, as warm, sticky dampness coated his fingers. “You like this, don’t you?” When Claire did not answer immediately, he pressed the knife harder into her cheek. “When I ask you a question, answer me!”

“No!” Claire yelled. “I’m not horny and I don’t want you. I’m having my period!”

“Yeah, right. Like I’ve never heard that one before.”

“I’m not lying!” Claire said. She twitched when she felt his cold hand grope her intimate area again. The man recoiled in disgust when he felt the string of a tampon against his fingers. He pulled his hand out and wiped his fingers on Claire’s coat.

“I can’t fuck you the way I want but you have another hole that I can shove my dick into. That nice mouth of yours will do just as well.”

He chuckled in amusement when she whimpered as he stroked the icy blade of the knife against her cheek again.

“Oh god, not that! Please!” Claire begged. Memories of being forced to perform oral sex on her stepbrother made her shudder in fear and revulsion at what he was going to make her do.

Since she had left the place that had been the home of her abuse years ago, Claire had never been comfortable enough with any man to have that kind of sex.

In a revelation of stark, brutal clarity, Claire realized that she had nothing to lose and everything to gain if she fought back. For all she knew, this man might have AIDS, HIV or some other sexually transmitted disease. And since he made no mention of using a condom, this forced act of oral sex might very well cost her her life. If she succumbed to the brute’s wishes and fulfilled his dark lust, she would never feel comfortable enough with her sexuality again.

Depression. Sexual dysfunction. Suicide attempts. Drug abuse. The emotional and physical baggage she carried like a lodestone around her neck because she had taken Evan’s abuse. For four years, she lay silent and uncomplaining underneath him while he satisfied every sexual desire he had.

In remembering the past, Claire lost her fear of the present and became angry. Anger that she should have shown all those years ago fought its way to the surface and made her blood boil.

He shifted his position slightly. It was now or never. Before her courage could fail her, Claire raised her hand and grabbed the crotch of his pants, squeezing his balls in her fist. Fear and anger flowed through her as she concentrated on maintaining her iron grip.

Agonizing pain shot through his entire body and he frantically moved away from her before he passed out from the pain.

“You bitch! You fucking little whore!” In his surprise at this cunt’s display of daring, he released his grip on the weapon.

Her arms dug in the snow on either side of her body, desperately searching for the knife her attacker had dropped. Her frozen hand closed over the frigid steel and she said a whispered prayer of thanks.

Claire scrambled to her knees. She had never used a knife in self-defense before but that did not stop her now. She turned and blindly slashed out at the pale blur in front of her.

A snarl, a curse, followed by a rush of hot blood on her hand, told her that she had wounded him. Knowing that he was a man who could be hurt, she felt a surge of pure adrenaline race through her veins, obliterating for a moment the pain of exposure that had racked her body just a minute before.

Blind instinct kicked in and Claire forgot about causing the bastard more injury; her mind told her to run. Unfortunately, the moment for escape had come and gone.

Her breath was knocked out completely as her assailant knocked her to the hard snow in a full-body tackle. His greater weight prevented her from escaping, but Claire was trying to gulp down air for her starved lungs, but until she could breathe on her own again, she was helpless.

“You’re – going – to – pay – for - that,” he hissed from behind clenched teeth, twisting his hand in her hair and slamming her head down on the ground after every word.

She had done her best she could to defend herself. Let him do what he wanted to her, she was too weak and too cold to care anymore. Her body went limp.

Jake Palladino knelt down and turned Claire over. He leaned forward and was satisfied when he felt her breath. Shallow, but steady. She wasn’t dead.

“For everything you put me through tonight, consider this a freebie,” Jake snarled. He delivered several kicks to the small of Claire’s back. “You’re gonna feel that in the morning, cunt.”

He groaned from the pain of his wound and automatically put pressure on it, but the blood still spilled between his fingers. It would need medical attention but that would have to wait. He reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone. “It’s done, sir. She’s at the walkway between Main and McIntyre. Don’t worry about finding the spot, just look for the blood.”

“Blood? What the hell are you talking about?” demanded the voice on the other end.

Jake was in too much pain to be diplomatic. “It’s mine. I have to get to Brian to have my goddamn arm stitched up.”

“I’ll be there in two minutes.”

The dial tone echoed in Jake’s ear. “Time for Mr. High and Mighty to arrive and play the hero,” he grumbled.

He was freezing, his arm was bleeding like a stuck pig, but Jake knew there was one more thing that would almost make the evening’s exertions worthwhile.

“Payback’s a bitch, sweetheart,” he murmured, reaching down to unzip his trousers. Once he was free, he aimed a powerful stream of urine at Claire’s body and sighed as he relieved himself on her unmoving form.

Just as he zipped himself back up, he heard the sound of a car approaching.