Excerpt

Pepper spray only makes them angrier. It didnt slow this guy down for one second. She cried as she thought she should have gotten mace instead. Damn that weak-ass pepper spray. Why did she listen to her friend? Janice never had to actually use the stuff, she thought. Yeah, the little canister looks real good in your purse, but it doesnt do a damn thing except make things worse. A false sense of security; like a cop walking a beat. His hot breath and flying spit caught her in her pretty brown made-up-for-the-evening eyes, and she couldnt feel that next one coming; the one that badly bruised her rib. How many times had he hit her? Three, maybe four times? Goddamn this fucking senseless, remorseless animal. All she had done wrong was stop to sit on a park bench on her way home. It was late and she had been out with her friend, and had just said goodbye to her. Two white cops had pulled up in their car and had asked her through the window how she was doing. She smiled and waved one shapely brown arm at them, not dismissively, and definitely not invitingly. She just waved and said, yes, she was okay. The car had driven off, down the dark desolate street, and she just never saw them coming back for her, never smelled the lust, the testosterone in the air charging toward her. She could sure smell it now, the lust; and the desperation, and the anger. They must have pulled the car around the corner, parked, and walked back to where she sat. Her arms had been pinned by the animal behind her, right before she dropped him. She could feel his breath too, on her neck and down her back, as he reached down to her panties. With one arm suddenly free, she had stabbed out in desperation behind her, right where his balls might be, and grabbed, and twisted; and yes, she heard him scream. The one in front of her was furious, and grabbed at her arms, so she kept flailing and twisting her body, violently, writhing and raining blows non-stop. She was trained in Karate, but she was practicing Spetsnaz fighting now. She had read about these Russian techniques, and trying them instinctively came to her at that moment. She had the stamina for it, and it was quite effective in buying you some space backwards. She kicked the man in front of her, harder than she had ever kicked anything in her life, and she suddenly felt a horrible thudding pain in her neck and shoulder. She had caught the one in front of her just above the knee, and she could feel his leg bend back unnaturally. But the one behind her must have gotten up and hit her good, because all she could see was a bright flash of light, and she smelled something: apples, she thought, fresh-picked apples, and thoughts of an upstate farm flooded her senses, 8th-grade fall, apple-picking, carefree, easygoing, self-defense class when she was ten, and boom!

She was half-dazed, but still on the offensive, as her fist found the groin of the man behind her. And as he doubled over, she wheeled and then with tender knee, smashed upwards directly into his face, breaking his nose. Her beautiful eyes, sparkling and so alive, darted back and forth. A weapon, anything she could use for a weapon. What? Where? Her eyes searched, scanning for anything she could grab and throw or drive into them with deadly force. She dropped to the ground and grabbed her shoe, which had fallen off in the initial assault. Thank god she wasnt wearing her usual sneakers that night. She never wore heels. But this night was different. She screamed as she drove the stiletto heel into the knee of the man behind her, with all of her strength. Her entire body tensed and shook with that assault. The shoe stuck there horribly, just jammed right into the soft tissue under the kneecap; and she twisted it, and jerked it violently. He was on the ground writhing and screaming. Now there was only one threat, and she grabbed desperately at the baton that was hanging from his belt. She got a hold of it and jerked it free. One hard smack to his already hyperextended knee, and he was down again. She had smacked him right on the kneecap, and the joint was already the size of a grapefruit before her baton assault. Another stomp from her bare foot to his kneecap and then to his exposed groin, and he would stay down for awhile. She had seen enough of those stupid movies, where the girl is chased by the killer, and he gets knocked down, and the girl keeps running, or worse, just stands there with her back to him, and isnt ready for him when he gets back up.

Not this time, asshole, and not this girl, she thought.

You picked on the wrong girl! she screamed at them. Oh yeah, she took that baton and went wild, slamming them both in the groin and the ribs, then in the side of the head, back and forth, once, twice, until they were knocked cold. They had torn her dress and had her panties almost off, before she had gotten the advantage. She felt no sympathy and no remorse, but no, she was not going to kill them. No, they were only going to wish they were dead; two big animals, who had messed with the wrong girl. Yeah they were going to think twice before they attacked any girl ever again.

She was unusually cruel and inventive for a girl of her tender age. This stuff must just come naturally to some girls. She seemed to feed off of the cruelty they had shown her. She cuffed their arms together at the wrists using their own cuffs, facing each other; their faces mashing together. Then half-dazed, she slowly and laboriously removed their clothes, so they were naked and bound together, and pressed against each other, lying helpless on the cold sidewalk. Now she realized she had a little time. She had stopped shaking and had regained her senses. She was too pissed off to just run away. No, she tore their shirts and pants, and used the long pieces of cloth to tie these brutes together even tighter, binding their arms around the elbows, and their legs, tight at the knees, so they were pressed hard against each other now, these two macho raping fools. Were they ever in for a surprise when they woke up!

Now she stopped and took a breath and admired her handiwork. Two potential rapists, down and knocked cold. She laughed and spit on them, actually took turns, back and forth, back and forth, until saliva was running down both of their ugly faces. It took some effort too, because her mouth was dry, and she had to try really hard to muster up some spit. They were almost naked, with only remnants of their pants around their ankles, and their shirts torn off. She noticed that she had left the underpants on one of them, so she ripped them right off. Her modus operandi would be maximum revenge, and maximum humiliation, and this would be no special occasion. Thoughts of castration would come in the next few years. Yeah, if you blocked her way, she was either going to go through you or around you, but she was definitely going to get past you. And there is a good chance you were going to get hurt and humiliated in the process.

There they were, two big racist pig pieces of shit, left hand cuffed to the others right hand, and right hand cuffed to left, face to face, immobile, faces and bodies pressed together, flesh on flesh, in a sick and twisted pose. She wasnt going to give them a break at all; no, not this time. She had been harassed enough times by men, white men, but these two had gone way too far. They were going to suffer total embarrassment. She took their underwear and placed it over their heads, and chuckled to herself at the sight.

It would be light in just a few minutes. This was one attempted rape that would not be reported, and never be forgotten. Not by anybody involved.