Release me. Now. Or I ### you up." The sound of the knife hitting concrete made her stop. He really would, she knew. It was so hard to think straight. His legs were braced, his hips thrusting forward. "Release me," he demanded again, "before I break your ribs and tear your throat out." "No." She felt her stomach flip in revulsion at the thought, and at the fact that she didn't know how to stop it. "Release me," he growled. "You ###ed him like you ###ed me." " _Why?_ " she asked, her voice harsh with fear. "Why are you doing this?" "Why?" he mocked. "I'll tell you why, bitch." He thrust forward again, and she felt his cock jerk inside her. "I'm doing this because I hate you. I'm doing this because I think you got what you deserved." He released her hair and used both hands to pin her head to the floor. "This is for me. You know the worst thing? You think I actually liked the guy you ###ed. That's the worst thing." He leaned in close to her ear and she tried to twist her head out of his grasp, but he held her firm, pressing down on her chest with his legs to keep her in place. "You think that because I don't ### you, I can still hate you. I have to do this, because I love you." He thrust forward one more time, the pain so intense that she screamed and it took everything she had to hold her body still, to not tense against him. With each stroke he rammed his cock up into her so hard that the sound it made was like the report of a gun. She was going to die. She was going to die and her life would end here, for no reason, for a murder she had never committed, a crime that wasn't her fault. It was all such a waste. He was going to die, for no reason other than some sick game. And he was right. The world was full of ###. A hundred and sixty-one people, one by one. Every one of them was here for the same reason. They had to be stopped. One by one, they were going to be stopped. ** ** **** **CHAPTER 8** **** Tuck woke up to find himself lying next to Bethany on the floor. He tried to raise his head, but a sharp pain radiated from the spot where Bethany's knee had driven into him when she'd fallen off the sofa. "Beth?" he asked. Her eyes snapped open and she looked around in confusion. "What happened?" she asked. "I don't know. Let me help you up." He gently lifted her arm until she was able to scoot out from under him. As soon as she got to her feet, she immediately rubbed the side of her body, wincing. He touched the spot where she'd hit him. There was a small dent on the hardwood floor. When he'd pulled back, she'd been too heavy to rise with her arm alone. "You must have been dreaming," he said. She shivered and shuffled to the sofa, pulling her knees up to her chest as she sat. He rose slowly, testing the soreness in his hips and ribs. Her eyes watched him in concern. "Do you want me to get you something?" he asked. "I can fix you something to eat." "Do you remember what happened?" He shook his head. "Not really. I remember waking up and finding you on the floor, then I remember ###, but after that, the only thing I remember clearly is holding you against me on the floor, holding your hair to the floor." Bethany nodded, and her face turned just a touch paler. "I remember something like that, too. Maybe we were ... practicing. But I don't remember any of it after that. Are you alright?" He nodded and tried to put it together. "My mom, she had a way of making you forget," he said, and his own words nearly knocked him over. "I guess it was because I got there just as she started screaming, but she just kept on screaming, and ... she seemed to be trying to get away from something. I turned away from her, but I just couldn't turn back again. When she hit me ..." "I think I knew, but the ### was too strong. There were so many of us on that roof. She took out a lot of them, I think, but there were still a few when we made it up there. I ..." Bethany stopped, as if she were ashamed. "I never liked her very much, but she was my mom. I ... it made me mad, but I couldn't let go. I couldn't." Tuck moved over to the other side of the sofa and sat next to her, gently putting his hand on her knee. "What about your father? Your mom always said you were an accident, like he raped her, but I think he got her pregnant, and you were the product of that." "It doesn't matter, really." "You haven't called him your dad. He hasn't been around, has he?" Bethany shook her head. Tuck looked away. "Your mother said that the reason she worked with him is because he was her only ticket out. He was the only guy she could get pregnant. She thought you'd run away, or do the same thing to him that she did to you. It never occurred to me that she wouldn't protect you, though." "She did protect me," Bethany said. "But she lied. I ..." She paused again, as if weighing what she would say next. "She lied to get out. And it wasn't even a good lie, it was a selfish lie. She was only protecting herself, not me." "There's a story behind it," he said. "Where I grew up, where my family grew up, it was pretty much against the law for a woman to work anywhere but the home or the school. My mom got pregnant. Her parents threw her out, locked her in a house and cut off her support system. It was all because of them that she was working for him, but I always thought that she was working for herself. She wanted to make up for being a burden. She ... she ..." Bethany stopped, struggling for words, and took a deep breath. "She was always looking for money. It had to be all the time. Not just when she could take it from his pocket, but she was always digging around for it, always looking in strange places, because she knew he had a stash. It was like she was stealing, except it was part of her job. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. He was a pimp. She might have lied about that, but not about being his. When we were there, all I could think about was how she was trapped." Tuck felt his chest tightening. Bethany had been so different from what she'd just said. It was almost as if her thoughts were not her own, as if they'd been taken from someone else, thoughts that couldn't be true. He reached out and held her wrist. "Bethany. You can say anything you need to, and I won't judge you. You can trust me." She glanced up, her blue eyes wide. She swallowed hard. "I can't make it work." She looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, and her face twisted in pain. "What's wrong?" "She died. She was always afraid of something like this." "Who?" he asked, but he already knew. "My dad. She told me I should call her 'Mom.' I never did. After she died, he started coming into my room at night. I think he started after she died. I'd hear her screaming. He'd wake me up at night, and then he'd ... well ... ### on me." She swallowed again. "I always hated that. Just thinking about it makes me sick. It was like he was ripping into me." "Did you tell the police?" "No. Not really." "Beth, this is important." He squeezed her hand. "Tell me. Did he ... did he ever ### on you?" She seemed to wilt under his gaze. "Maybe. It all happened in the middle of the night. You know, in my bedroom. It was hard to keep it all straight. It was a scary thing, whatever he did. His breath smelled like rotten eggs." "Beth, you should have told me. I would have gone to the cops." "That's why I told you," she said. "I just thought he was raping me. It was the only time I was sure I was awake. I never told them before because he'd be real quiet afterwards. He was careful about how he ###ed, so the marks didn't show. I thought maybe you could get him." "If you