Ultimate Dilemma (Justice Again Book 2) M Comley (ready to read books txt) 📖

down during the night. The men intent on shouting in the ‘den’ as they called it, oblivious to her tiny footsteps. She peered through the gap in the door and placed a hand over her mouth. She’d been down here several times in the past few weeks, fascinated by what took place behind this door. Her eyes moistened, and fear prickled her spine. What she saw would remain with her for a lifetime, she knew that. How couldn’t it?

The woman screamed until the girl’s father bound her mouth with a gag. The woman stared up at him, as if pleading silently to be set free. One after the other, the men took their turn. She was strapped to a table. Each of them climbed on top and humped her, despite her obvious discomfort and fear. None of them attempted to bring a halt to the proceedings.

Her hand tightened over her thin lips as the woman’s muffled pleading went unheard, unregistered by the men.

In between, the female tried to buck, to free herself from the bonds tying her to the table, to no avail. She kicked out with her bare feet as each man approached. She caught one or two of them below the belt which earned her a vicious slap. If she’d just lain there and accepted her fate, she would have been home and dry by now. None of her assailants had any stamina; a couple of thrusts, and they groaned and fell off her, zipped up their trousers and stood back, ready to cheer on the next one.

Her father leered at the female, bending over now and again to whisper something derisory in the woman’s ear. Which set her off, her objections always muffled by the gag strapped across her mouth.

Night after night, the woman was subjected to this kind of torture, and every night, the little girl descended the stairs when she felt it was safe to do so, as if trying to give the female support just by being close.

And after the rapists had finished, the little girl crept back up to bed and hid under the bedclothes, fearing that if they ever found out she knew what went on in the ‘den’ she’d be next on the list.

Would the men be as heartless as to do to her the things they did to the woman? She was only four, for Christ’s sake.

There was no doubt in her mind that day may come in the future. Something she’d need to be wary of as she grew older. But how, how the hell would she be able to prevent these vile men from dipping their wicks? They seemed determined to inflict injury and humiliation on the woman.

On this occasion, her father led the onslaught to the cheers and backslapping of the other men present. The little girl crossed her legs as if trying to help the woman. It failed. The men continued the barrage on her body. She watched the woman’s pained expression, the tears continuously rolling down her flushed cheeks. The girl’s heart hurt, pained by what was happening, helplessness shrouding her with its unwelcome cloak.

She was tempted to barge in there, to shout at the men, call them all the horrible names her father had called her from time to time, but how would they react to being interrupted, carrying out their warped, mindless and brutal game?

The little girl lingered, her legs crossed now because she was desperate for the loo. Her hand clamped over her mouth, preventing her own screams to match those of the female. Strike after strike to the woman’s face and head. The men were angrier than normal this evening. This was no longer a game. They’d upped their ante, each and every one of them. The woman seemed to sense the difference in tonight’s game play.

“Who wants to do it?” her father asked.

She was confused. Do what? Each of the men had already had their way with her, what else could he be talking about?

“I don’t mind. I’ll have a go?” One of the smaller men stepped forward and placed his hands around the woman’s throat.

She screamed and bucked like a mule to get him off her. Her head twisted violently from left to right. He backed away, seemingly embarrassed by his actions, and her father encouraged the next man to approach the table. “Come on, she loves it, being on the brink like that.”

Brink of what?

The little girl squeezed her eyes shut. The female’s cries for help were deadened by the cloth, and then there was nothing. The girl’s eyes flew open. The men shouted at each other. The atmosphere had turned horrid. She had to get out of there. She flew up the stairs to the safety of her room. Checked her little sister was still sound asleep—she was.

She covered herself with the quilt, her tiny body trembling, wishing she could have locked the door behind her, knowing it was forbidden to do so. A noise outside alerted her; she strained an ear. Her mother had always called her a nosey beak. She slipped out of the bed and tiptoed across the floor to the window. The overhanging porch roof blocked out some of her view. Beyond that were five men gathered around a car. Four of them carried a rolled-up rug and bundled it into the back of the vehicle. She opened the curtain a little more to get a better look. One of the men turned her way. She dropped the curtain, and fear catapulted her back to her bed.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. She tucked the quilt up under her chin and closed her eyes as the bedroom door swung open. She sensed her father towering over her, his breath ragged from his exertions. Then he was gone, and the door closed quietly behind him. She waited for a few moments and then tiptoed back to the window in time to see the men parting and the car with the rug in the back driving