Mountain Refuge (Mountain Mutineers #1)

Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Josephine

T he swift kick to my belly woke me with a moan. My body automatically curled into the fetal position to protect myself. Cloudy memories came back at me as I braced against the sharp pain of another boot—this time to my back.

I fought to open my eyes, but my left eye wouldn’t budge. From the wetness I felt as I lifted my face off of the marble floor, I was bleeding from somewhere on my head. I vaguely remembered being thrown backwards after spitting into Gunther’s face. Most likely the kick to my gut had not been the first blow dealt to me while unconscious. It had just been the one to wake me up.

I was able to see out of my right eye, though all that was in my line of sight was a collection of men’s boots. Since I did not know how much time had passed while I had been incapacitated, I had to check. All I could feel from my lower half was pulsing pain, but I was unable to determine where that pain was coming from. I knew I was still wearing my shirt and jacket, but that did not mean much.

When I tried to move my hand down to check if I was still wearing my pants, I received another kick from behind me. Which would mean, I was in the room with at least four men. Three in front of me and one behind me. I jolted forward on the marble, my right hand flying out in front to catch myself. As soon as my hand landed outstretched, one of those boots came slamming down on top of it.

I cried out, feeling the bones shatter. I nearly lost consciousness from the pain again but fought to stay awake. The battle resulted in me projectile vomiting towards the boot still pressed down on my broken hand.

Someone grabbed my leg and I was rolled violently onto my back, away from my puke. The action made me lose my breath and the ceiling above me spun in circles. The only good thing that came from the rough treatment was being able to feel the seam of my pant leg pressed against my skin.

I was still clothed.

Mind, that was not going to help me in the long run. My pants were not a metal chastity device that required a key to open. Four against one, with me severely debilitated, was not going to end well for me, regardless of the fact that I was still wearing my pants. I could only take comfort in the fact that I had not been raped. Yet.

The sound of a zipper being lowered reached my ears as if amplified by surround sound. I had no idea why or how my brain could pick up on that noise when I was unable to concentrate on the words of their conversation. Like listening through a bubble, all I got was clouded garble and the knowledge that they were talking over me.

Just as I heard the zip of a second fly, something wet and rancid hit my face. I sputtered and coughed, gasping to catch my breath while trying not to open my mouth. As soon as the second and third streams hit me, covering my face, my torso, and my navel, I knew what they were doing. The thugs were urinating on me, laughing while they did so.

Ammonia filled my nostrils as I fought not to throw up again. With my broken hand cradled to my chest, I tried to raise my other hand to protect my face. A rough grip around my wrist twisted my arm out of the way as he continued to use me as a human toilet. All I could do was hold my breath—despite my protesting lungs and ribs—squeeze my eyes closed, and pray the brutes had not drunk a lot of coffee yet that morning.

I knew the action was to humiliate me and disgust me. There was no doubting that they had accomplished that goal. I was mortified by what I was being subjected to. However, the shock of it, as well as the—gag—wetness on my face also helped break me from my hazy state.

When the final drops hit my skin, I spluttered and gasped out for air. My hair and clothes were soaked. I had to blink several times, turned my head to try and dry off my eyes. My left still would not open, making me wonder if it was swollen closed.

All four men had their dicks out. One had started to rub himself obscenely in an obvious attempt to get himself hard. I did not understand the purpose or the kink of men urinating on women. I supposed there were women who also got off on the dominant act, but it was mostly a male thing from what I understood. Probably had something to do with the animalistic nature to mark one’s territory.

I was very good at reading people. As my one good eye flitted about the room, I took note of several things that I had not been aware of since waking up. Sebastian Gunther was no longer in the room. I recalled his words about teaching his traitorous son a lesson and dreaded what treatment Trenton was being subjected to. I was supposed to be protecting him.

I realized that there were five men in the room. One was standing back, away from the others by the door. I couldn’t tell from my poor vision what he was doing, but he seemed younger than the four men directly over me, around Trenton’s age.

I also took note of the fact that the man who was currently rubbing his dick while standing over my urine soaked body was the leader of these thugs. Most likely he had been the first to pull his dick out and start urinating and the others followed whether they got anything out of it or not. Based on the scrunched noses from the smell now emanating from me, I guessed ‘not’.

The fifth man came further into the room. Like the others, he was dressed in all black, which only made his sandy brown hair seem darker. I thought at first that he had a gun in his hand, but then he snapped it open to reveal it was an extendable baton. Was it his turn to beat me now that I had been humiliated before they gang raped me?

The man I had pegged as the leader looked up at the fifth man. He nodded in acknowledgement, clearly indicating that they knew each other. “What are you doing here? I thought Gunther had told you to stay at the?—”

Before the leader could finish his question, the fifth man swung the baton. It connected with the leader’s face, spraying blood, teeth, and spit down upon me as the man was thrown back off of his feet. Dick still hanging out of his fly, the leader collapsed to the floor and did not get back up.

The other three stood frozen in shock. I had to admit to being slow to process the situation as well.

The fifth man swung his baton again. The others started to fight back. I gritted my teeth through the pain as I tried to move out of the way. The urine and my blood made the marble floor extremely slippery. I ended up on my belly, using my good arm to Army crawl my way away from the fight.

A thug being thrown across the room nearly landed on me. I barely avoided being pancaked as he crashed onto a cushioned chair, shattering the expensive piece of furniture beneath his weight. I waited a heartbeat for him to get back up, but he did not. I continued crawling away.

When the grunting and groaning stopped, I heard a clatter that had me jumping and rolling onto my back. My good eye landed on the dismantled gun on the floor and then flew up to see the man taking apart another one. He pocketed the magazine clips.

Without looking at me, the man collapsed his baton and pulled out a pistol. My poor vision couldn’t tell the make and model, but I knew it was a semi-automatic. I thought at first he was attaching the baton to the end of the pistol—except that made no sense. It took my sluggish brain a moment to catch up to the fact that he’d traded the baton for a silencer. I just hadn’t realized it with their similar shapes and my distorted vision.

He leveled the elongated gun and, without hesitation, pulled the trigger. Four shots, four men. All now sporting bloodied holes in the middle of their foreheads. It was so fast, quiet, and thorough, I wasn’t even sure it had been real.

After doing another check to ensure all four thugs were dead, he unscrewed the silencer, put both the gun and the silencer away, and then came over to me. His boots did not slide on the slick flooring.

“Shit, Josie.” I had a feeling the disgust on his young face had nothing to do with my looks and everything to do with my treatment. He did not hesitate to reach out and help wipe the mess off of my skin, regardless of what it was he was touching.

“Who are you?” I managed to gasp out.

He was clearly not with Gunther, even though he was dressed like one of his thugs. He also used my nickname, not my name or my surname. It hinted at familiarity, though I was sure I had never met him before in my life.

“Jack sent me. I’m so sorry, I came as soon as I could. ”

My brain was not comprehending what the man was saying. How could Jack have known we were in trouble? I hadn’t called him. I should have, but I figured I would do that once we were safely on the road.

“He noticed the news feed of Gunther’s release wasn’t live. Something about the sun placement being wrong. Anyway, when he couldn’t get ahold of you, he sent me.”

“You’re a Mountain Mutineer,” I surmised.

The man nodded. I noticed for the first time that, though young, he had a weathered look about him. Like he’d suffered more than he should have given his youth. I placed him around twenty-two or twenty-three years old. “My name’s Owen. Can you stand? We need to get out of here. Do you know where Trenton is?”

I shook my head to the last question. I was walking out of here no matter what. Owen moved around to help me stand. I appreciated that. I was still wearing only one boot and had no idea where the other one was.

Noticing this, Owen surveyed our surroundings. When he spotted it, he helped me hobble over and then even knelt before me to place it on my foot.

“Come on, Cinderella,” he said with a sense of humor I was surprised he could feel in our current situation. “Let’s go find your charge and get the fuck out of here.”