Read Online Red by Erica Spindler - Free Book Online

reeled backward and hit the ground, her head cracking against a rock. Pain shot through her head, then light. Brilliant white and blinding.
    Everything went black.
    When Becky Lynn came to, she saw only black, could only draw a shallow breath, closed as she was in the damp, tight box. Disoriented, she tried to move her hands but found them anchored, found her legs nailed down, stretched at a painful angle.
    It took a moment to realize where she was and what washappening, a moment for reality to rudely reassert itself. The weight of a body pressed her into the damp, fecund earth, hands held her immobile. Her clothes had been pushed or torn aside, the night air chilled her skin, although she knew the iciness she felt had little to do with the temperature.
    It was Ricky on top of her. She knew him by his stench.
    Sounds and sensations flashed crazily through her head. The ooze of the earth against her skin, the smell of sweat and mud, the pain of an object being forced into her, sawing and tearing. The paper bag crackled as she flung her head from side to side in an agony of pain and shame.
    A dog began to bark, a high excited sound that ripped through her head, drowning out the sound of Ricky’s labored breathing. Of Buddy’s fear and Tommy’s anticipation. Of her own mewls of despair.
    Ricky grunted with release, like an animal, and fell against her. The sound turned her stomach, and she knew that guttural noise would feed her nightmares forever.
    â€œCome on, Ricky.” Tommy’s voice shook, and she heard him frantically unbuckling his belt, yanking down his zipper. “You’ve had your shot, give somebody else a cha—”
    The dog started its high-pitched barking again, and a light came on, spilling into the black, followed by the screech of a screen door being opened. “Who’s out there?” a woman called.
    Becky Lynn opened her mouth to cry out, to scream for help, but nothing came out but a ragged whisper, so weak even the boys didn’t hear her.
    â€œOh, shit.” Buddy whimpered and released her legs. “Oh, shit, Ricky—”
    â€œShut the fuck—”
    â€œI know somebody’s out there, and y’all better git. I’m callin’ the police. You hear me?”
    The three boys froze. Becky Lynn could feel their sudden tension, could almost hear their thoughts— Buddy’s relief, Tommy’s disappointment, Ricky’s hatred.
    â€œI’m callin’ the police,” the woman repeated, louder this time. “I’m callin’ ’em now.” The door slapped shut.
    Buddy didn’t wait. He jumped up and ran, stumbling out of the brush and into the road, puking when he reached it.
    â€œCome on, man.” Tommy sounded panicked, even though he didn’t release her hands. “We gotta go!”
    â€œThanks, baby,” Ricky whispered. “And don’t you fret none, I’ll make sure Tommy and Buddy get their turn.”
    He bent his head and took her right nipple into his mouth, sucking it, swirling his tongue over it. She gagged, the tenderness of the gesture grotesque, obscene. He lifted himself from her, and she kicked out blindly and as hard as she could. She caught him in the groin. She knew by the feel and by the sound he made—a high whine of pain—and she wished she could see his face contort.
    â€œBitch! Cunt! I’ll—”
    Tommy tugged on Ricky’s arm. “She called the cops, man! We’ve got to get out of here.”
    Ricky must have agreed, for in the next moment, Tommy released her hands, and she heard the two boys run off.
    Becky Lynn clawed at the paper bag, wrenching it off. She ripped at the stiff brown paper, tearing it into smaller and smaller pieces, whimpering and grunting like a wounded animal. The paper cut her fingers; they burnedand bled, but she kept tearing at the bag until nothing was left but pieces too small and broken to hold on to.
    Shuddering