Free Web NovelChapter 110: Chapter 110 - Rescue the Damsel in Distress
iYISHA’S POV
Iyisha froze when the man’s voice cut through her sobs.
"Stop moving," he said sharply. "Or I’ll slice you."
She did not stop.
Panic tore through her body too fast to control, instinct overwhelming reason as she thrashed harder, terror screaming through her veins that stillness would be the end of her. She saw the blade flash in the firelight as it came down, close enough that the cold of it seemed to travel ahead of the steel.
The knife tore through fabric.
The sound was sharp. Final.
Her dress split open beneath it, silk giving way too easily, and cold air rushed over her skin in a way that made her gasp violently, shock rippling through her as she realized she was suddenly exposed, stripped of the last thin barrier between herself and them.
Laughter erupted.
"Jackpot," one of the men said, crude and delighted.
Iyisha cried out, the sound breaking into a scream as she tried to fold in on herself, arms crossing instinctively, body shaking uncontrollably as humiliation and terror crashed together. She turned her face away, eyes squeezed shut, desperate not to see, desperate to disappear.
Iyisha felt hands on her body.
Not one.
More.
They slid where she tried to pull away, fingers tightening when she struggled, forcing her knees apart with impatient strength, pinning her in place as her body shook violently beneath them.
The contact alone made her cry out, the sound raw and broken, because she knew what came next even before she felt the weight shift closer.
"Hold her," someone said.
Another laughed softly. "She’s shaking."
She tried to curl inward, to protect what little of herself she could, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere left to hide. The table was cold beneath her, the air colder still against skin she could no longer cover, and the humiliation burned hotter than fear for a moment before fear swallowed everything again.
The leader loomed closer.
She did not look at him. She could not. She stared at the floor, eyes unfocused, breath coming in sharp uneven gasps as she felt him position himself, felt the press of his body too close, too real, his hand sliding higher as if claiming space she had never given.
"So pretty," one of them said, voice thick with amusement.
"Yeah," another added. "Didn’t think we’d get one like this."
Their words washed over her like filth, stripping away what was left of her sense of self, reducing her to something discussed, evaluated, passed between them.
Hands stayed on her, holding, touching, restraining, reminding her with every second that she was surrounded and alone.
The leader chuckled. "Be a shame to let this one go," he said lightly. "Might be better to keep her here."
There were murmurs of agreement.
Easy. Casual.
Iyisha sobbed harder, body betraying her as panic surged, every nerve screaming, every instinct begging for escape that did not exist. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears spilling freely now, the world narrowing to breath and terror and the unbearable certainty that this was no longer a threat meant to scare her.
The sound came first.
A single sharp blast that cracked through the room and tore the air apart.
The man between her legs dropped instantly, weight collapsing away from her as his body hit the floor hard and final, and the hands that had been holding her released all at once, fingers recoiling as if burned.
Iyisha gasped as the pressure vanished, her body folding in on itself as she scrambled backward, breath breaking, arms wrapping around herself on instinct, shaking so hard her teeth knocked.
The others froze.
No one moved.
No one laughed.
Malcolm stood in the doorway.
The shotgun was braced solidly in his hands, barrel still smoking faintly, his stance wide and immovable, eyes locked on the men in the room with a calm that felt far more dangerous than shouting ever could.
"Don’t," he said.
His voice was low. Flat. Absolute.
"Do anything funny."
The men backed up without thinking, hands lifting slowly, faces drained of color, shock written plain across them as their eyes flicked between the body on the floor and the man holding the gun like it was an extension of his will.
Iyisha saw him then.
Really saw him.
The moment her eyes landed on Malcolm, something inside her shattered and reformed at the same time, relief crashing into her so hard it left her dizzy.
Her chest seized, breath hitching violently as tears poured down her face unchecked, her body finally giving in now that it no longer had to fight alone.
He was real.
He was there.
Her legs felt weak, useless, and she sagged to the floor, fingers clutching at herself as if to confirm she was still intact, still alive, still here. The room seemed too loud and too quiet all at once, every sound distorted by the rush of blood in her ears.
Malcolm did not take his eyes off the men.
Not for a second.
But his presence filled the space between them and her like a wall, solid and unbreakable, and Iyisha felt it even through the haze of shock, even through the trembling that would not stop.
The men stayed frozen.
No one dared test him.
Iyisha’s hands shook as she reached for what was left of her dress, fingers fumbling clumsily with torn silk as she dragged it up around herself, trying to cover skin that still felt exposed, watched, contaminated.
The fabric barely held, slipping through her grip, but she clutched it anyway, curling inward as her breath came in sharp broken pulls.
One of the men moved.
It was subtle. Too subtle.
He shifted his weight as if backing away, eyes still on Malcolm, posture careful, obedient on the surface, but his hand slid slowly toward the gun at his side, fingers inching closer, testing how much movement he could get away with.
Iyisha saw it.
Malcolm did not hesitate.
He did not speak.
The shot was instantaneous.
The blast tore through the room, deafening and final, and the man jerked backward as if yanked by an invisible force, the gun never clearing its holster before he hit the floor hard, limbs splaying uselessly as silence slammed down behind the echo.
No warning.
No second chance.
The remaining men froze completely, hands lifting higher now, fear replacing calculation in their eyes as they finally understood that this was not a standoff.
This was execution if they misstepped.
Malcolm kept the shotgun trained on them, expression unreadable, breathing steady despite everything still burning through his veins.
Iyisha sagged forward, clutching the ruined dress to her chest, sobs breaking free at last as the room seemed to tilt and settle around her, shock finally crashing in now that the threat had shattered.
He did not look away from the men.
One reached for the rifle slung across his chest, panic breaking through discipline as his fingers hooked the strap and started to pull.
Malcolm fired before the motion could finish, the blast snapping the man backward, weapon clattering uselessly as his body hit the wall and slid down it.
The second tried to bolt.
Half a step. That was all he got.
Malcolm turned smoothly, already tracking, and fired again. The man folded mid stride, momentum carrying him forward just long enough to make the fall ugly and final.
Silence crashed down hard.
Only one remained.
He dropped to his knees immediately, hands shaking as they flew up, voice breaking as words tumbled out in a rush, pleading, promising, swearing anything that might buy him another second. He kept looking at Malcolm’s face like he expected mercy to be written there.
Malcolm did not answer.
He did not argue.
He did not hesitate.
The shot ended it.
Iyisha flinched at the sound, sob hitching sharply in her chest, but no new hands came for her, no new voices followed. The room stayed still, bodies strewn where they had fallen, the air thick with smoke and finality.
Malcolm lowered the gun at last and turned toward her.
His eyes softened just enough for her to see it, just enough to anchor her to the present as the shaking finally overtook her completely.
He crossed the room quickly then, closing the distance, shedding the weapon as he reached her, crouching down in front of her without touching her yet, careful, deliberate.
"I’ve got you," he said quietly.
Iyisha broke apart.
The strength went out of her completely and Malcolm caught her before she could sink, one arm sliding under her bottom and thighs, lifting her up against his body in a rough one-armed carry that left her curled into him instinctively. His other hand never left the shotgun, barrel still trained toward the doorway, finger steady, unmoving.
She clung to him.
Her arms locked around his neck without thought, fingers digging into his shoulders as sobs tore out of her in violent, shaking waves. Her face pressed hard into his chest, breath breaking and stuttering, the ruined silk of her dress bunched uselessly between them as she tried to make herself smaller, to disappear into him.
Malcolm tightened his hold automatically, forearm solid beneath her, keeping her lifted and anchored against his body as if she were the only weight that mattered. He did not look at the bodies on the floor. He did not look anywhere but the door.
Iyisha’s crying turned ugly, raw, her whole frame trembling as terror and grief and delayed shock crashed through her all at once. Her legs drew in closer around his arm, clinging, her hands fisting in his shirt like letting go would send her back into it.
"I can’t—" she choked, the words dissolving into another broken sob.
"You don’t have to," Malcolm said.
His voice stayed low and even, controlled in a way that steadied her even as everything else came apart. He stayed exactly where he was, stance wide, shotgun steady, body angled so that nothing in that room had a clear line to her.
The house beyond the doorway was unnaturally quiet, the kind of silence that meant others were listening, deciding, weighing their chances.
Malcolm did not give them one.
He adjusted his grip just enough to pull her closer, his arm firm beneath her, his body shielding hers completely as her sobs slowly burned down into ragged breaths and shaking inhales. He did not rush her. He did not tell her to calm down.
He held her.
And they stayed exactly where they were, daring the world outside to make a move.
