𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 ➪ «𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝑑𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛»

ch. VII pt. II

oOo

Solar Plexus.

Diana stretched and grabbed her captor's middle finger before pulling back with all her might, hearing a sickening 'pop' as it dislocated. He yelled out in pain, releasing her completely. She twisted herself away from him while bringing her elbow only to snap it back to hit the man in what she could only hope was the approximate center of his paunch. She heard him wheeze for breath.

Instep.

She stomped the heel of her running shoes on the man's foot, putting all her weight on it and he staggered away, yelling and cursing, calling her all sorts of pretty names.

Nose.

Since he was no longer immediately behind her, Diana turned around to face him and slammed the heel of her open palm upwards into the man's crooked nose, feeling it cave in as a rivulet of blood spewed out, dripping on her hand. He brought his hands to his face, faltering in place.

Groin.

Diana grabbed his shoulders for leverage and drove her knee straight into the man's tender bits and he fell to his knees.

Diana called out, bringing his attention up to her, beady eyes hazy on her, and she brought her hardened fist down on his jaw, it dislodged from place and he was knocked out cold.

Ow! Fucking caralho!

She shook her hand in pain, wincing, but remembered it wasn't over yet.

Adrenaline powering her, Diana faced the skinny man with her heart beating a bruise against her chest. His face was pale as his eyes fixated on his felled brother.

He looked downright comical, with his pants bunched at his ankles and mouth agape. Diana would've laughed if she wasn't so out of it with anger.

She thanked her lucky stars for his distracted state. She called out once more. Once his attention was on her, he squatted hurriedly to pull his pants up. Before he could finish his task, Diana brought her leg in and thrust it out, the sole of her shoe meeting the man's chest and knocking him down while she stumbled back, off balance.

He fell on his back, pants down to his knees and hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, lady, I won't do nothing again, I swear!"

Standing over him, his words reminded her of the women he had claimed to have raped; how they must've begged for mercy and met none. Cold sweat dripped down her neck.

Her skin squirmed as she imagined what he and his brother must've put those women through. Her hands thirsted for vengeance for them.

Oh, she fucking despised rapists.

She was on top of him before he could blink, straddling his torso.

"Did they beg you to stop?" her voice was ice.

She grabbed the collar of his ratty shirt and lifted his head off the ground. She raised a hardened fist.

"Did they? Answer me, foda-se!" She swung down on his eye socket, only briefly acknowledging the pain as his head bobbed.

"YES, yes they did," he admitted, his head swaying. Would he beg for himself? Diana wondered. She would make him beg.

"Did you ever stop?" Diana pressed down on his throat with her left hand and brought down her right fist on his cheekbone, the skin tearing upon contact.

"No, I didn't, I didn't, I'm sorry."

"You didn't stop." Another punch, to the temple this time.