The Day Silence Spoke novel Chapter 45

Tears mixed with saliva, running down her chin and soaking the man’s hand. It was impossible to tell which was which.

The thug’s gaze grew hotter. He pinched her tongue between his fingers. “You’ve got a tongue. How come you can’t talk?”

“Who cares if she has a tongue? Can we just get on with it?” the other one snapped. “I’m about to lose it.”

“What’s the rush?” The first thug pulled his hand back, wiping his fingers on Latisha’s clothes. He glanced at her tear-streaked face. “Let’s find a safer spot.”

Even if she was mute, the constant traffic passing by posed a risk. They couldn’t afford to be interrupted by some do-gooder.

Latisha heard their conversation, her heart pounding with panic. She scanned the area, but apart from the indifferent figures back under the bridge, there was no one around.

Clifford had told her to survive for two weeks. It had been less than a single night, and he had already proven his point: without him, she was nothing. Anyone could hurt her.

The two thugs dragged her into the darkness, her strength no match for theirs. She stumbled along as they pulled her into a nearby park.

At this hour, the park was deserted. Only a few scattered lamps cast a weak glow, failing to illuminate the entire area. They took her to a corner, surrounded by a thick hedge of evergreen shrubs—a perfect place to commit a crime.

With greedy, wicked smiles, they forced her onto the grass. They pinned her arms and legs, and she thrashed her head wildly, her mouth open in a silent scream, unable to make a sound.

Her inability to cry out only emboldened them. One of them sat on her legs to hold her down while he fumbled excitedly with her clothes. The other held her hands.

No matter how much she struggled, she couldn’t stop the inevitable tearing of fabric. The cold night air hit her skin, raising goosebumps all over her body.

The face hovering above her was a demonic mask, contorted in a horrifying laugh. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming from the corners.

The thug on her legs stood up to pull off her pants but stopped when his hand touched something thick and wet.

He held his hand up to the light. It was covered in blood.

Disgusted, they scrambled to their feet. One of them spat on her, tossing her torn clothes back on her body before they both ran off into the night.

Latisha’s face was ashen, her forehead slick with cold sweat. She tried to get up, but the pain was too intense. She collapsed back onto the ground after several attempts.

She reached out a hand, as if to call them back, but they were already gone.

Her fingers slowly curled into a fist, digging into the damp earth, squeezing mud through her knuckles.

No one was coming to save her.

No one was coming to save her baby.

Her consciousness began to fade, the distant streetlights blurring into doubles.