“Don’t cry. Don’t cry. That’s what he wants. Stay awake. If you lose consciousness, that only allows them to do whatever they want. Don’t let your body become theirs. Xander tried to tell himself this was a dream. He could pull himself out of it. But all he saw was the face above him, looking down with a disgusting expression of satisfaction and it made his gut turn.
‘You’re going to learn a lesson today, fuck-up.’
Someone was pulling him, dragging him, with meaty hands covered by slick leather gloves. As he was lifted and tossed into the back of a vehicle, his ribs ground against each other at the movement, and he groaned, unable to speak. There was something in his mouth so that he couldn’t scream or yell for help, and blood running into his eyes so he couldn’t see.
He couldn’t move for the pain, and allowed unconsciousness to take him through the ride. When the vehicle stopped, so did his heart. He was going to be killed. He couldn’t fight, and the darkness was pulling at the edge of his mind again. The back hatch opened, and the leather gloved hands grabbed him by the ankles, pulling him out onto grass. The landing jarred Xander’s head and he could hold on no more. Once again, he had failed. Blood and tears mixed in the dew of the grass, and he was going to submit as the iron cross was raised again.
The blackness swelled up around him, and he knew no more.”