xXx Skylar Carson xXx

I felt guiltier than I ever had before when I pushed Punk away from me. I hadn't minded feeling his lips against me, or feeling him hold me. But when he had, flashbacks of what Homicide had done to me started coming back, and I couldn't stop myself from becoming frightened. I knew that Punk

wouldn't hurt me, but that didn't seem to matter when all I could think of was how filthy I felt.

I was surprised that he'd offered to let me shoot off the gun. I hadn't expected him to do something like that, although it was exactly what I needed. Shooting the gun at that target made me feel better, even if I missed a lot of the time. I wasn't going to tell Punk, but I envisioned the target being Homicide. That seemed to help my aim get better.

We'd stayed in the shooting range for about two hours before he'd told me we had to head back to the house so that I could eat. When we got into the kitchen, Homicide was sitting down in the adjacent dining room, stuffing his face with some food. He gave me that smirk of his that sent disgusting shivers down my spine. He didn't turn me on; he made me feel like I was some kind of sex toy or something.

"How are you doing today, princess?" He asked me. Punk's hold on my wrist tightened in anger as he glared back at Homicide, and I honestly wouldn't have been surprised if he hauled off and hit him right then and there.

"Shut the fuck up, Homicide," he warned the brown-eyed man before turning to me. "There's food in the fridge," he told me. His tone wasn't too soft; he kept the anger in his voice, but I knew that it was just a guise. Neither of us could afford to let someone find out about the two of us, much less Homicide.

"You know, I think there's something you're not telling anyone, Punk," Homicide continued as he walked into the kitchen, smirking down at me before he looked at Punk. "I think that you like Skylar here. That's why you were such a fucking asshole the other night."

"I don't like the bitch," Punk snapped. His Emerald green eyes had gone black with anger, and I could tell that Homicide was walking a very thin line with him right now. I backed away, not wanting to be anywhere near the two of them if a fight broke out, but Homicide stopped me by grabbing my wrist.

"Oh yeah? Then why did you nearly give me a fucking concussion over her?" He asked, moving his hand down my back. I started shaking; not because I was angry, but because him touching me like this was a direct flashback of how he'd touched me the other night. I tried to pull away from him, but it didn't work.

"I don't like fucking rapists, that's why," Punk growled, pulling me out of Homicide grip before he pushed the smaller man up against the fridge. "I don't like guys who force a girl into doing shit.Thatis why I nearly gave you a goddamn concussion, you sorry son of a—"

"What the fuck is going on in here?" Samoa Joe voice asked, walking into the kitchen. His eyes narrowed when he saw Punk holding Homicide up against the fridge, and then he looked at me. He looked almost annoyed with me, and I took that as a good sign. Maybe the fucker would leave me alone now that he knew I wasn't going to put out for him.

"Skylar, come with me. Now," he growled at me, grabbing my hand and pulling me after him so that I didn't have much choice. He didn't stop until we were back in my old bedroom, and I was relieved that he at least wasn't being such a big asshole to force me to sleep in the room Homicide had been in with me.

"Here," he told me, handing out a bag with a small smile on his face. "Go change into this, and then come back in here after you're done. I mean it," he murmured before leaning down to brush his lips over mine. I rolled my eyes as he kissed me, and pulled away before he could deepen it as I grabbed the bag away from him. I walked down the hall towards the bathroom.

The second I looked at what was in the bag, I realized what he was going to try to do tonight, and it pissed me off more than scared me. The outfit wasn't an outfit at all; it was a black, lacy chemise that would fall off my shoulders. The bottom just barely reached the top of my thighs, and there was a pair of black lacy thongs to go with it. The only thing that would stop my breasts from being completely visible to him was a black lacy bra that he'd given me to go with it, and even that was questionable.

I knew I didn't have any other choices but to wear it for him, so I did the best I could to make my body as covered as possible before making my way back towards the bedroom. Once I was inside and the door was closed, I groaned in frustration when I saw that Samoa Joe had taken advantage of the time I was gone. He was now stripped out of his clothes and was only wearing a pair of black silk boxers, and a Cheshire cat's grin on his face.

"Very nice," he said in admiration of the outfit as I stood there looking own at him, clear anger on my face. "Turn around, babe. Let me get the whole view."

"I'm not your fucking pinup model, asshole," I snapped as, doing as he told me to do, moving more quickly than he would have liked. I was just starting to face him again when he stood up, putting his hands on my hips.

"Now, baby, don't be like that," he whispered into my ear, trailing his tongue along the outer shell before he let his hands rest on my stomach. I tried to pull away from him, but he stopped me before turning me around so that I was facing him. "You know, the bra was optional. I think you'd look sexier without it in that outfit."

"There's not a chance in hell, Samoa Joe," I told him, shaking my head as I tried to pull away from him. He stopped me, and then shook his head before he picked me up and carried me over to the mattress, laying me down and then crawling over me so that I couldn't move away from him.

"I'm not like him, Sky," he murmured as his lips found my neck. He sucked hard enough to leave a small hickey, and I knew it was going to piss Punk off if he ever found it. I tried to shove Samoa Joe off of myself, feeing even more scared than I had been before. I didn't want anyone touching me right now, much less an asshole like him.

"I don't care! Get off of me," I told him, trying to pull away from him when I figured out that trying to shove him away wasn't going to work. He bit back an annoyed sigh as he trailed his hand up my thigh, letting his hand get dangerously close to my crotch.

"Kelly is putting out for Punk," he murmured into my ear as he kissed me again. "And you already know I saved your ass from Homicide. C'mon. I'll make it feel so fucking good, baby."

"No!" I yelled at him, finally succeeding in getting him away from me. "I don't want this, not with you. I just want to be alone right now!"

He growled in frustration as he turned away from me, looking at me with such anger in his eyes that I thought he was going to break something. He finally ran his hand over his head, and then stood up off of the bed before walking towards the bedroom door, muttering under his breath about how much of a bitch I was and how he never got any. I didn't care how pissed off he was. I didn't want this. I didn't want his hands on me, and I didn't want his lips kissing me.

All I wanted was to crawl into a bed by myself for once. I wanted to be able to forget about everything bad that had happened to me while I was here, and I wanted to be able to fall asleep without being scared that I was going to wake up to a knife to my throat or something like that. And I was surprised to realize that, while I wanted all that, I also wanted Punk somewhere in that picture.