The barn trembled with barking—woof, woof, woof!—dogs clawing the walls, snarling loud like hungry wolves. Isabella pulled at the ropes tying her to the post, her wrists bloody and raw, rope cutting deeper—drip, drip—blood running down her hands. The gag choked her cries—mmph, mmph!—her burned hands stinging bad, blisters open and red, her ribs sore from kicks, aching with every breath. Her dress was shredded rags, muddy and bloody, sticking to her scratched legs, her bloody feet throbbing on the dirty floor—ow! Her tummy growled loud, so empty she felt sick, her face swollen from slaps and falls, tears falling fast—she shook hard, so small and hurt, readers would feel so bad for her.
Dante stood by the door, gun ready, his gray eyes mad, flashing in the dark. "Quiet!" he snapped at her, his voice mean, but she couldn't stop sobbing—mmph!—tears soaking the gag, her nose so stuffy she gasped tiny breaths. Marco lay in the hay, moaning low, blood pooling from his leg—drip, drip—his face white, eyes half-closed. Then—crash!—the door burst open, wood flying, three big dogs jumping in—snarl, snap!—teeth sharp, eyes wild like fire. Isabella screamed into the gag—mmph!—curling tight, her heart banging hard, her scratched legs kicking dirt—thump, thump!
Dante shot fast—bang, bang!—the noise loud, booming in the barn, hitting one dog. It yelped, high and sharp, falling dead—thud!—blood splashing red. The other two lunged, fast and mean, one biting Dante's arm—chomp!—blood spraying, dripping—drip, drip. He yelled, loud and mad, punching it hard—thwack!—his fist smashing its face. The third dog ran at Isabella, snarling deep, its teeth big and white—snap! She kicked, weak and scared, her bare feet shaking, but it bit her leg—chomp!—teeth sinking in deep—ow! She screamed—mmph!—pain exploding, blood pouring hot down her leg—drip, drip, drip—her cries muffled, wild.
She pulled at the ropes, tearing her wrists more—ow!—blood dripping faster—drip, drip—crying loud—mmph, mmph! The dog shook its head, teeth digging deeper—ow, ow!—her leg burning like fire, her scratched arms shaking. Dante shot again—bang!—hitting the dog on her, its jaws letting go—yelp!—falling heavy—thud!—pinning her down—oof! She sobbed, blood running from her bite, the weight crushing her—she was so hurt, so scared, trapped under a dead dog.
Dante kicked the last dog off him—thump!—shooting it dead—bang!—blood splashing more—drip, drip. He ran to Marco, dragging him up, yelling, "We're going!" his voice booming, dust flying. He turned to Isabella, cutting her ropes fast—snip!—yanking her up rough. Her wrists bled free—drip, drip—her bitten leg wobbly, shaking bad, and she cried, "No more!"—mmph!—but he pulled her hard, dragging her to her feet—ow! Her burned hands stung, hitting air, her bloody leg dragging.
They ran outside, footsteps stomping close—thump, thump!—men shouting loud, "They're here! Get 'em!" Dante dragged her fast, her leg screaming—ow!—blood dripping down her shin—drip, drip—mud sticking to her cuts. She stumbled, falling hard—thump!—her burned hands hitting dirt—ow!—tears soaking the gag more.
Then Enzo appeared, his red suit bright in the dark, yelling, "Dante! Victor's close!" Isabella looked up, dizzy, her head spinning, and saw it—a scar on Enzo's neck, creepy and long, just like the strange man in the picture. Her eyes got big, her breath catching—was he part of this? Another twist she was too hurt to run, too scared to think.
Dante glared at Enzo, "Help or die!" his voice loud, gun waving. Enzo nodded fast, grabbing Marco, lifting him—oof!—blood dripping—drip, drip. Isabella tried to crawl away, her bitten leg burning—ow!—mud sticking to her bloody hands, but Dante yanked her back, rough and mean—thud! "Stay!" he snapped, shoving her down hard—thump!—her knee hitting a rock—crack!—pain shooting up—ow! She sobbed loud—mmph!—her scratched legs shaking, her tummy empty, her whole body hurting bad.
Then—a voice, deep and cold, cut through the trees, loud and scary: "Dante! Give me the girl!" Isabella froze, her heart stopping—Victor? Her eyes got bigger, tears falling faster—mmph! Dante spun fast, gun up, pointing it right at her head—click!—the barrel cold on her forehead, pressing hard—ouch! "She's mine!" he yelled back, his finger on the trigger, his gray eyes mean—she was bitten, bleeding, shaking, seconds from death, the gun so close she felt its chill.