Guo Ruixue's homework clatters to the floor as her dorm door splinters inward—the cheap lock giving way like wet cardboard. She looks up from her desk, the Chinese characters she'd been copying still wet on the page, and Amani fills the frame first, his bulk blocking the hall light so completely that the room darkens around him. Behind him, Kevin's gold earring catches the dim lamp, a flicker of amber in the shadows, and she registers the grin before she registers the danger.
She scrambles backward on the bed, papers crumpling beneath her knees, her hand reaching for the phone on her pillow—but John's thick hand closes around her ankle before she reaches the wall. His grip is iron, his fingers digging into the soft flesh above her sock, and she opens her mouth to scream but only a sharp gasp escapes. The sound is thin, ridiculous, swallowed by the sudden weight of five bodies entering her room.
"Shh." Amani steps forward, his voice low and calm, like he's soothing a frightened animal. He kicks the door closed behind him and the latch clicks uselessly against the broken frame. "Don't make this hard."
She kicks out with her free foot, her heel connecting with John's shin, but he doesn't flinch—he just tightens his grip and pulls. Her fingers scrape across the thin dorm blanket as she slides toward the edge of the bed, her heart hammering so hard she can feel it in her throat. "Help—" she tries, but Kevin is already there, his long-fingered hand clamping over her mouth, and the rest of the word dies against his palm.
"Told you she'd be here." Kevin's voice is high, excited, his breath warm against her ear. "Told you."
David and Michael slip in last, silent as shadows. David closes the broken door as best he can, leaning his shoulder against it, while Michael stands by the desk, picking up her fallen textbook with an almost reverent curiosity. He flips through the pages, then sets it down, his hazel eyes finding hers across the room.
She tries to bite Kevin's hand. He yanks it back just in time, laughing, a sharp sound that bounces off the narrow walls. "Little mouse has teeth."
Amani says something in a language she doesn't understand—deep, guttural, a command—and the laughter stops. John hauls her off the bed by the ankle, her hip hitting the floor hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. The cold linoleum presses against her cheek, and she sees the legs of the desk, the scattered pages of her homework, the dust under the bed where she never cleans.
Hands everywhere—on her waist, her thighs, the back of her neck. She twists, she fights, she digs her nails into whatever flesh she can reach, but there are too many of them. A knee pins her spine, and someone's weight settles across her lower back, flattening her against the floor. The smell of cheap cologne and sweat fills her nostrils, and she hears the metallic slide of a belt buckle being undone.
"Please," she whispers, the word muffled by the carpet. "Please, don't."
Amani's voice is close to her ear now, a low rumble that vibrates through her skull. "We've been watching you, Xiao Xue. Since the first week. The way you walk, the way you look down when we pass. You knew this was coming."
She shakes her head, tears leaking onto the linoleum. She didn't know. She didn't know.
The weight shifts, and she's flipped onto her back. Amani kneels above her, his dark face looming, the scar through his left eyebrow a pale line in the dim light. He takes her chin in his calloused hand and forces her to look at him. "You're going to be good for us, and it'll be easier."
She spits in his face.
He doesn't even blink. He wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, then looks at her with something like disappointment. "That was stupid."
John's hands find the hem of her shirt, and she hears the fabric tear before she feels the cold air on her stomach. She thrashes, but Kevin and Michael catch her wrists, pinning them above her head. David stands by the door, watching, his deep-set eyes unreadable, his tribal scar catching the lamplight as he crosses his arms.
The shirt gives way, exposing her white bra, the thin cotton doing nothing to hide her small breasts. Amani's eyes trace down her body with a deliberate slowness that makes her skin crawl, and she feels the heat of five gazes on her, each one a claim she didn't consent to.
"Pretty," Kevin breathes. "So pretty."
Her jeans are next—the button popped, the zipper dragged down, the denim pulled past her hips with a roughness that leaves red marks. She's left in her bra and panties, a pale yellow cotton set she'd bought because it was on sale, and the absurdity of it—the banality of her underwear—makes her sob.
Amani sits back on his heels, taking his time. He unbuttons his shirt, revealing a broad chest, dark skin stretched over hard muscle. The scar on his eyebrow catches the light again, and she notices the thin line of his mouth, the absence of any cruelty or hunger in his expression—just purpose. The same look she'd seen on his face in class, when he was solving a problem.
He was solving her.
"Hold her still," he says, and the hands on her wrists tighten, the knee on her thigh presses harder. She feels the fabric of her panties being pushed aside, feels the sudden cool air on the most private part of her, and she closes her eyes.
She doesn't want to see.
But she hears—the rustle of his jeans, the sound of his cock being freed, a wet sound as he strokes himself once, twice. She hears Kevin's quickened breathing, Michael's shift of weight from foot to foot. She hears the distant hum of the fluorescent bulb in the hallway, the same hum that's been there every single night.
Something blunt and hot presses against her entrance, not yet pushing inside, just—resting. Testing. She feels the texture of him against her most sensitive skin, and her whole body goes rigid, a scream building in her chest that she knows won't come out.
Amani's voice is soft, almost tender. "Look at me."
She shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut.
"Look at me, Xiao Xue." His hand leaves her jaw, and his thumb finds her lower lip, pressing against it until her mouth opens. "I want you to see who takes it first."
She opens her eyes. His face is inches from hers, his expression unchanged, and she sees herself reflected in his dark pupils—small, naked, trembling, a girl in yellow underwear on a dorm room floor.
He pushes.
The pain is immediate, white-hot, a tearing that starts between her legs and radiates through her entire body. She screams into his thumb, a muffled, animal sound, and her back arches off the floor, but the hands hold her down. He pushes deeper, a slow, inexorable pressure, his cock forcing its way into her virgin cunt inch by inch, and she feels every centimeter as a violation, a splitting, a loss she will never recover.
"Fuck," Amani murmurs, and it's the first real emotion she's heard from him—an awe, a satisfaction. "So fucking tight."
He stops when he's fully inside her, his pubic bone pressed against hers, and she lies there, impaled, her tears running sideways into her ears, her chest heaving. The pain dulls to a deep ache, a fullness she can't process, and she feels his weight shift as he begins to move—slow, experimental thrusts that rock her hips against the linoleum.
Kevin's hand is on her thigh now, sliding up toward where Amani's body joins hers, and she feels his fingers brush against the wetness—her blood, his spit, something slick—and he moans. "Look at that," he whispers. "Look at that."