Shot Through The Heart

                                    

                                          
Large arms were wrapped tightly, to the point of cutting off her air supply slightly, around her, squeezing so she couldn't get away. Her captor gripped her hair and yanked hard, and she cried out, tears filling her eyes. 
                          
Another man, clad in a black muscle shirt and jeans, tattoos covering every visible inch of his skin, stood to their right and pressed the icy barrel of a handgun into her temple. She heard the bullets click into place, ready to pierce her skull through with one flick of a finger, a silent warning not to defy them. 
                          
And she thought at this point that death would be better than watching what was about to happen. 
                          
He sat tied to a chair, the ropes bound so tightly she could see the circulation cutting off in his biceps, and it had to hurt him like hell, but she couldn't do anything about it. 
                          
He was gagged, the rope digging into his cheeks, marring his beautiful face. Tears were in his eyes, she could see them clearly as they stained his cheeks, and she could tell he was trying to hold them back, to be strong for her sake. She wanted to make it all okay, to get them out of this mess, but she was powerless against their oppressors. 
                          
The apparent head of this company of jackasses entered the room and the air grew colder and the lights dimmer, and her blood curdled. She wanted to scream, cry out for help, anything, but her throat felt like someone had shoved cotton balls down it, and she could hardly breathe.