My hand flew to my holster—or where my holster would have been if I was back in the States. My beloved Glock did not get to join me on this trip. The two men closed in on me. Blondie grinned, eying me up and down. “Don’t you know there’s a killer out in the City? Wouldn’t want him ripping your pretty little body open, would we? That’d be a terrible waste.” “Why don’t you let us take care of you,” said the man behind me. “You just need to be nice to us first. You know how to be nice, don’t you?”
Most cliche stranger rape scenario ever.
