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him and simultaneously trying to subdue him, pulling him to the ground.

Sasha realized he wasn't wearing cut-off pants, but an actual black leather skirt. It flipped up when they tackled him and forced him to his back. Twelve men—more, because they were supporting each other, acting as anchors—pinned him with four sitting directly on him.

His massive c**k, arched up away from his body, thick, dark, angry, and painful looking.

"Do it you bastards. Do it!" Kane was yelling like a madman.

With faces twisted in scowls, two men grabbed hold of Kane's c**k. Hard.

Kane yelled again, even as another grabbed his balls, all of them punishing and squeezing together. There was no pleasure in this violence, not for anyone. It was ugly and forced, an act of mad desperation to cause a release. Sasha thought it was the thing that had been driving Kane, robbing him of control, making him insane with unfulfilled need.

He was in rut, a full on rut, and had taken no woman to relieve it.

With that thought, Sasha felt her own anger. That was hers. What were they doing? She stormed forward. No one thought to stop her. No one dared.

"Get off him."

Her female voice was filled with quiet power. They heard her through all the noise of Kane's obscenities and male aggression. She was just a small bit of female nothing, but her fury—bitter and raging—was its own storm. Males scrabbled away as if a wild beast, sharp