No such luck.

Tattoo face is back. He hands one a spiked metal collar to Al. Then he puts the other around Emma's neck. It took three guys to hold her still, but once it's on she doesn't move.

Tattoos leans in and whispers into her ear with a smirk. It's hard to read her facial expression, but the mascara running down Em's face is visible in the streetlight.

She gives the guy behind her an elbow in he gut, and tries to storm off. "Fuck you! I'm not your fu..." she doesn't finish the sentence.

Tattoos is at the other end of the leash and yanks the **** collar hard. The metal spikes dig into her neck. With a gasp she falls backwards on her ass, grasping at her neck.

The whole group is laughing now. I crawl over to close the short gap between us and press myself against her. Tattoos has the leather strap wrapped around his fist and is holding it above her head, so she has to stare up at him. Her breath is rapid and shallow.