Gangbanged by Strengers

*A New Collection: After being in a four years relationship with Jake, Emily catches him and her bestfriend hooking up. Heartbroken - Leading her to get complicated with some nasty strengers in the bar ready to split her open if she asked for it.(This is a continuation from my last book - Unheard Pleasures)

I turned the key in the lock and stepped inside, already half-smiling because the Thai takeout smelled so damn good and I couldn’t wait to kick off my shoes and hear Jake laugh about my shitty day at the café.

The apartment was dim, just the blue flicker of the TV and… sounds. Wet, rhythmic, breathy sounds that didn’t belong here.

My stomach dropped instantly I heard. A kind of sound that doesn't belong here.

I walked up to follow in the direction of the sound

There they were, on our couch; the one we spent three weekends arguing over at Ikea. Jake was leaning back, pants around his ankles, eyes half-closed. And Riley-*my* Riley, the girl who’d slept in my bed during every breakup since we were sixteen, was on top of him, skirt rucked up around her hips, moving slowly on his shaft like she’d done it a hundred times before.

Her hands gripped his shoulders as she slam in. His fingers dug into her ass - the same fingers that had traced my spine last night.

I stood there like an idiot, plastic bag still swinging from my fingers. The smell of coconut curry mixed with the sharp musk of sex and it made my throat close up.

She went slower and deeper now "I'm cuming. I'm cuming...." She tightened her eyes

Riley was about to cum when hers eyes flew open first. Shock written all over her face as she saw me. “Emily, oh...my God-”

Jake’s head snapped toward me, face going white. “Babe, wait—it’s not—fuck, just let me—”

I didn’t let him finish. The bag slipped out of my hand and hit the floor with a wet splat, noodles and sauce everywhere.

I turned on my heel, walked out, and yanked the door shut behind me so hard the whole frame rattled.

...........

My legs carried me down the hallway, into the elevator, out onto the sidewalk before my brain caught up. Then the tears came -- hot, ugly, choking sobs that made strangers glance at me and look away fast.

I kept walking anyway, phone buzzing like crazy in my back pocket. Jake. Riley. Jake again. I stopped under a streetlight, hands shaking so bad I almost dropped the damn thing, and blocked both numbers. Done. No explanations. No “it’s not what it looks like.” Because it was *exactly* what it looked like.

I walked for hours. Past the park where we had our first real kiss, past the coffee shop where Riley and I used to split one giant muffin every Sunday and talk about everything.

My feet throbbed in my stupid work sneakers.

My chest felt hollowed out, like someone had scooped everything good out of me and left nothing but this raw, aching hole. The sky went from purple to full black.

Streetlights buzzed on. I didn’t know where I was anymore and didn’t even care.

All I knew was that if I stopped moving, the pictures in my head would catch up to me.

That’s when I saw the bar.

It was nothing special—just a plain neighborhood dive squeezed between a closed laundromat and a pawn shop, neon sign flickering “OPEN” in weak red letters. Music thumped faintly through the door. I didn’t even hesitate. I pushed inside.

The place smelled like old beer and fryer grease.

A few regulars hunched at the bar, a jukebox playing some sad country song in the corner. I slid onto a stool at the far end, away from everyone.

Bartender gave me a once-over. “What’ll it be?”

“Whiskey ginger,” I said, voice low and calm “Double. Please.”

He poured it without asking questions. I drank half in one long swallow. The burn felt honest, like it was punishing me and helping me at the same time. I ordered another. Then a shot of tequila because the whiskey wasn’t hitting fast enough. My stomach was empty, my nerves shot, so the alcohol slammed into me hard and quick.

The sharp edges of everything started to soften. My shoulders loosened a little and the knot in my throat eased just enough that I could breathe again.

I was somewhere around my fourth drink—maybe fifth -like I said I don't know, I was drunk 😂

Then I noticed the table near the window. Four guys, all older than me, probably late thirties to mid-forties, loud and obviously already hammered. Ties loose and sleeves rolled up, laughing too hard at nothing.

One had a thick beard and broad shoulders, another was tall and bald with a cocky grin, the third had tattoos crawling up his arms, and the last one looked like he could bench-press a truck.

They kept glancing my way. At first I ignored them, staring into my glass like it held answers.

But the more the whiskey worked, the more their attention felt… nice. Warm. Like someone still saw me as a person instead of the idiot who’d trusted two people who were supposed to love me.

The bearded one finally wandered over, drink in hand. “You look like you’re carrying the weight of the whole damn world tonight. Mind if I sit for a minute?”

I shrugged, the alcohol making my movements loose. “Sure. Whatever.”

His name was Mike. The others drifted over one by one—Derek, Tony, Carlos. They bought the next round. And the one after that. I told them pieces of it, slurring a little now, the story spilling out in ugly chunks: walking in on my boyfriend fucking my best friend, on our couch, like it was nothing. They cursed Jake out, called Riley every name in the book, told me I was way too pretty to waste tears on assholes like that.

Their compliments landed soft and easy through the haze. Hands brushed my arm, my knee. Nothing pushy, but just enough to make the ache in my chest feel a little further away.

Time got blurry. I laughed too loud at their dumb jokes. The bar thinned out. Last call came and went.

Mike leaned in close, his voice warm against my ear. “We’ve got a couple rooms at the hotel a few blocks from here. Nothing crazy, just somewhere to keep the night going if you don’t wanna be alone right now. You in, sweetheart?”

I knew it was reckless and stupid to agree to come. Some tiny sober corner of my brain screamed that this could go wrong in about a hundred different ways.

But the thought of going home-to that apartment, to that couch, to the silence waiting for me when the buzz wore off, was worse.

“Yeah,” I heard myself say. “Okay. Why not”

They helped me off the stool, steady hands on my elbows when the floor tilted. Outside, the cool night air hit my face.

I ended up in the back of their big black SUV, squeezed between Mike and Carlos, the engine was turned on

Streetlights streaked past the windows in long golden blurs as we drove through. Someone’s hand rested warm on my thigh.

Whatever happened next, at least I wouldn’t be thinking about Jake and Riley.