I act surprised. “Hi, Mr Jackson. It’s a small world, isn’t it? We’re closed on Sundays, so if you want your…” I peer around him, not seeing his car. “If you want your truck fixed, I can book you in for an appointment during the week.”
He smiles. I’d never realised what a nasty smile he had before. Mind you, I saw more of his feet as I was more likely to be found sprawled out under the car. I should have taken more notice of his expensive Italian loafers, so at odds with the rest of his workday clothes. My apparent confusion must put him at ease.
Roadrunner’s looking from the man to me in surprise. “You know this man, Sam?”
I shrug. “I don’t know him as such, but he used to bring his car into the shop where I used to work.” I pause and address myself to Jackson, still acting innocent and trying not to let my internal shaking show. “You had one heck of bad luck with that car. Did you sell it in the end?”
Stepping forward, Jackson waves at his men to move closer. Roadrunner shifts awkwardly.
“Luckily your brains, or lack of them, aren’t a requirement for what we need you for,” Jackson says with a sneer, his tone of voice causing Roadrunner to raise his gun. A wave of Jackson’s hand and a shot rings out. As Roadrunner falls to the ground, I turn and look down in horror. Blood is pouring from a wound on his chest.
“What have you done?” I scream, falling to my knees to try and help the prospect, but not having a clue what to do. My basic first aid is no match for this.
“Take her.”
I’m half lifted and half dragged screaming into the back of the van. “Let me go,” I screech. “I’ve got to help him!” My panic is genuine, my fear off the scale. I’m fighting to get back to Roadrunner, forgetting the danger to myself.
But they’ve got me inside, and the doors are locked. It’s a panel van with no windows, and I’m thrown off my feet onto the floor as it makes a U-turn and tears away from the compound. They’ve taken me. I’m on my own.
Panic rises on a wave of nausea. Coldly discussing that someone was planning to kidnap me had nothing on the reality, and more than half of me hadn’t believed it would really happen. But now that I’m taken, I don’t have to pretend to be scared. My heart’s beating wildly, making it hard to get air into my lungs. Making a conscious effort, I try to slow my breathing. I can’t lose it now. As long as my earpiece works, maybe there is a way I can get help for Roadrunner. “Oh, Roadrunner,” I cry out as though speaking to myself in case anyone in the front can hear. “Why did you try to protect me, and why did you have to be shot? Road, don’t die there, in front of the gates.”
Almost immediately there’s the most wonderful sound in the world, a voice speaking in my ear. A voice I recognise, but one that’s speaking more calmly than I’ve heard it before, and it immediately soothes me. “Doc is on his way to him,” Drummer tells me. “And we’re right behind you.”
I don’t know whether the vehicle is bugged, or whether the men driving can hear, so I don’t say anything else. The earpiece is my lifeline; I don’t want to give it away. Drummer must understand, as he speaks again, “Cough once if you’re alright, Sam, twice if you’re hurt.”
Obediently I cough, just the once.
“Good girl. Is there anyone else with you? Are you with the other women? Cough again, once for yes, twice for no.”
I cough twice.
“Okay, you’ll probably be rendezvousing with the others at some point. We’ll listen in for that,” Devil adds in his gravelly tone. “We’ll be with you all the way. Do nothing to put yourself at risk, Sam. Remember what I said, do everything they tell you without a fight.”
I nod, even while knowing they can’t see me, and then try to make myself as comfortable as I can. Who knows how long I’ll be in here?
I lose all sense of time. It’s dark, hot, and very stuffy, making me bite down my fear there’s no air getting in. Of course there is, it’s my mind playing tricks on me. Trying to focus on something other than my predicament, I think of Drummer, of the man, not the president. He’s two different people—one hard and controlling, one gentle and kind, and that’s the part of him that others don’t get a chance to see. Perhaps he’s allowed me an insight into the man he was before he became a hardened president of the MC. We didn’t talk much about ourselves; he knows far more about me than I do about him. But there are so many things I want to ask him, things to find out about him. Will I get the chance to ask him? Will I get to hold him again, make love to him again? He told me he wasn’t finished with me. What exactly does that mean?
A tear forms at the corner of my eye and I wipe it away, finding thinking about my lover isn’t helping at all.
I’ve been kidnapped, abducted. By Jackson of all people. So, that’s what he was doing constantly bringing his car to the shop, he was keeping a close eye on me. No wonder he’d found out about the lack of sexual activity in my past, it had been a standing joke where I’d worked, that I knew more about engines than I did about men. But I’d fooled him by disappearing.
Jake would have known where I was headed. I hadn’t seen the need to hide what my mother had told me about my father, and I suppose I wouldn’t have been human had I not decided to find him, to satisfy my curiosity about what kind of man brought me into existence. Jake wouldn’t have seen any reason to keep it secret. No, he couldn’t have dreamed his loose mouth might cause me harm and would be devastated if he ever found out. Jackson had seemed so plausible, giving no indication he was up to no good. His lack of knowledge about his car was a standing joke between us—one day he’d brought it in as the windshield wiper fluid had dried up. We’d charged an hour’s rate to top them up again. Oh, how we’d chuckled at ripping him off, not knowing, of course, the tables would turn, and the last laugh would be on him.
The truck bumps over something, and then across rougher ground. As it starts to slow, I realise I haven’t been thinking about the right things. Oh shit, what do I say when he opens the door? How do I play this? Act naturally, don’t give away that you were warned in advance.
We stop, and the doors are pulled open.
“Out.”
It’s not Jackson; it’s a stranger, an ugly brute of a man, his teeth yellowed and broken. His nose looks twisted as though broken in a fight, and one ear is ragged as if at some point it had been torn. He looks like a fighter, no stranger to violence. I think I’d rather see Jackson’s face, someone familiar. This man’s sneer, and the way his eyes roam up and down my body makes my skin crawl. He’s looking at me as though I’m a lump of meat.
Looking round I finally see Jackson, he’s flicking through a pile of bank notes before he gets into a different car—a step up, I notice, from his old broken-down heap—and is driving away.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sam…
“Out!” The command’s repeated, this time more urgently. “You don’t want me to come in there and get you.”
“Don’t do anything to get yourself hurt.” Drummer’s voice comes over clearly, and I jump, hoping the men haven’t heard, but of course they can’t, as he’s speaking directly into my ear.
He’s right, it’s best if I do what they tell me to do. Now faced with this ugly and scary man, I have no need to fake my confusion or that my body’s shaking in fright. Ignoring the offered hand, I jump down onto the sand.
“Strip,” the disfigured man tells me. His voice might sound disinterested as though he’s done this a hundred times before, but his hungry eyes don’t leave me for a second.
“What?” I didn’t expect the crude demand. I’m trembling so hard it’s difficult to speak.
“Take off your clothes,” he instructs more slowly, as though addressing a petulant child.
“Why?” My eyes wide, I look around in horror at the men surrounding him—there are three others with him. None of them look sympathetic; all are just as unpleasant versions of the first, or perhaps that’s just how my mind portrays them. All have virtually identical leers on their faces, and
four pairs of eyes are focused on me.
“So you can put this on.” He throws me a flimsy babydoll nightie which would barely cover my ass, and a top so low it will show a whole lot of breast. “We haven’t got all day. Take off your fuckin’ clothes now. Or we’ll do it for you.”
Stripping in front of them is the last thing I want to do, but I don’t want their grubby hands on me. “I’ll change in the truck,” I suggest.
He smirks. “No, you change here.”
Yeah, they’d want me to do that, wouldn’t they? All part of the humiliation aimed to control me. They want to see my body, but they won’t touch. My value is my assumed virginity, Devil assured me of that. Summoning up some backbone, I remember what I’ve been told. It might be degrading, but it’s not going to hurt. Unless I refuse. And that’s when their gloves will come off.
But still I try to retain some dignity. “Can you turn around? Please.” I add my plea, hating the genuine weakness in my voice.
They laugh, loudly. One slaps another’s back. “Fuck, someone’s going to have fun breaking her.”
Oh. My. God. Devil promised I’d be rescued, but I hadn’t allowed myself to imagine what I could go through first. What had I thought would happen? That a man would turn up, politely ask me to step into a car and make polite conversation on the way? These men trade in flesh, human flesh. If they weren’t born that way, they'd have developed a disregard for the people they’ve stolen and consider them as nothing more than animals. To them, I’m not a woman anymore, I’m a thing, an object, to be defiled and vilified in whatever way they want. Then they’ll sell me. They have no better natures I can appeal to; they’ll have long lost any semblance of that.
Back in the cocoon of the compound, it had seemed so easy. But now that I’m here, even with the communication device in my ear and the further comfort of the GPS implant, I have to suffer just like any other woman they’ve taken, even while knowing help isn’t far behind.
It’s the demand I take off my clothes that undoes me, and I know I’ve made a mistake. I can’t do this. The only man who’s seen me naked has been Drummer. Without conscious thought, I swing around and start sprinting across the hot sand…
And have the air knocked out of my lungs when Ugly-face throws himself on top of me. I scream as he starts tearing at my clothes.
“Don’t fight.” Now the voice in my ear is no longer calm, and there’s a snarl and a rushed, “Devil, put your foot down…”
The sound goes as if the radio’s been switched off. No, don’t leave me alone!
But I stop fighting, stop resisting, and soon he has me down to my underwear. I hold on to my bra, but he’s too strong and gets it off. Then my panties are torn away. I try to cover myself as they all stare at me, one openly jerking himself off in his pants.
“Can we try her out, boss?”
No! I shake my head wildly and try and step back, but rough hands have a hold on me.
“Not this one,” the man stripping me snarls. “You can look and feel, but no further than that. She’s valuable cargo. Untouched.”
“I’d like fuckin’ touching ‘er.”
“You can touch.” To my horror he gives his permission. “Just not fuck.”
My arms held firmly behind my back, Jerk-off steps forward. His free hand roams my breasts. “Bit on the small side, these. You sure you’ve got a buyer for her?”
Then he’s taking out his dick and pushing it up against my stomach. Closing my eyes, I try to pretend it’s Drummer, but it’s impossible. There’s a rank smell, and he’s so much shorter it’s impossible to imagine it’s my man in front of me. At last, he turns away, and I open my eyes, immediately wishing I hadn’t as I watch him tugging at his cock and a stream of cum shoots out over the sand. But he’s not finished, he takes some of the drips remaining on his tip and rubs them into my breasts.
“There you go, darlin’, now I’ve marked you, you’ll remember me all day. Bet you’d have loved my cock inside you.”
Another man lurches up to me, his fists in my hair, holding my head steady as he kisses my mouth. When I refuse to let his tongue probe inside, he bites my lip so hard I gasp, inadvertently opening for him. His tongue tastes foul and his breath smells, while his hands roughly roam over my skin. I sob and gag and want to spit when at last he pulls away.
The last man fondles my breasts and twists my nipples so hard it brings tears to my eyes. He runs his hand down my stomach, and into my folds. “Fuck, she’s dry as the fuckin’ desert.”
Unable to bear the alien touch, my tears are flowing freely now. Being restrained, I can’t wipe my nose and snot runs down my face. Freed momentarily I try to escape, but it’s only so someone else can take over my imprisonment, allowing Ugly-face to stand in front of me.
“Fuck you’re a mess,” he tells me. “But don’t worry, I like to see a woman cry. Turns me right on, it does.” He outlines his hard cock with one hand, then shoves his other between my legs. I rise up on my toes trying to escape him. As the other man holds me tight, he pushes his fingers into me, probing. I grit my teeth and try to send my mind back to better times, but it doesn’t work.
Jerk-off laughs. “Don’t damage the goods, man.”
It makes him draw his fingers away from there, but then he’s prodding at my backside. I freeze as his finger tries to probe my puckered hole.
He’s looking straight in my face. “Wish I could be the one to break you in, sweetheart, but you’ll know what it’s all about soon enough. And while that fuckin’ vibration is doing wonders to my cock, I need to answer this. If you’ll excuse me.”
I heave a sigh of relief, as with a sarcastic grin he steps away, pulling out his phone. All I can hear are a series of yeses and noes from his end; however hard I strain, nothing of the call itself.
Mouth rapist yells out as he ends the call, “You got the details of the next stage?”
“Yeah, we’re heading for the border. Boss man will meet us this side and check the merchandise. Get her loaded up now.” He shoves the babydoll nightie at me. I slip it over my head fast, grateful for any covering, however ineffective it is.
At last he steps away, and the men turn to business, pulling me over to a truck and opening the back. The inside is crammed full of women dressed the same way as me. If the state of them is anything to go by, it looks like most of them must have put up a fight. One young girl is holding her hands to a bloody graze on her face; another’s nursing a swollen wrist. All are covered in a range of bruises. Only a couple glance up with anything resembling interest as I’m pushed inside, some seem almost catatonic. I can only be grateful my portrayal of a scared virgin was enough to convince them only to put their dirty hands on me. That the men had probably gang-raped the others seems certain.
One man jumps up and cuffs me into the one remaining space. Then, as they slam the door, I hear Ugly-face cry out, “Let’s get this show on the road. I’m looking forward to payday!”
“Too fuckin’ right,” replies Jerk-off. I hear them walk away, and then a rumble as the engine starts.
I sit in stunned silence, my mind trying to come to terms with the crudeness and callousness of my captors while my body tries to balance against the rocking of the truck. I feel sullied and dirty, unable to shake off the feeling of the men’s hands as they roamed over me. I don’t think any number of showers will ever let me feel clean again. When I agreed to do this, it had all seemed so simple, allow myself to be captured, and then go with the flow. I hadn’t expected to be taken by men like them—heartless men who regard women as nothing more than bodies to play with, to torture and hurt. Why hadn’t Devil prepared me? But if I’d known, I wouldn’t, couldn’t have played along with his plan. And, according to Devil, they’d have taken me anyway.
“Sam, we heard what happened. Drummer’s lost his shit, so I’m taking over communications for now.” Devil’s voice speaks into my ear. “I won’t ask you if you’re alright, but could you get some information to me? How many men are w
ith you? I think I heard four. Is that correct?”
Oh, those glorious words go straight into my ear, his matter-of-fact voice reminding me I’m not alone, and that I’m here to do a job; the knowledge grounds me. I glance around, most of the women wear vacant looks, lost in their misery, but the woman opposite is looking at me curiously. I catch her eye while lamenting my previous lack of female interaction hasn’t much prepared me for making a friend, especially in the current circumstances. How do you start a conversation with someone who’s been molested and hurt?
But she speaks first, “They didn’t rape you.” Her statement is almost an accusation.
“They touched me,” I confirm, giving a little shake of my head. “But they didn’t do that. They’re saving me,” I explain, not having to fake the disgust and fear in my voice.
She’s staring at me intently. “You’ve still got your V-card?” And then, at my nod, she shrugs and continues, “I don’t know if that means you’re lucky or not.”
It depends on who wants to buy me. But it’s not going to get that far. I hope.
She moves her head around, indicating everyone else. “They sampled the rest of the goods. You got away lightly.”
As she draws my attention to the traumatised women sitting around me, I suppose I am the lucky one, but I selfishly I don’t feel that way. What they already did was enough. As I shudder, I try to remember why I’m here, and not let my fear conquer me. I need to get answers for Devil and Drum. I decide to test how much she knows. “The men, are there just the four of them?”
“Just?” Her voice rises. “That was fucking enough.” A shiver wracks her body and she goes quiet for a moment, before adding, “I haven’t seen anyone else, so far.”
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