Buying Beth

by Izzy Sweet

  “Wait, no!” I say and start to tug my shirt over my head.

  He gives a grunt of approval as I pull my shirt off and then clutch it to my chest. I start to shiver involuntarily as the moist air hits my skin.

  “Remove the rest,” he says, his voice sounding gruffer, and crosses his arms over his chest again.

  My fingers don’t want to release their clutch on my shirt, but I have to if I don’t want his hands on me. Forcing my fingers to open, I let my shirt drop to the floor then reach down and unbutton my jeans.

  I hear him make a sound of appreciation as I have to wiggle to get my jeans over my hips. Bile burns the back of my throat and I consider letting myself get sick. But did that stop him from abusing Amanda? I doubt it.

  Straightening, my jeans pool at my feet and I toe my shoes off, stepping out of them. Nearly naked now, I cross my arms over my chest and shiver as I stare at him.

  His eyes narrow. “Do you not understand fucking English? I said remove all of it.”

  With tears stinging my eyes, I uncross my arms and reach behind myself, unsnapping my bra. I can’t even look at him as the straps slide down my arms. Sliding one arm out then the other, I do my best to reveal as little as possible, but it’s pretty much hopeless.

  The bra drops to the floor and I keep one arm pinned tight against my breasts as I use the other to push down my panties. My panties give way too easily, and once they drop, my hand immediately goes to my mons, covering it.

  “Get in the shower,” he orders and my eyes flick up. There’s an open, hungry look on his face that fills me with cold terror.

  “Now,” he barks when I don’t immediately move, and the harshness of his voice spurs me into action.

  Turning away from him, I give him my naked back as I walk up to the closest shower. There’s a handle I have to twist to the left to turn the water on. The first spray of water is icy cold and I gasp as it hits me.

  “Use the soap in the dish,” he orders behind me, and I cast a glance over my shoulder to see that he’s moved closer.

  Fuck.

  Compliance. Pretend to be compliant and maybe he’ll drop his guard long enough to give me an opening, I remind myself.

  If I can steal his gun I can fucking shoot him with it.

  Looking forward again, I reach out, my hand shaking as I grab the little bottle of soap that’s been left on the soap dish by the water handle.

  One handed, I pop the lid and then just squirt the bottle onto the top of my head. I lather up my hair, scratch my nails through my scalp, and resist the urge to look back again.

  Pretending there’s no one behind me, I rinse my hair out and then squirt some more soap into my hand. Just as I start to rub the soap onto my arms, I hear a little grunt behind me.

  Glancing back without thinking, I see him rub his hand over his groin.

  Fuck, he’s getting off on this.

  Looking forward again, air puffs out of my mouth in little pants as I focus all of my energy on completely not losing my shit. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to fucking attack him, and the only thing keeping me from not doing it is the desire not to have a bullet in my head.

  I work the soap up and down my arms then quickly over my chest. I stare at the tile wall as I wash myself as quickly as I can. I just want to get this over with now. The more I try to hide myself, the longer I’ll have to be naked in front of him.

  The air behind me moves and my hackles rise. I cast another little glance over my shoulder and see that the goon is even closer. His eyes are locked on my backside as he rubs his hand over himself.

  “Hey, is she done yet?” a new voice calls out, echoing in the room. “The doc is ready for her.”

  “Fuck. Hurry it up,” my guard orders and moves back.

  I begin to tremble, unable to stop it. That was close, too fucking close for comfort.

  I turn the water off and then wrap my arms around myself as I turn back around to face him.

  He bends down and picks a towel off the bench. Then he grins as he holds the towel out.

  I have no choice but to walk up to him if I want it.

  Teeth chattering from the cold, my eyes remain locked on his face as I approach him. I get only as close as necessary before I reach out to take the towel from him.

  He immediately yanks the towel back, out of my reach.

  His eyes gleam with cruel amusement as I have to move closer. I reach for the towel again, half expecting him to yank it back, but his eyes drop, locking on my wet breasts.

  I yank the towel from his hand and immediately jump back.

  “Dry off,” he says gruffly.

  “Hey! What’s the hold up?” the other voice calls out.

  “She’s almost done,” my guard yells back then he glares at me. “Hurry it the fuck up.”

  I run the towel over my arms, ignoring my hair, and then wrap it around me for protection.

  Grabbing me hard by the arm, he drags me around the corner and out into the hallway where another goon dressed all in black is waiting.

  The new guy looks me in the face and then seems to do a double take. “Is that the redhead from the other night?”

  “Yeah,” my guard answers and begins to drag me past him.

  “Wow. She’s pretty fucking hot without all that snot and shit.”

  My guard just grunts and continues to drag me down the hallway. We pass the stairway to the basement, more doors, then take a left. I try hard to remember how I was led in last night, but I was so confused and disoriented, I just can’t remember which way the exit is.

  He leads me up to another door, pushes it open and pushes me in. I trip a little as I step into the room, but then my escort yanks hard on my arm, pulling me up so I don’t fall on my ass.

  “Get on the table,” he orders.

  Looking around the room, I take in the dark panels of the walls, the little stool with wheels, the little table with medical instruments, and finally the table he wants me to get on.

  No. No fucking way, I think as I stare at the table. It’s one of those medical tables with metal stirrups my gynecologist uses, but there are leather restraints attached to it.

  “Get on the fucking table now,” my escort growls and shoves me towards it.

  “No.” I shake my head and pull down on my arm, trying to yank it out of his grasp.

  I’ve put up with a lot of shit so far but I’ve reached my limit. There’s no way I can just willingly climb up on that table and allow them to strap me to it.

  “Why do they always fight the table?” the other goon chuckles behind us.

  “Fuck if I know,” the guy holding me grunts. By the arm, he tries to drag me closer to the table but I’m having none of it.

  Unable to free my arm, I turn on him and try to push him off. He doesn’t budge.

  His lip curls up with a sneer and my feet nearly leave the ground as he yanks my arm up harder. My shoulder screams in protest as he drags me closer to the table, my toes dragging against the carpet, and I feel my towel fall away.

  “No!” I cry out and continue to fight him. I start to kick at him and lean back against his grip even though the pain in my shoulder is nearly excruciating.

  He’s going to have to yank my damn arm off because there’s no way I’m allowing them to strap me down.

  Right now, in my mind, there are things worse than death.

  He pushes me up against the edge of the table, trying to force me up on it, but I twist and take a swing at him.

  My punch lands against his chest and he grunts softly.

  Taking another swing, this time at his face, his hand captures my hand in mid-punch. He applies so much force with his crushing grip, a scream builds inside my throat and my knees start to give out on me.

  “Want some help?” the other guy asks, sounding amused.

  “Yeah,” my escort grunts just before his grip tightens.

  I scream and then feel another set of hands at my waist before I’m lifted into the air.
<
br />   They toss me onto the table but I don’t stop fighting them. I kick and scream and throw punches at them, but they still manage to overpower me.

  I’ve never felt so pathetic or weak. I’m giving it my all but, the two guys aren’t even winded as they overwhelm me.

  Straps are wrapped around my wrists and tightened until my arms are pinned at my sides. My legs are pushed apart, my feet forced into the stirrups, and then more straps are wrapped around my ankles.

  Shaking my head back and forth, tears stream down my cheeks as I push and struggle against my restraints.

  My escort takes a step back and his eyes roam over my spread, restrained body, as if he’s admiring his handiwork.

  “I hate you,” I snarl at him.

  I hate them all. I hate them for grabbing us. I hate them for killing Lindsey. I hate them for abusing Amanda.

  And I especially hate this sick fuck for getting off on all of it.

  He only laughs. “They all say that.”

  “I’m going to kill you,” I promise. And in my bones I can feel it, the power of the promise. Maybe not today, but someday… Someday soon.

  Two sharp raps sound against the door and then a new, softer voice asks, “Is she ready for me, gentlemen?”

  “Yeah, doc, she’s all yours,” the guy who escorted me in says and then gives my thigh a slap.

  Instinctively, my body jerks, and I hiss.

  “Good, good,” the newcomer murmurs as he enters. In walks a thin, older man dressed in a gray suit. “Clear the room.”

  Tears trickle down my face as my escort from earlier tugs, drags, and pushes me down the hallway.

  I feel humiliated and violated after the pelvic exam the ‘doc’ gave me. He didn’t use any of the shiny instruments that were laid on out on the little table for him.

  No, he used his fingers, his ungloved fingers, to perform my exam.

  “Fucking virgin,” the goon gripping my arm growls as we descend the stairs like it’s a bad thing.

  Pictures of me were taken after the exam. With a gun pointed at my head, I was forced to stand in front of a backdrop while I was photographed from all sides, naked.

  Something inside me feels broken. Like a piece inside me is missing. A piece they’ve taken from me.

  I don’t even try to fight the guy stomping beside me. In fact, I want to return to the cell, to its safety.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I try to tune out the whimpers and cries of the other prisoners, but I can’t stop the sounds of despair coming from the youngest ones from affecting me.

  There are children here, I know it. Children, for fuck’s sake. I swear I even hear a little boy sniffling for his mommy.

  The despair, the humiliation I’ve been feeling starts to warm until I’m so angry I’m nearly seeing red from it.

  The door to my cell is unlocked then pushed open. For a wild, crazy moment, I consider trying to make a grab for the goon’s gun.

  But then he shoves me inside and slams the door shut behind me.

  My shoulders sag and my knees start to give out. I just want to curl up into a little ball and be near Sophia.

  Looking around the cell, I spot Amanda sitting up on the bed.

  “Where’s Sophia?” I ask, my eyes going over the room again, thinking somehow I missed her.

  Amanda wipes the back of her hand across her red-rimmed eyes and sniffles. “They took her after you.”

  8

  Johnathan

  Placing the small microbud inside of my ear, I shake my head, making sure the transceiver doesn’t become dislodged. The little piece of technology is so small, that if not seated properly, it can fall right out with just the slightest movement. When seated correctly, though, it should stay in even if I were getting in a fist fight.

  When I don’t feel it fall out, I reach in very gently to lightly brush my finger against the microswitch.

  “Testing, testing. Touch my testicles,” I murmur quietly.

  “Fuck you, asshole,” comes Andrew’s grumble. Thankfully it’s at the correct volume.

  “If you could stop playing like children…” Simon says quietly.

  “What’s the range on this again, Simon?” I ask while walking into my bedroom.

  “One mile as the crow flies. Thick concrete walls shouldn’t be a concern, but if there are too many layers below ground, we might run into trouble.”

  “I’ll do it on the fly then. Any activity on the cameras around the warehouse?”

  “Not much. Two limos have entered the property, but nothing has come back out.”

  Dropping my towel to the floor, I grab a pair of new dress slacks then the new black dress shirt. I’ve got a lot of suits, but with Simon’s insistence, I’m wearing higher quality tonight.

  I finish getting dressed and look out my bedroom window to the brand new, blacked out silver Lexus LC. It has all the bells and whistles. How the fuck he got a brand new one of those is beyond me. And while I never usually go for one of these kinds of cars, it sure does have beautiful lines to it.

  “Tell Lucifer I’m keeping the car,” I say as I turn back to the bathroom to give myself a once-over.

  “That car is worth more than your—” Simon starts.

  “Now, now, boys, play nice,” Lucifer’s voice slides through the bud in my ear.

  Fuck. I didn’t know the big guy was watching over the happenings. He must be doing it from the ops center at his compound. Fuck, that makes three different sets of ears listening in, not counting James and Peter.

  Ignoring the elephant in the room, I ask, “James, are you set up yet?”

  “In position,” comes his soft voice. “I’ve got eyes on the front.

  “Peter?”

  “In the rear,” he says. “Not much going on, but they’ve opened up the back gate and I’ve seen some scuttling. They aren’t frenzied, though.”

  “Move your video feed two degrees to the west,” Simon says.

  “Stop there,” Andrew says. “See those three semi trucks, Simon?”

  “Yes. They must have repositioned them. This will be their exit when they are done for the night.”

  “Agreed. Peter, if they move even the slightest, you need to get behind the one that shows the most strain as it leaves the lot.”

  “Yeah, I doubt they will have that much hardware in it. So, we’re hoping they leave with the slaves in it?”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “Simon…” I say as something occurs to me. I’m getting an itchy feeling in the back of my head again. “Or Lucifer. You need to call in more guys. We need to have those trucks tailed, if at all possible. All three of them.”

  “Why?” Andrew asks.

  “A gut feeling.”

  “Fully understood,” Simon says. “I’ll pull Phillip and John in. Thaddeus, and James the second, are still in Ohio.”

  “Have them pulled back as far as possible, Simon,” I say. “Use used cars, but not ones that can be traced to us.”

  There’s a silence as everyone on the line begins to work.

  Then Andrew breaks through. “You alright, big guy?” he asks me jokingly, but he knows I’m serious.

  “Yeah. I got that feeling things are going to get squirrelly quick if we don’t have everyone here.”

  Looking in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. The biggest change to my appearance is my hair being cut short and died a rusty brown. My eyes have gone to a dark brown as well. But there are subtle changes too. The beard has been trimmed in slightly, still shaped long, but now with a kept look to it. Long gone is the look I’ve carried for so long, and in its place is a man I don’t know.

  Missy worked wonders on my face, and when I put my contacts in, she said I had a fading resemblance of the real Johnathan, but she could only tell it was me if she looked hard enough.

  I suppose it’s good I’ve never tattooed my hands because the neck and body ones are covered easily with how I’m dressed. Slipping on my father’s Harvard class ring,
I chuckle. Jesus, he would be laughing his ass off now if he could see me.

  My old man was one of the rich boy, Harvard elites back when he was young dumb and full of cum. One of those guys from the old-school of business. He and my mom couldn’t have been from more different paths of life. She was the daughter of a mechanic and waitress. Teaching in some edge of the city poverty ridden school. They met at some fundraiser where she was pleading for more school supplies, and soon enough, they found that instant-love thing.

  I never understood that shit. Instant fairy tale love.

  What crap.

  “You ready to get moving?” Andrew’s voice comes over the earpiece.

  “Yeah, give me a second.”

  Adjusting my tie one last time, I head out of the house and straight to the brand new Lexus. Opening the car door, I get hit by the smell of new leather. Fuck, this thing must have come off the lot as soon as they got it there.

  Starting up the engine, I look down at the odometer and see it has less than one fucking mile on it. Holy shit, this is a hot fucking car. I love my bike like it’s my significant other, but she’s not the warmest of women in the dead of winter.

  Just feeling this baby start up so quiet and smooth gets me hard.

  Pulling out of the driveway, I look up at my two-story house. It’s in the middle of nowhere suburbia. This is the place I rarely, if ever, come to. I don’t have a lot of use for a house. The small apartment over the bar suits me more. This is just a shell for me. A mask that Lucifer likes his guys to have to keep up a sense of normalcy for the men.

  Especially since Lilith came around.

  He likes us to have the family look about us. I think most of us being single guys, who work the darker side of life, don’t have much in the family way. I don’t. Almost all of the inner circle doesn’t either.

  Shit, Andrew and Lucifer are the exceptions so far, and all of us have seen how that’s been going.

  Andrew and his wife are all modern family kind of shit. He’s got kids and a wife who fucking adores the shit out of him.

  He’s been neutered.

  Dude’s got a ball and chain now on him.