by West, Sam
Why are we eating this? Why aren’t we telling them where to go?
Because we’re scared.
That realisation was like the proverbial slap across the face. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but she couldn’t deny it much longer. Richard obviously had the same kind of hold over Esther as Sebastian did over her.
They’re playing us like puppets.
Bethan swallowed the last mouthful and got to her feet.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Sebastian asked.
“To the bathroom,” she replied.
That wasn’t quite true. She had every intention of grabbing her coat and walking out on this nightmare dinner party.
“Sit back down.”
The quiet command of his voice made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end. Sebastian walked over to the bell that hung down next to the large bay window overlooking Hyde Park and rung it. Instantly the butler was in the room, clearing the plates. With him he brought a fresh bottle of the finest Merlot, and placed the opened bottle on the middle of the table.
“Please, sit,” Sebastian repeated.
Against her better judgement, she did as he asked of her. She wasn’t sure why. It was as if the power he had over her in the bedroom was spilling over into their daily life.
Conversation turned to more mundane matters as they waited for the main course. Richard and Sebastian talked business and the women sat in silence.
“So I said to the PM, I am sick of these bloody unions, these strikes are really pissing me off and if could I’d sack every last one of the useless cunts. Worker’s rights my arse…”
Bethan wasn’t listening. His diatribe washed over her as she made light of her second glass of wine.
In less than ten minutes the main course had arrived. When the plate was placed before her, Bethan’s heart slammed against her ribcage. She couldn’t catch her breath and she felt lightheaded and dizzy, like her skull was suddenly too tight and crushing her brain.
“Sebastian? What’s going on?” she asked, staring in disbelief down at her dinner.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said with a smirk, then turned to address the butler. “You may take the rest of the night off. Kitchen staff too. Just be here at six tomorrow morning to clear up.”
“Very good, Sir.”
“Looks delicious,” Richard said, picking up his knife and fork.
Bethan just stared listlessly down at her plate. Not one chicken fillet this time, but two.
This has to be some kind of joke. What’s for pudding? Three fucking chicken fillets?
“Richard, I have no idea what’s going on, but I want no part of it. I want to go home.”
Bethan glanced up at Esther. There was a tremor to her voice, like she was on the verge of tears. She quite understood, she was feeling pretty choked up herself. This evening was turning into a surreal nightmare.
Richard blanked his wife and addressed Sebastian: “Should we tell them?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Ladies, Sebastian and I are to throw a party.”
Bethan and Esther looked at the two men blankly.
“And Harlan,” Sebastian added. “Don’t forget Harlan.”
“I could never forget my baby brother. Who could?”
“Indeed. And the good news is ladies, that for you the party games start now.”
Bethan just wasn’t getting it. “What do you mean, the party starts now? I thought this was just a quiet dinner party for the five of us. Are other people coming round tonight?”
Sebastian laughed like she had said something really funny and her flesh crawled.
“No, darling, not tonight. We are going to the party, the party isn’t coming to us. In the meantime we are going to play a few party games to get us in the swing of things. Ladies, please remove your clothes.”
Bethan just stared at him. Surely she hadn’t heard right. “This isn’t funny, Sebastian, I’m going.”
For the first time, Esther was in agreement with her.
“Too right. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ve had enough. Come on Bethan, let’s leave these sad little men to their silly little games.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Sebastian spoke with a smile but his voice was steel. It had the desired effect. Esther froze, standing over her chair, visibly trembling. Then her paralysis broke and she stomped over to the door, the voluminous, flowery dress billowing around her vast body.
Sebastian sighed theatrically. “Fine, then we’ll do this the hard way. Maybe it’s for the best we flex our authoritative muscles early on so you know who’s boss.”
As he spoke he pushed back his chair and he was upon the fleeing woman in seconds. Despite her bulk, he effortlessly grabbed her from behind in a headlock. She had reached the door and he fisted her bowl hair-cut, slamming her forehead against the wood panelling. His arms around her prevented her from sliding to the floor.
Bethan clutched her face in horror, a reflex scream escaping her lips.
My God, this can’t be happening…
Sebastian may well like it rough in bed, but that was just sex. It never even occurred to her that he could be a violent thug in everyday life.
Yeah, well, that’s what you get for marrying a guy you only knew for a month…
“Listen up, Bitches, and listen good. As from now your lives have changed. You exist purely for our entertainment. I do not advise any more escape attempts, it could get incredibly ugly for you in a very short space of time. Now, I appreciate that this is a lot to take in, so perhaps we could all resume our places at the table like civilised adults before we get down to business. You will have to forgive us for being so hasty, we were just keen for the games to begin, weren’t we Richard?”
Spittle glistened on his full, lower lip and his face was a none-too-fetching shade of post-box. She didn’t recognise him. He looked insane.
“Indeed we were, my dear boy,” Richard replied.
He certainly didn’t look any saner. His piggy little eyes shone with an unsavoury light and he leaned back in his chair, his fingers laced casually behind his bald head like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Bethan hadn’t moved a muscle. She had barely even breathed. She stared at the unfolding scene in wide eyed disbelief, her knuckles white from clutching the table edge.
Esther was moaning incoherently, her body still slack. That must have been quite a blow to the head, it was a wonder she was still conscious. Sebastian gripped her under her armpits and half walked her, half dragged her over to the table where he dropped her on her chair. She stared over at Bethan with glazed, stunned eyes. Sebastian remained standing behind her, his hands resting casually on the back of her seat.
“Now, let’s start this again shall we? Bethan, please take off your dress.”
“Fuck you.”
The words came out before she had a chance to stop them.
“Yes, I will, don’t you worry about that. Don’t make me ask you twice, I’m not keen to do any lasting damage to either of you at this stage. Especially you, dear wife, it would be such a shame to mar your perfect body.”
Richard laughed. “Makes no difference to me, my friend.”
Sebastian shot him a stern look. “When it comes to our wives, only with each other’s permission, remember? That was the deal, right?”
“You almost knocked my wife unconscious.”
“I had no choice, she was escaping.”
“Okay, okay, point taken,” Richard said, holding up his hands in mock-surrender.
“Good. Now Bethan, take off your damn dress this instant.”
During the men’s brief exchange while their attention had been diverted, Bethan had slipped her table knife under her rump.
If I stand up to take off my dress, they’ll see it.
Maybe not, they’re on the other side of the table.
She let out a little sob. If her only weapon of self-defence w
as a table knife, then she was well and truly fucked.
“Bethan? What are you waiting for? Get on with it.”
Shakily, she got to her feet. The sense of unreality was all-consuming; that and fear was a palpable thing that churned in her guts and goose-bumped her skin.
The evening gown slithered down her body in a whisper of soft material. Beneath it, she was bra-less. She wrapped her arms around her small breasts, in that moment all the passion and love she had ever felt for Sebastian changing into blazing hatred.
“Knickers too, please, then sit down again. Although you can leave on the high heels, they’re rather becoming. And would you please stop crossing your arms like that, you look like an old fishwife.”
She sat down swiftly after removing her panties, eager to protect the smidgen of modesty she had left. Richard’s nasty little eyes latched onto her breasts which she kept covered with her arms, despite Sebastian having told her not to.
“Not bad, for a woman, I must say.”
It was only in that second that Bethan realised Richard was gay. Not that it mattered, but it did explain why he was married to such a fat pig. He was just using her so he could get on with fucking men in peace.
Probably boys, the fat cunt…
“Isn’t she?” Sebastian agreed. “I almost feel sad about what we have planned.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I did say almost.”
During Bethan’s strip, Esther remained statue-still. It was only now she spoke, like the fog, or mild concussion was beginning to clear from her addled brain.
“Richard? I am your wife. All the years I’ve stood by you, and this is how you treat me? I don’t understand, why are you doing this to me?”
Richard’s outwardly jovial exterior evaporated, revealing his true self.
“Now listen here, you fat cunt, I’m sick of your whining and moaning and constant fucking nagging. I have had it up to here with you. Get on your fucking knees before your master.”
“Richard! Please stop this, I don’t understand…”
Her words gave way to a pitiful squeaking sound when Richard got to his feet and slapped his wife across the face. He fisted her hair and shoved her off the seat and she landed in a heap on the floor.
During their exchange, Sebastian had walked over to the Victorian sideboard and opened a drawer, producing a small revolver. He trained the nozzle of it on Bethan.
Her blood ran cold.
“I think our wives need to learn who’s boss, they need disciplining.”
Richard stuck out his bottom lip like a petulant school-boy. “Guns are so boring. The whole point is to have some pre-party fun with the bitches.”
“I agree, my friend. I just thought it might make them a little more compliant. A little more cooperative.”
“Sebastian,” Bethan said softly. Only when their eyes locked did she continue. “It’s not too late, whatever it is you feel you want to do, you can stop now. Nothing’s happened yet, nothing has to happen. Just walk out the door and leave me and Esther alone. We’ll pretend this never happened. Because nothing has happened.”
“Have you finished?” he asked in a bored tone.
Bethan didn’t reply. She didn’t know what to say, what to do. All she knew was that if she gave into the growing sense of desperation then she was completely fucked.
Richard was towering over his wife, who groaned and pulled herself into a sitting position. He kicked her square in the rolls of fat that comprised her stomach and laughed when she doubled over.
Richard giggled and clutched his expansive gut.
“Oooh, I can feel the chicken working through.”
With that he stood on the chair that his wife had just vacated and pulled down his suit trousers and underpants. He squatted over the table, his wide, hairy arse hovering over her plate of untouched chicken fillets.
Bethan was having difficulty believing what she was seeing. Her stomach clenched and her tongue arched with the sudden rush of bile that flooded her mouth.
Richard was shitting on his wife’s plate. The thick, brown turd smoothly exited his arsehole in one solid line, landing heavily so that the plate clattered slightly on the wooden table. Bethan could only stare at the horrific spectacle in a state of shock.
“Dinner is served, ladies,” he said with a chuckle.
5.
Molly’s head was groggy with the mother of all headaches. She opened her eyes to darkness, her mind a blank. She was cold and aching from head to toe. The monotonous vibration of an engine penetrated through the fog clouding her brain.
Where am I? What happened? What’s the last thing I remember?
The words tumbled meaninglessly in her mind as she tried to make sense of them, of what was happening to her.
She was lying on her side and her arm was asleep from lying awkwardly on it. Only when she went to bring her hands round to her chest did she realise her wrists were tied behind her back. For a moment the ground lurched and jolted beneath her and she wondered if her system was poisoned with drugs. She forced open her heavy, sticky eyelids.
The earth moved again. No, that couldn’t be her. She struggled into a sitting position, pulling frantically at her binds. Only then did she realise that she wasn’t alone.
“You’re awake, then. Thank God someone is awake.”
It was so dark that for a moment she couldn’t see who had spoken. She forced her eyes to adjust, and could only then just about make out a young guy sitting a few inches from her on the floor, leaning against the wall. Fleetingly, she assessed him. Was he friend or foe? It was near impossible to discern hair or eye colour in the dark, but he was tall, slim and even in the blackness she could sense he was a looker. His hands too were tied.
Friend, she decided.
“Where am I? What’s happening? Who are you?”
Speaking made her realise how thirsty she was, how constricted her throat was and how cracked and gungy were her lips. When the small room they were in swerved sideways, she fell backwards and the air slammed out of her.
“Can you crawl over to me? You’re less likely to roll if you’re propped up against something.”
Roll? What the hell’s he going on about?
Of course. I’m in the back of some kind of van or something. That explains why the ground’s moving…
It doesn’t explain jack-shit.
She groaned and hauled her aching body into a sitting position once more.
At least I’m still dressed, she thought with the smallest amount of relief. I haven’t been raped. Her duffel coat was gone though, leaving her in just the short black skirt, black tights and white blouse.
No wonder I’m bloody freezing, she thought.
Her eyes were adjusting to the dark with every passing second and she saw the cute guy in front of her had on a thick pullover and jeans, so it was alright for him.
She took in her surroundings. The space was less than six feet wide and perhaps twelve foot long.
That’s when she noticed the others for the first time and gasped in shock. Four bodies were sprawled out on the floor behind her. There was a boy and a girl, just arm’s length away, their faces almost touching like sleeping lovers. Two more behind them, lying awkwardly on the hard ground. All of them had their wrists bound behind their backs.
For a second she thought that all four bodies were writhing in pain, then she realised it was just a trick of the dark and the way their lifeless bodies shifted slightly with the erratic motion of the vehicle.
“Are they..?”
“Dead?” the young man finished for her. No, just out cold. Drugged, probably. So far, you and me are the only ones awake.”
“Who are you?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Name’s Mike Presdee. How about you?”
“Molly. Molly Harris.”
“Well Molly, I think it’s safe to say, welcome to hell.”
He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Molly
was having none of his reticence. So many questions hovered on the tip of her parched tongue, she didn’t know where to start.
“What’s going on, Mike? Why are we in the back of a van? Where are we going? Why are we here? What the fuck is going on?”
He opened his eyes when she raised her voice.
“I know just about as much as you do. I was walking home after a long shift at the garage and I was kidnapped. Then I woke up here.”
Kidnapped.
As soon as he said that word it jolted her own memory. I was on my way to work. This car pulled up alongside me. I was grabbed…
And that’s the last thing I remember until waking up just now.
“Same here,” she said. “But why?”
The man shrugged as best he could with his hands tied behind his back. “I haven’t the foggiest.”
She shuffled over to him so she was sitting with her back to him. One shoulder pressed against the cold metal of the wall and the tips of her fingers brushed against his.
“Let’s untie each other. Come on, we can do it.”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean, no?”
“The van stops every once in a while and the driver checks on us. He has a gun.”
His words were the equivalent of a bucket of ice-water dumped over her head. Yet it made perfect sense. Who would go to all this bother of such an elaborate kidnapping just to let them run wild?
The engine’s hum grew deeper in tone and Molly lurched sideways when the engine spluttered and died.
“Get back in position,” the boy called Mike hissed.
He flopped sideways, playing dead, but it was too late. The corrugated sliding door of the van whooshed up. By the time she lay down a man had already swung his bulky figure up into the back of the vehicle, making it sway, the soles of his hard boots echoing on the metal floor.
“Two of them are awake,” he shouted back to whoever was travelling up front with him.
“Then put them the fuck down,” a male voice drifted back to them.
Molly glimpsed past the man and the opened door, but didn’t see much of anything – it was night and she glimpsed nothing but muddy countryside.