by West, Sam
The man towered over her and neither she nor Mike could even pretend to be asleep. The gun dangling from his fingers was all too apparent and her stomach somersaulted.
“No please,” she began, but the words were cut off when he placed his big, black boot over her neck.
“Shut up, bitch, I don’t want no dramas.”
Keeping his foot on her neck, he leaned down and she felt a sharp prick at her upper arm, easily penetrating through the flimsy material of her shirt.
The fucker’s injected me, was her last coherent thought.
For the second time that night, Molly was unconscious.
6.
Esther simply was not cooperating. She had been propped up in the chair but her eyes were glazed and her head kept lolling forwards. Richard stood over and slapped her face from side to side.
She remained unresponsive.
“Eat your dinner, you fat bitch,” he admonished. “Here, fucking eat.”
He grabbed the fork and curled her slack fingers around the handle. Holding onto her left hand with his own hand, he placed his free arm around her neck in a headlock, then stuck the prongs of the fork in the turd.
Bethan gagged. The stench of shit was strong, even from the other side of the table. Richard scooped up a generous portion of shit and brought the fork up to her mouth.
Esther found her lost strength. Molly watched in utter revulsion and morbid fascination the way her forearm trembled trying to keep the stinking turd away from her face. For a little fat man, Richard was surprisingly strong. Stronger than his wife, anyway. When she opened her mouth to scream, the offending fork was shoved in.
Esther’s eyes bulged and her face reddened alarmingly, expanding to even wider proportions like a puffer fish.
The shit-caked fork clattered to the floor and Richard held his free hand over his wife’s mouth. She screamed a blood curdling scream into his palm but he did not let up.
“Fucking eat it, you ungrateful cunt!”
The poor woman had no choice. Bethan could see the moment she swallowed from the way her throat bulged slightly and her eyes rolled back in her head.
The rise of vomit caught Molly completely by surprise. She swivelled in her seat and threw up over the polished floorboards.
“Oh my God, Bethan, that’s disgusting.”
Her husband’s voice barely penetrated through the ringing noise in her ears and she looked up at him through bleary eyes. He stood over by the sideboard, the gun sill trained on her.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she wailed, wiping her snotty nose on her bare forearm.
“Because I can. Because I’m bored of you, dear wife.”
“Then divorce me, for fuck’s sake.”
“Where would be the fun in that?”
She could hear Esther moaning from the other side of the table but refused to look, refused to even think about what the wretched women was being forced to eat.
Her stomach cramped again.
No. You mustn’t think about it.
“You’re a bastard.”
It was pathetic, but it was all she could think to say. He laughed happily, like she had paid him a compliment.
“Oh, come now, Bethan. You know you like it rough. That’s why I married you.”
She couldn’t even begin to formulate an articulate response to that, it was just stupid. There was a world of difference between rough sex and violent insanity. Besides, her cramping stomach was making it difficult to speak without chucking up over her words. When Esther’s moans of protest intensified she covered her ears with her hands and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening...
She gasped when strong hands wrenched her hands away from her ears, and she opened her eyes to her husband standing over her. The gun was pressed to her temple. An overwhelming urge to piss and shit joined in with the nausea.
That’s just wonderful.
“You must never ignore me, Bethan, I am your husband, do you understand?”
When she didn’t answer he bashed the side of her head with the butt of the gun hard enough for her to see a flash of stars. “I said, do you understand?”
“Yes,” she squealed.
“Good. I know you like this. I know you want to be hurt. Properly hurt. I’m a sadist and you’re a masochist. You still love me and I want to destroy you. It’s the perfect match. So why don’t we take this relationship to its natural conclusion? Trust me, you’re gonna love it.”
He fisted her hair and pulled her to her feet. She could hardly stand she was trembling so violently. Every inch of her exposed flesh was goose-bumped and her nipples were rubbery and tender. He let go of her hair and cupped her face, staring deeply into her eyes. For a second there she thought she glimpsed the man she had fallen in love with.
Then he delivered a stinging slap across her face.
“Never back-chat me.”
Roughly, he spun her round and bent her over the table, holding her down by the scruff of her neck. Once more he grabbed great fistfuls of her newly bleached hair and lifted up her head so aggressively she thought her neck would snap. She heard the fly of his suit pants descend and felt the head of his cock probe her arse-crack.
“Watch them,” he hissed, not for a second letting up on her hair.
She didn’t know why she kept her eyes open. It wasn’t like he could see her face. But look she did because her husband had told her to. She watched Richard force-feed his wife his own excrement as Sebastian mounted her from behind.
He slid in easily because she was wet. Despite her terror and her revulsion and the fact that Esther looked close to passing out in a trance like state way beyond terror, Bethan continued to watch them.
“And what the fuck were you expecting to do with this?” he growled as he slammed unmercifully into her.
For a second she didn’t know what he was talking about. When she felt a sharp pain in her shoulder blade, she worked it out.
He’s found the knife I was sitting on. Something hot and wet ran down her side. My blood. He’s cutting me, oh dear God above, he’s cutting me…
Her orgasm exploded after so few thrusts, and with it there was an explosion of sorts in her mind. When his hands circled her neck and squeezed, all she could think was how much she loved him.
And she knew she was doomed.
7.
The deep rumble and vibrations of the engine stirred Molly into consciousness and for a moment she didn’t dare open her eyes. She was propped up awkwardly against the wall and slowly her ghastly situation came back to her. The dull, aching numbness in her arms and wrists had turned to pain and she could no longer even feel her hands.
Her eyes snapped open. It was still so dark. Everything appeared as it had before. Still the same van, the same travel companions. Instinctively she cast her gaze around for Mike. It was so dark it was hard to spot him, but she thought that might have been him splayed awkwardly against the opposite wall to her. They had been separated, probably a deliberate ruse to disorientate them further and prevent them from talking should they wake up.
We’re being hoarded like cattle. But to where? And why?
Wherever it was they were destined, she was as sure as shit it wasn’t anywhere good.
“Is anybody awake?” she called out hoarsely, her feeble voice almost drowned out by the roar of the engine.
No one spoke straight away and she thought everyone was either unconscious or no one had heard. Or perhaps they were too scared to speak.
“Yes,” said a female voice just when she had given up on a reply. “Who are you?”
It was the girl lying on her side next to her that had spoken. She looked young, not even eighteen, although it was incredibly hard to tell in the dark. She was lying in an awkward position with her hands tied behind her back, just like all of them.
“My name’s Molly. Who are you?”
“Evangeline. Where are we? Where are we going? Why is this ha
ppening to me?”
The girl sounded pitiful and Molly’s heart went out to her. She was just so young. If only she could give the poor girl an answer.
“I don’t know. How were you kidnapped, Evangeline? Do you know why anyone would want to do this to you?”
She knew she was clutching at straws, but if this girl knew who she had pissed off to wind up here, then maybe it would give her a clue as to why she was here. Right now, knowledge was her only power.
“I was walking back from a shift at the shoe shop and these guys just pulled up in a car and took me…”
Her words trailed off into soft sobbing.
“Do you have enemies, Evangeline?”
“No. Who are you anyway?” she asked between choking sobs. “Are you one of them?”
“What? No, I’m just trying to piece all this bullshit together…”
Molly’s words were cut short by the change in tempo of the engine and the fact the vehicle was lurching more erratically.
The engine revs decreased and turned into more of a deep rumble before it died completely. Either this was another pit-stop, or wherever it was they were headed, they had arrived. She head a door slam, then footsteps crunching on gravel. She tensed up in terror and scrabbled away from the end wall that was making loud banging and clanging noises.
The entire wall slid up with an almighty crack like thunder, and fresh, but icy air rushed in. She hadn’t realised how sour the air in here had got; sweat mixed with fear. A primal and feral odour, like the stench from caged animals.
Which is exactly what we are to these people.
“Just two of them awake,” the short, overweight stranger said to someone else that she couldn’t yet see. He was waving a gun at them. “Two of the girlies.”
“Leave them to me, I’ll take it from here. Just stand by and keep an eye on the rest, put them down if they come to, I’ll deal with them in a bit.”
“Right you are, boss.”
The short, fat man who had perhaps been the driver stepped to one side, the gun casually trained on them. A new man came into view.
It was dark, but Molly was able to make out more details by the light of the moon.
The girl called Evangeline didn’t stop crying when the man pointed the gun at them.
“Out,” he said, flicking the gun.
The man was completely unfamiliar to her. The first thing she noticed about him was his height and the sheer width of his shoulders. He was maybe late thirties and dressed in a dapper suit complete with waistcoat. His face glowed red with the light from the taillights. He would have been handsome, were it not for the scar that ran the length of his left cheek. Molly shivered at the sight of him. He was just wrong, not that there was anything glaringly up with his appearance that she could put her finger on. Maybe it was the intensity of his dark eyes. They positively glowed with delight, like he was sharing some fabulous joke.
Molly wasn’t laughing. “Who are you? What do you want with us?” she asked over the girl’s noisy crying.
“Just your company, my dear child. Just your company.”
She didn’t move and stared defiantly up at him. At the end of the long, gravel driveway behind him, she could make out a huge building beneath the watery moonlight. It looked like a castle, or a mansion. It didn’t look British, that was for sure. More like a French Château.
Am I in France?
That made sense. Judging from her aching bones, she had been in the back of the van for a long time.
“Welcome to Château a la Pain,” the man said with a nasty smirk, confirming it.
Not that it helped her situation any.
“What are we doing in France?”
“All in good time, my darling.”
He lunged for her feet and she hardly flinched, her reflexes were so dulled by fatigue. He pulled her to the opened door by her ankles and she fell clumsily backwards, her tied wrists crushing painfully between the weight of her body and the floor. When her rump was at the edge of the van with her legs dangling over the edge, he pulled her roughly to her feet by her hair.
“Hey,” she gasped, batting weakly at his hands.
He let go of the long, blonde strands and nudged her forwards with the gun between her shoulder blades. She stumbled, just managing to right herself in time before she fell flat on her face.
“Driver,” the unnamed man called. “Get the other one out the van, will you?”
The shorter man grunted his consent and the girl’s screams intensified until they were of ear splitting volume. Molly didn’t know where she got the energy to make so much noise. Apart from anything else, it was just such a waste of precious energy.
A few seconds later the girl had been dumped next to her on the gravel and the short man melted into the darkness once more. She carried on screaming and slumped to her knees with her arms sticking awkwardly out behind her, howling like a wounded animal.
“Evangeline,” Molly said. “This isn’t helping. Come on, stand up.”
“You heard her,” the tall guy with the scarred face said. “Get up, little girl.”
He aimed a kick at her ribcage and Molly couldn’t stop the scream that escaped her lips. Evangeline slumped forward in pain, the scream turning to pitiful whimpering. Molly breathed an inward sigh of relief when at last the girl had the good sense to stagger to her feet. Absently she noticed how short and slight the girl was. Once again she was struck by how young she looked.
“Walk, bitches. Come on, it’s cold out here.”
Molly was painfully aware of the man right behind her. It did occur to her to run, but she knew that would be stupid and she would be shot dead in a heartbeat.
The château was perhaps one-hundred metres in the distance. Their way was lit intermittently by small ground lights that ran the length of the gravel drive. It was too dark for details, but carefully kept lawns dotted with the occasional tree surrounded them, fading into darkness as far as the eye could see.
This place is fucking palatial…
The closer they got, the less the building was a grey blur. Despite her terror, she still was able to appreciate the beauty of the place. It was the size of a big hotel, wide and imposing, complete with turrets at either end. The elaborate roofscape combined Gothic structure with Renaissance ornament, adding to its foreboding and self-important air.
“Beautiful isn’t it,” their captor said over Evangeline’s sobbing.
“Yes,” she replied, doing her best to keep her voice steady despite the sandpaper-dry mouth, thumping heart, and jelly-like legs. “Baroque, I take it? Built during the reign of Louis the Fourteenth?”
The man laughed in delight. Molly had hoped he would. Despite her relatively young age of twenty-one, she was gifted with an uncanny ability to read people, to know what to say to please them. It was a useful social gift that worked wonders at parties and in pubs. Now she hoped that maybe, just maybe, it might save her life.
“Close. It was built during the reign of Louis the Fifteenth, as in mid sixteen-hundreds rather than early. How does a little girl like you know so much about French architecture?”
“From university. We touched on architectural styles in Social Science.”
“Beautiful and educated. Sebastian certainly does have taste.”
Who the fuck is Sebastian? she thought.
“Who are you?” she asked in the same clear, light voice that was the perfect match to his. “Why are we here?”
“The name’s Harlan. And you’ll find that out soon enough. Patience, dear child.”
She knew not to push. The building loomed closer until they were right before it. Up close she saw quite how amazing the place was. Beyond the fountain and carefully kept hedgerow were steps that led up to the grand, double entrance situated in the middle of the building. She didn’t notice the two men straight away as it was so dark and they were so still. They stood a few hundred metres apart either side of the entrance, leaning casually against the stone wall of the building. B
oth held rifles.
Molly knew better than to point them out to the man known as Harlan. Evangeline, however, had other ideas.
“I’m not going in there,” she sobbed, refusing to walk further as Molly and Harlan ascended the steps.
Evangeline,” Molly hissed. “Can you not see the men standing guard? They have guns. Do you want to be shot?”
“Who the fuck are you? You’re one of them, aren’t you?” the girl spat, finally spilling over fully into hysteria.
“Shut up,” Harlan said in a friendly manner.
But Molly could easily read the look in his eyes. He was getting wound up. And she did not want to find out what this man was capable of when would up.
“Please stop,” Molly added. “you’re not helping yourself at all…”
“Fuck both of you,” she cried like a spoilt little kid.
Then she took off into the darkness. The two men raised their rifles, aiming at the staggering figure in the darkness.
“Don’t shoot to kill,” Harlan roared.
A gunshot fired and the girl went down. She hadn’t even made it onto the grass.
Molly screamed, she couldn’t help herself.
“Get inside. Unless you want to be shot too.”
The tears fell as she stared at the unmoving girl.
Stupid, stupid girl.
“Don’t shed a tear for her, she brought it upon herself. Now will you please get the fuck inside?”
Harlan overtook her on the steps and pushed open one half of the heavy, wooden, double doors.
With a wildly beating heart, Molly stepped over the threshold into the dark guts of the château.
8.
Bethan was on the brink of passing out with her husband’s hands gripped tightly around her neck, bruising her windpipe and squeezing the life out of her. The remnants of the orgasm washed through her just as Sebastian exploded inside her.
As soon as he was done, he pulled out and let go of her neck, leaving her still bent over the table and choking down air. His sperm leaked out in dribbling trails down her inner thighs and the blood from the cut on her left shoulder trickled down her back and ran down her sides, dripping onto the floor.