by Shaye Marlow
“It’s not like you have a job waiting for you or anything,” Rory agreed, putting his foot in it in signature style. He gulped when I turned my glower on him. “Please stay,” he said in a much smaller voice. “We enjoy your company.”
My heart had already been torn out once this morning, leaving Thea. I didn’t need any more of this shit. So I turned, and headed out the door. Either they’d follow, or I’d leave without them.
It was time to get back to the real world. Back to the grindstone; find myself a new coach, and train up until I was in fighting shape again. Then fight, and fight, and lose myself in fighting some more, until I was up to challenging Wreck. And then take back my goddamn title, and never again accede to pressure or compromise on my morals.
“J.D.! Hey!”
Speak of the devil. I turned to see Wreck flying from the woods. Mitzi trailed after, looking out of breath and distraught.
“They took Thea!” Wreck said, running up to me.
“What? Who?”
“The Bigfoot hunters. The crazy ones,” he said. “They snatched her right out of the coffee shop, and took off with her in a boat. She did not go willingly.”
“Why would they do that?” I asked.
“They thought she was me,” Mitzi said, stopping next to Wreck. She bent over to catch her breath.
“But why would they…”
Mitzi didn’t even speak, just spun a finger around at her auburn hair, her dark eyes.
I dropped my bags, still royally confused, but catching up. “Because she looks like you?”
“Yeah. I think… they took her because they thought she was me. Because… they want that interview,” she gasped.
A muscle jumped in my jaw as I looked to Wreck. “Why didn’t you stop them?”
“Mitzi saw it,” Wreck said. “She came and got me, and—”
I grabbed him by the collar, and lifted. “Why didn’t you go after her?” I demanded.
“Easy, guy,” he said, peeling my hand away. “They were already gone, and considering how many of them there are, and that you might be concerned about this development, I decided to come for reinforcements.”
Growling, I dropped him. “Where’d they take her?” Leaving my bags, I headed for the boat.
“Their camp, at a guess,” he said, trailing after. “Could be wrong, but it is at least a place to start.”
He caught my arm as I stepped down onto the dock. “Wait. There is another consideration: We’ll be seen.”
“So?” I shook him off.
He was like a dog with a bone. “So, our careers could be ended if we go in and beat up a bunch of innocent, helpless people.”
“They’re not innocent!”
“Yes, but that’s how the press will spin it. You know how your legal system works. And the UFC won’t like it either,” he said. “Us assaulting those less capable will not go over well, with anyone.”
I shook my head. Yeah, I’d probably get in trouble, but did it matter? This was Thea we were talking about. Thea was in danger.
“I’m going after her.”
“Hey!” Rory called. “What you two need is a disguise.”
I scoffed as I climbed into the boat. Considering my brothers’ recent preoccupation with the state of my masculinity, they’d probably have me ‘disguised’ in a skirt and wig.
I’d no sooner settled on the back bench than something large and dark flopped onto my feet. I looked down at it.
Wreck spoke before I could. “You cannot be serious,” he said, his French accent thick.
“What? It’s perfect,” Rory said. “They won’t be able to identify you, and besides, it’ll be poetic justice. The hunters become the hunted.”
Wreck started to argue, but I held up a hand. “They want Bigfoot? Let’s give them Bigfoot,” I said, feeling more than a little reckless.
Rory did a happy dance, while Zack whooped. “Yes! Put ’em on now,” he said. “So you’ll be ready when you pull up.” Zack palmed his video camera. “Getting footage of Bigfoot driving a boat down the river happens to be on my bucket list,” he said with a wink.
THEA
Over the years, I’d been in some pretty weird situations.
That said, this one took the cake. They’d tied me to a friggin’ tree, laid-across-the-tracks style with about fifty coils of rope going around and around and around… but leaving a nice gap for my breasts to poke out. They strained against my shirt in an obscene fashion, and pulling against the ropes didn’t help the situation any.
The guy tying me—the pony-tailed Floridian from the coffee shop—had told the others the display would help lure Bigfoot, but I suspected he had some sort of rope fetish. He sat not far off, his eyes glazed, not having looked away since securing me.
So anyway, there I was, tied to a tree. I could barely breathe, I had a stinkbug crawling across my shoulder, and after a lot of yelling on my part, they’d decided a gag would be just the thing.
And now they were getting drunk. It was barely even noon, and they’d broken out a keg. The camp was getting louder and louder—which really irritated me, because did they really think Bigfoot was going to show up, when they were making enough noise to wake the dead? Not that I thought for a second Bigfoot would show up, regardless. I wasn’t Bigfoot’s mate, like they kept insisting, and even if I was, the whole idea was ridiculous. And I’d told them that, before they’d gagged me.
One particular conversation caught my attention. The guys standing closest to me were arguing.
“That’s bears, you idiot. Bears like honey.”
“Everybody likes honey,” the other guy argued. It was Mr. Tea With Honey, a slender, balding guy cradling a little glass jar in his hands. “Honey is sweet and tasty and everything is better drizzled with it. Sasquatch would definitely be attracted to honey.”
The naysayer shrugged and took a swig of his beer. The two kept throwing glances my way, making me distinctly uncomfortable.
My ears perked up as, out on the river, a boat droned closer. I wondered if that could be someone coming for me, or if anyone had even noticed that I wasn’t behind the counter. On a busy day, I blinked and it was quitting time, but on a quiet one, I could go hours without seeing a soul. So there was the possibility that no one yet knew that I was missing.
Still tracking the engine sounds, I watched the two approach their leader, whom I’d heard called Shane. He was camped out in the center of the clearing, sitting on a folding stool flanked by his most fervent followers.
My eyes narrowed as I gazed at him, knowing, ultimately, he was responsible for my kidnapping. He was charismatic and ruggedly handsome, with that chiseled face and dramatic widow’s peak, but he was also crazy as fuck. The more time I spent in their company, the more they seemed like a cult, and he was their leader. I could only wish they’d get on with it, and drink the damn Kool-Aid.
Growling behind my gag, I struggled a little. The action made my boobs bounce, and Rope Fetish hum with pleasure.
Out on the river, the boat engine was growing faint again. Driving away. I sagged.
The honey enthusiast spoke, just loud enough for me to hear. “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “We have a proposal.”
“Yes, Marcus?” Like Alexander the Great, Shane seemed to remember and use everyone’s name. His peons ate it up.
Marcus seemed to grow several inches, and when he spoke, it was in a much stronger tone. “We’re trying to lure in Bigfoot, right? Well, I think our lure over there would be even more alluring… with the application of a little honey.”
I stiffened.
“Honey?” scoffed one of Shane’s groupies. “Don’t you know Bigfoot originates from Canada?”
Marcus bristled. “Even if he did, so what?”
“Canadians like honey,” the groupie said. “But they love maple syrup.”
“That’s even assuming Bigfoot is Canadian,” Marcus protested. “He’s been seen in the U.S. as far south as Florida…”
They a
rgued a bit about how Canadian Bigfoot may or may not be, while another boat droned past, and Rope Fetish’s hand dropped into his lap. I glared, hoping direct eye contact would dissuade him, but he wasn’t looking at my eyes. He started to rub himself, in broad daylight, in the middle of camp, to the sight of a bound, completely unwilling woman.
Him, I decided, I’d happily let J.D. clobber.
“You know what? None of that matters,” Marcus said, his voice carrying to my tree. “Because the fact is, I have honey here, now, and you don’t have maple syrup!”
“What kind of Canadian would I be, if I didn’t have maple syrup?” the guy demanded, reaching into his back pocket and producing a little amber bottle. Their squabble had grown louder, attracting attention.
I hoped it was enough attention that they wouldn’t notice the drone of another boat engine. This one was closer than the other, definitely on this side of the river. Getting louder…
“Gentlemen,” Shane said. “This isn’t something we need to fight over. Neither can hurt, so why don’t we compromise, and do both. Sound good?”
I shook my head vehemently. No, it doesn’t sound good. But, to them, it must’ve. After a bit of muttering, the two turned and headed my way.
What sounded good to me was the drone of that boat engine. Even better was when it throttled down and shut off, followed by a similar sound. Not one, but two boats had pulled up out front!
I knew better than to get excited, as boats full of Bigfoot hunters had been pulling in and out all afternoon. But… Shane’s reaction made me hopeful. He pulled in a couple of his rougher-looking minions, said a few words, and they took off at a trot for the beach.
Marcus and the Canadian had reached me, followed by a half-dozen assholes who wanted to see me drizzled with syrup.
“Hey, wife of Bigfoot,” the Canadian said with a stoned smile.
I glared at him, really frickin’ irritated that these guys had refused to listen to me. I’d told them they had the wrong woman, told them I’d had nothing to do with Bigfoot, had never seen one, definitely had never had sex with one, and then made the mistake of saying I didn’t even believe…
They’d been affronted, and had become even more rabid. I’d become their captive audience. Every last one of them felt the need to tell me his particular theory, as if it would even partially excuse their actions. I’d heard so much utter bullshit today that I wanted to scream.
I remembered J.D. looking at me like maybe he doubted my sanity. And now I sympathized. These guys believed in Bigfoot, and these guys were batshit.
These guys were looking at me over the bottles they were uncapping. The gag muffled my objections, and tree bark scraped at my elbows when I tried to struggle.
“This won’t hurt,” Marcus said soothingly, as he crowded up to my right.
Grinning, the Canadian took my left.
As they lifted their bottles, I looked out over the crowd, seeing the eager faces. Rope Fetish was standing toward the back, watching avidly.
Beyond them was Shane, but he looked distracted. He kept glancing toward the beach. In fact, a few of the groups closer toward the river were turning, as though something was going on. I couldn’t yet see, or hear what was catching their attention.
The first dribble of maple syrup hit—a cool weight slithering down my shoulder—as I peered toward the beach. Please be rescue, I prayed. Lane or Ed, or somebody halfway sane. Please.
I shuddered as a bead of honey oozed into my cleavage. My audience was giggling, pushing closer. Besides Rope Fetish, I hadn’t really felt sexually threatened since they’d taken me. But now… now a dozen sets of glittering eyes were fastened to my breasts.
“What kind of honey is that?” Rope Fetish asked, elbowing his way front and center.
“This?” Marcus asked, watching intently as he laid a thin ribbon across the tops of my breasts. “I brought it from home. 100% raw, unfiltered, orange blossom honey.”
“Is it any good?” Rope Fetish asked, his eyes riveted to my chest.
“It’s excellent. Want a taste?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Rope said. He curled his fingers in my ropes, and leered as he pulled himself in close.
There was something going on on the beach. The noise was rising, and I wished I could see… but Rope filled my vision.
He leaned down, and my bound knee burned with the desire to drive up into his crotch. I didn’t want his mouth on me, even through my shirt. The idea was intolerable. I jerked my head back, breath rasping through my nose, biting down on the gag as I glared. He didn’t seem to notice.
His tongue touched down on the uppermost coil of rope, just below my collarbones. I froze as he traced a cool, wet trail along the rope, picking up stray drops of honey as he licked his way across my chest. He groaned, and when he came back up, his face was ruddy, his breathing harsh.
I shook my head, wishing I could scream my “NO!” right in his disgusting face.
He wasn’t looking at me, didn’t meet my eyes, hadn’t once. He wasn’t bad-looking, and he even smelled kind of appealing, but… his expression made my skin crawl. Not to mention his actions.
He bent his head, going back for more, ignoring my struggles, my muffled sounds of protest. I was losing hope, felt my faith in humanity circling the drain as his slimy tongue touched me again…
And then, over his head, I saw the strangest thing.
It was Bigfoot, coming up from the beach.
I had to be hallucinating. Maybe they’d put a little something extra in the maple syrup—those sneaky Canadians—because, after all this, I was seeing things.
And, seeing double. There were two of them.
I’d always believed Bigfoot to be a peaceful species. They just wanted to be left alone, to live their lives, and that’s why there were sightings reported—not attacks.
But these two… They must not have gotten that memo.
The first Bigfoot hunters they encountered had their cameras up, snapping photos. With one kick, a Bigfoot knocked a camera right out of its owner’s hands. It went sailing through the air, while the dark creature dealt the man a series of brutal punches. The Bigfoot hunter hit the ground before his camera did.
The other Bigfoot seemed to be on a mission. He body-checked the guy in front of him as he plowed toward the center of camp.
As the Bigfoot hunters turned and saw them, there were as many sounds of excitement as there were screams. The commotion had finally gotten the attention of the topping enthusiasts gathered around me. Rope Fetish lifted his head, thank god.
I watched with glee as the two Bigfoot thrashed the hunters. They didn’t just beat them. They massacred them.
The one seemed to be taking more pleasure in it, moving slower, making sure his victims didn’t get up, while the other advanced toward me with a single-minded determination.
Toward… me. A trickle of trepidation slid down my spine as I realized I was his goal. He was taking down anyone immediately before him, and always his head would swing back up, and the recessed glimmer of his eyes would lock on me. For a panicked moment, I wondered if one of the two idiots drizzling syrup on me had been right, and the sticky crap I was drenched in was like Bigfoot catnip.
Then, I realized something else: If Bigfoot were to fight, I would’ve imagined it as a graceless show of brute strength. That was not at all how these two operated. These Bigfoot were quick, agile. They had finesse, and precise, powerful movements.
And… martial arts? After a quickly-supplied flurry of blows followed by a roundhouse kick, my suspicions were confirmed.
The one in the lead was a juggernaut. Unstoppable, and yet the idiot Bigfoot hunters kept stopping in front of him. He roared straight into the picture frame of a would-be photographer before taking the guy’s camera from him and bashing him upside the head with it.
On the one hand, I could see where the photographers were coming from. This moment was too special not to catch on camera. But on the other hand, if they’
d had any brains at all, they would’ve run, would’ve saved themselves. It’s what I would’ve done, if I hadn’t been tied to this fucking tree.
My Bigfoot punched his next victim in the face. The guy fell to the ground cupping his nose, and started to cry.
My heart was racing as that Bigfoot came closer, and as a tiny flame of recognition flickered to life. But… it couldn’t be.
Then, just in front of me, Rope Fetish reached into his waistband, and pulled out a gun. I tried to scream a warning, but it was muffled by my gag, and lost in the hubbub.
The gun lifted. Rope’s hand was shaking, but his finger was on the trigger, and that hideous black barrel was pointed at the Bigfoot in the lead. The Bigfoot who was coming straight at us.
He saw it, must have known what it meant, because he roared. He seemed furious, came on even faster, hitting harder, and in that moment, I believed that a bullet might not actually stop him.
Luckily, I didn’t have to find out. The Bigfoot was still at least thirty feet away when Rope Fetish jerked as though struck. His gun arm folded, followed by his knees. He wilted to the side, then sprawled onto his back, giving me a good view of the feathered dart sticking out of his chest.
Something moved in the trees near the beach, and I blinked as I recognized an arm, attached to a human figure. He was all in camouflage except for his black hair, and I wouldn’t have seen him in a million years if he hadn’t been treating me to a friendly wave. As I watched, he re-shouldered his weapon, and quickly darted another gun-wielding Bigfoot hunter.
My Bigfoot clotheslined a running, screaming Bigfoot geek, and then I watched with satisfaction as he got his hands on Marcus and the Canadian. He’d been all business with the others, but with these two, he betrayed a bit of a mean streak. He yanked them back to their feet after knocking them down, just to pummel them some more. He actually lifted the slightly-built Marcus into the air, and threw him like a shotput.
He was still working on the pair when the second Bigfoot caught up. Some sort of communication happened, and the second one took over dealing the pain.
I was actually on the verge of feeling sympathy for the jerks when the lead Bigfoot approached me. I shrank back as he reached for me.