Torrid Love - Caught!

by Lorie O'Clare

  He punched the button on his phone to call her back.

  “Hello.” She’d answered on the first ring but said nothing. “Hello?” he said again.

  There were muffled sounds, car noise. But she didn’t answer him.

  Jordan cut into the other lane, dodging cars and racing toward the next exit. He kept his cell pressed to his ear, struggling to interpret the sounds he heard.

  “Is that a gun?” Roxanne’s voice sounded far away, like she had the cell phone put down somewhere.

  Damn it to fucking hell! She was in trouble!

  Why the hell hadn’t he stayed on her ass? She’d pulled off on the previous exit and could be anywhere right now. Turning onto the first side street that would trace him back in the direction he had to be, a hardness spread through him, causing him to grip his steering wheel until his knuckles hurt. If anyone laid a hand on her, he would kill them.

  * * * * *

  “My car is almost out of gas.” Roxanne rubbed her fist over her eye to clear her vision, and keep the car on the road.

  Her captor said nothing. In fact, other than to tell her when to turn, he hadn’t said a word to her since making his presence known. Roxanne had managed to keep the car on the road, although she’d been tempted more than once to intentionally drive into a ditch, or try to flip the car—anything! She would do anything to get that gun to quit pressing into the side of her neck. She hadn’t seen the weapon, but it had been pressed there long enough for her to feel its hard surface, a small circular object, hollow in the middle, that remained in a solitary position below her right ear.

  “I’m serious,” Roxanne tried again. She didn’t know why she wanted the man behind her to speak, he hadn’t had anything nice to say to her so far, but it bugged her that he sat behind her with that gun, just out of range of her rearview mirror, and remained silent. “We’ve got less than a quarter tank of gas and we aren’t headed anywhere near a gas station. Where does county road 1500 take us?”

  She glanced down at her cell phone, resting next to her on the seat. In the darkness she couldn’t tell if Jordan was still on the line, or not. The police had put a listening device in it, and she prayed with all of her might that they were being recorded, and that Jordan had heard what road she was on.

  The man behind her in the seat leaned forward for the first time. The gun left the side of her neck, although she could still feel the indention from where it had been pressing for the past ten minutes.

  “Slow down. There’s a gravel road up here to your left. Turn there.” The man behind her nudged her with the gun when he spoke, and Roxanne jumped in spite of herself.

  “I don’t see a road,” she said, and her voice cracked from fear.

  Roxanne took a deep breath and focused on the surroundings, hoping for a mile marker or something to give a clue as to where they were. In the darkness, all she could see were the thick meadows that spread to either side of the road, broken occasionally by a group of trees.

  “Turn left,” the man instructed.

  A gravel road appeared in her headlights, and Roxanne turned onto it, wondering how anyone would ever know where she was. She took a minute to glance up and down the county road she had been on and saw no cars in either direction. Dust from the gravel flew up on either side of her car, and Roxanne slowly headed toward a destination, having no clue what to expect, and not knowing how she would ever get out of there.

  The bumps on the road scraped the gun up and down her neck, but Roxanne didn’t dare try to put her hand on the spot that grew more and more agitated the further they drove. She almost felt relief when a doublewide trailer appeared ahead, and wondered if that was their destination.

  “Turn here.” The man nudged her with the gun, and Roxanne obeyed, turning onto a paved driveway.

  As they approached the house, Roxanne did her best to take in her surroundings, although she didn’t know what to look for in the dark that might enable her escape. A doublewide trailer that appeared to have been on the property for some time sat at the edge of a circular drive. It had been well-kept, and in the dark Roxanne could see trimmed bushes and flower gardens bordering the house.

  “Park here.” The man pulled the gun away from Roxanne’s neck, and she instinctively put her fingers on the spot where it had been, still feeling the pressure of the hard metal against her skin.

  As she put the car into park, her captor pushed the passenger seat next to her forward, opened the passenger door, and slid out of the car. Roxanne got her first confirmation that a gun had indeed been pressed to her neck. She now stared at it as a small man, wearing black jeans and a pullover collared shirt that hung untucked past the waistline of his jeans, walked around the front of her car and then opened her car door for her. Her mouth went dry and she felt her stomach heave.

  This was it. She grabbed her phone, glancing at it quickly, but too scared to make a show of trying to see if she was still connected to Jordan, and stepped out of her car on shaky legs. Roxanne stared the man in the face as he nudged her with the gun, and tried her best to reason with him. She had to do something to save her life.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked, adjusting her phone so it clipped to her skirt. Her fingers were so damp she swore she wouldn’t be able to complete the simple act. If he took her phone from her, it would be her last hope for rescue. “We’re in the country, out in the middle of nowhere. Why did you bring me here?”

  “We need insurance. And you’re it.” He didn’t elaborate.

  The man took her arm and guided her toward the front door, and Roxanne did her best to walk alongside him without tripping. A small porch light hung next to the front door, but otherwise it was dark and Roxanne couldn’t see much past the small circle of light that cast over the front yard.

  “I haven’t done anything, and I don’t know why you’re bringing me here.” Now she was babbling but Roxanne didn’t know what else to say and her mind seemed unable to find a good argument that might convince this man to let her back into the safety of her car.

  Someone opened the front door, although Roxanne didn’t see anyone at first. She felt her stomach heave, and thought for sure she would throw up all over the two wooden steps she stumbled up as her assailant gave her a not-so-nice shove toward the entrance of her prison.

  One of Roxanne’s heels caught in a gap between boards on the step and she stumbled, reaching forward to grab the doorknob and balance herself. A hand gripped her wrist, steadying her, and at the same time guiding her inside.

  “Very nice work,” a man’s voice said.

  Roxanne felt herself guided by the wrist now into a modest-looking living room. At first glance she felt she had been brought to the wrong place, and a sense of giddiness flowed through her. She wanted to smile at the relaxed atmosphere the warm colors of the living room offered, and knew she must be bordering on hysteria.

  The door closed behind her and Roxanne turned at the sound, realizing in the same instant that her kidnapper had not followed her inside. She turned again and stared into the face of a man she had never seen before.

  “Why am I here?” she asked, taking in the contents of the room she was in.

  Dark tan furniture, end tables and a coffee table were arranged in a simple manner. The place looked clean, and a lamp had been turned on that rested on the far end table. Long cream-colored drapes covered the windows, and they were all closed, giving the room an intimate, quiet feeling. None of this comforted Roxanne, however. She had been kidnapped, and the place could have been a mansion, but it still remained her prison.

  “You fucked up when you showed up at your office the other night,” the man answered, and Roxanne shot her attention back to the man. “Now we have to clean up the mess you’ve made.”

  The man wasn’t tall. He wore baggy jeans, and a simple black T-shirt with no wording on it. If asked to describe the man she would have given such a generic explanation it would have been little to go by.

  She couldn’t help but
wonder if his appearance had been carefully planned. Nothing about him stood out—no tattoos, scars, or anything that would help in identifying him.

  The man turned and, still holding her wrist, walked through an arched doorway into a kitchen and dining area. The carpet on the floor changed to vinyl, and Roxanne’s shoes clicked as she followed him.

  “Sit there,” he instructed as he released her wrist, and pointed to one of the chairs at the dining room table.

  Roxanne sat and watched the man pad over to the refrigerator and pull out a bottle of wine. She noticed he had no shoes on, and wore gray socks that moved silently over the floor. He grabbed two wineglasses and returned to the table.

  “Miss Roxanne Isley, may I call you Roxanne?” The man sat in the chair next to her, and turned it so they faced each other.

  Roxanne didn’t answer but watched him as he popped the cork and poured wine into each glass. He handed one of the glasses, half full of the golden liquid, to her, and she knew if she drank much more than a sip she quite easily could puke. Just the smell of the wine turned her stomach. Her fingers shook as she accepted the glass, and she placed it on the table in front of her quickly, without tasting it.

  “I imagine it would be terrifying to be stolen from your car at night,” the man said, as he watched her actions. “Especially when you thought you would be in the arms of your lover shortly.”

  This comment seemed to amuse the man, since Roxanne noticed a slight turn of the edge of his mouth into something that might resemble a smile. She didn’t see a need to comment since she doubted anything she had to say on the matter would affect this man’s opinion to release her. God. Please let the police show up soon.

  “But it is important that I bring you here because now I need your help.” The man took a long sip of his wine, watching her over the edge of his glass.

  “You need my help?” Roxanne wanted to say it would be a cold day in hell before she helped the man do a thing. “You have a strange way of asking for it,” she said instead.

  “I am not asking for your help.” There was a hard edge in the man’s tone. “You will help me.”

  Roxanne straightened at the coldness in the man’s words. “You have snooped around a bit too much, and years of hard work will not be ruined because you wish to impress your boss.” He didn’t sound bitter with his comment, instead Roxanne detected determination. The man had an agenda, and she didn’t see any harm in being curious about what he was doing.

  “What work do you do?” she asked.

  This time the man smiled at her question, and she saw a change in his expression, as a person did when they were preparing to talk about their favorite subject.

  “Consider me a Robin Hood of sorts,” he said, and his smile faded.

  Roxanne watched him, thinking that he must not smile much because there were no lines of any kind around his mouth. She would have a tough guess at his age.

  “Are you saying you steal from the rich and give to the poor?” The longer they sat there and talked, possibly her rescuers would arrive, and nothing more would happen to her. That is, if rescuers were on their way.

  “Well, not exactly.” The man had returned to his blank expression and watched her with green eyes as he explained. “Maybe I should say that I manage a Robin Hood-type society. I’ve never stolen a thing in my life.”

  He made this last comment as if it was something he was proud to say. And Roxanne instantly knew it was a lie.

  When he stood, Roxanne edged closer to the table in her chair. She watched him walk into the kitchen, and she quickly looked around the room, as if her path to escape would be obvious in her brief moment of not being watched. A napkin holder sat in the middle of the table, half full with paper napkins. Otherwise there was nothing else on the table.

  An overhead light hung from a chain, and when she glanced up at it, she could see a small spiral of dead bugs resting in the porcelain light fixture.

  There were two windows in the room, both with cream-colored drapes, which were pulled closed. Through the doorway she could see the front door and part of the living room, but nothing stood out to her as a quick means of escape, other than bolting for the front door.

  “The people who work for me understand that everyone benefits in what we do. I’m a very fair man.” He returned to her side, but instead of sitting, he stood next to her for a minute. “The rewards I offer are beyond your wildest imagination, Roxanne.”

  She would have had to turn and look up to see him, and Roxanne decided to continue facing the table. He made her nervous hovering next to her though, and Roxanne wished he would sit down.

  “What do you want more than anything in the whole world?” he asked her.

  “I want to go home,” she said without hesitating.

  The man placed the wine bottle on the table in front of Roxanne, and then stepped behind her. Roxanne tensed, not sure what he was up to. When his fingers clamped down on her shoulders, she jumped.

  He leaned forward so that his mouth was by her ear. “I’m not playing games, my dear,” he whispered. “Now don’t whine to me like a baby. I don’t like it.”

  Something in his tone made Roxanne feel she was in true danger. She had been scared ever since she realized she’d been kidnapped, but terror trickled through her bloodstream now, and she turned her head so she could see him.

  “I know you aren’t playing games,” she said, and her voice trembled.

  “Good. Very good.” He began kneading her shoulders, pressing his thumbs against the base of her neck, and making her muscles tighten further in fear. “Now what do you want more than anything in the whole world?” he asked again.

  Roxanne feared this was a trick question, and searched her mind for the right answer, but came up blank. “I don’t know,” she said, blinking tears from her eyes.

  “Everyone has dreams, Roxanne,” he told her, and the soft caress of his voice made her skin crawl. “You want something and I can give it to you. Anything your heart desires will be yours.”

  His fingers left her shoulders, and his hands slid down her front. Roxanne held her breath and squeezed her eyes closed, allowing hot tears to run down her cheeks when his hands clamped down on her breasts.

  “Don’t you want beautiful clothes? Closets full? Jewelry? The ability to wake up and decide you are going to go visit another country that day?” His hot breath burned her neck as he spoke, and irritated the spot where the gun had prodded her.

  Please be listening to all of this, Jordan. Please be on your way here to rescue me.

  The man squeezed her breasts, rubbing his fingers forward until his thumb and forefinger pinched her nipples. He repeated the motion several times, and Roxanne remained frozen, unable to prevent the tears.

  There has got to be a way out of here, she thought, trying to keep her mind off what the man was doing. If there wasn’t someone on their way to rescue her, she had to figure out how to escape by herself. The thought of being raped terrified her. What would she do if this man forced himself on her? She had no idea what to say to him though in order to stop his actions, and panicked that anything she might say could escalate them.

  “Imagine a life where you didn’t have to work, Roxanne.” His breath now burned her ear, and she fought the urge to bat at his face with her hand. “Imagine not having to pay attention to a time clock, or follow orders. A life like that is what we all dream about, and now you can have it.”

  She squeezed her eyes closed tighter, telling herself to not listen to the man ramble, but to focus on how she could get out of there.

  “You will have your own home and beautiful clothes, closets full of them,” he continued. “The world will be your playground, and all of your friends, millionaires.

  “I will show you how to live a life like this,” he told her, “and you will be amazed how simple it is.

  “You already possess more knowledge than most I have trained.” He pulled away from her for a moment and unzipped her dress. She felt the
zipper slide down her spine, and his knuckles braised her skin. Her stomach burned, and she fought not to gulp into an hysteria of tears.

  Please don’t hurt me. Tears streamed down her face and she couldn’t focus but didn’t dare move to wipe them away.

  “I will take you downstairs soon, and I will show you what you will need to do.” He moved the material of her dress off her shoulders, and she heard him suck in air as his hands moved over her lace bra. “I will expect you to learn quickly, Roxanne,” he said, and slid his hands inside her bra.

  She couldn’t allow this. She let out a small whimper when he squeezed her nipples, and then her breasts. Her breath came out in staggered gasps, and she fought to focus on something else.

  The police. They are tracing this call and they will find me. God. Please don’t let him notice that my phone is on.

  “Until I am comfortable that you know our system well, and that I have your undying loyalty, you will remain here with me.” In a quick movement, he stretched his hands and forced the straps of her bra off her shoulders. “We are a very tight family here, and you will be welcomed. And I am a very generous leader,” he said, and ran his palms over her now exposed nipples.

  “Once you understand everything, you will experience a freedom like you never thought existed. Nothing will be out of your reach, and everything life has to offer you will be at your fingertips.

  “We are going to go downstairs now,” he told her, moving from behind her. “You will not ask any questions, nor will any explanations be offered you at this time. I will show you where to stand and you will remain there, not moving but simply observing and learning what you can at this time.”

  He didn’t ask her if she understood, which she didn’t. But Roxanne had no problem with not asking questions. He pulled her to her feet, and her dress pooled at her waist. She made an effort to slide the material back up to her shoulders, but the man grabbed her wrist and prevented her. Apparently she would be made to stand where he put her, exposed to whoever might be downstairs. Roxanne prayed her cell phone, with its open line, had alerted the police to her predicament, because at this point, she had no idea what else to do in order to get out of there.