by Trent Evans
The curvy woman — whom Ford had informed them in a conspiratorial murmur was a well-known investment banker named Josalyn Williams — was fitted with a harness consisting of a dizzying array of thin leather straps that hugged her entire body, highlighting her dramatic curves, the supple leather sinking into her flesh in places, emphasizing the soft vulnerability of her naked form. Her great breasts, larger than even Celina’s, were bound firmly, lifting and presenting them before her like a procession, the harness ensuring that every male eye that looked upon her focused first upon the heavy, pale globes.
Ford’s radio crackled next to them, snapping Hunter out of his trance, his gaze fixed upon Lacey’s heaving, cruelly restrained breasts.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hunter breathed, scanning the display of subjugated, debased females, presented for the crowd’s blatant delight, his cock swollen and throbbing between his thighs.
A voice sounded on Ford’s radio as the Sheriff walked back toward his truck, peering across the street with a scowl, his brows furrowed into deep crags. Static and distance prevented Hunter from making out any of the words crackling over the radio waves, but he could hear Ford curse under his breath as he opened the door to his truck.
“Are you sure?” Ford scanned the park across the street for one second, then turned his back to it, speaking in hurried low tones into his mic as he stood before the open driver’s side door. He caught Hunter’s gaze then and shrugged in apology, mouthing, “I gotta go.”
Hunter watched Ford pull the big Tahoe back into the street, the engine roaring as the truck hurtled west along Columbia, the LED lights flashing red and blue from seemingly all over the vehicle. But for some reason, Ford decided to leave the siren off.
“You know what’s goin’ on?” Hunter tapped Troy’s arm, cocking a thumb toward Ford’s rapidly receding truck. “Mathis got outta here in a hurry.”
Troy shrugged. “Probably another peeper. Wouldn’t be the first time some teenagers tried to sneak out to get a look at this shit.”
“I’m surprised they aren’t lining the street,” Hunter murmured, taking in the bound and frightened beauties waiting on the sidewalk.
“In this town, we have a solution for that problem,” Troy said, not taking his eyes from his wife’s debasement. “They’re called parents.”
Perhaps Troy was onto something after all, because as Hunter looked across Columbia Street toward the soaring conifers of the park, he frowned, uncomfortable for the first time that morning.
He felt like they were being watched.
* * *
“Oh my God,” Falon whispered as she squinted into the camera. “Oh my fucking God.”
She switched off the video screen, not trusting the quality unless she gazed through the viewfinder. More than a few B-rolls had been ruined by relying on the cameras’ vid screens.
The spot she’d found just up the hill inside the park was perfect. Screened by brush hugging the massive trunks of two Douglas firs, she had almost a complete view of the entirety of Columbia Street.
Falon had scoped it out the day she’d had lunch in the park with the far too handsome — and stubborn — Sheriff. He’d had that quiet confidence so many cops seemed to exude, and so few actually deserved.
But Ford was one that did. It couldn’t be faked, and the way even his voice made her nipples stand up annoyed her almost as much as it intrigued her. For all intents and purposes, Ford Mathis was the enemy — at least insofar as getting the story was concerned.
And what she’d already seen through the telephoto lens was going to be the blockbuster story of her career. It was almost too good to be true.
She believed it now — all the bullshit hyperbole she’d discounted from her paranoid source. It all looked true now.
The more she saw, the more it seemed like her source hadn’t even scratched the surface.
Falon, in a way, had been glad to see Ford hop into his Tahoe and speed off, no doubt on a call out to US 97. He’d told her most of his callers ended up out there, too often to scrape bodies off the highway.
Though she’d already gotten Ford on video watching all of it, Falon was seriously considering editing that from the final copy. As much of a pain in her ass as the Sheriff was… she couldn’t help but like the man.
A lot.
Maybe she could keep the worst of the heat off of him once the national media descended on this place, asking far more questions than even the cagey lawman would be able to dodge.
Unfortunately, the camera would only take thirty seconds of video a time, but what she’d gotten was more than enough. She tried to ignore the stirring deep in her belly as she watched through the telephoto lens as the women in the white gowns were fitted with high collars, forcing their chins up into an almost haughty posture. Then their ankles were hobbled with a thick silver chain perhaps a foot long. Their hands had been cuffed in front of them at least, though it must have been cold comfort to the victims.
The cruel bondage of the other three women made her breath come more quickly, but she couldn’t be sure whether the emotion stirring the reaction was horror — or fascination.
Snapping pictures quickly, catching many notable town figures, including Von Ellison, Falon could barely contain her excitement. She wasn’t even sure she’d actually come back, but once she’d seen Ford turn around at the junction with Highway 97, part of her wasn’t ready to end their chess match.
Especially now that it was check ma—
“You don’t make a very good paparazzo, Ms. Moore.”
Oh, no.
She snapped her head back from her camera, spinning around, slipping in the loose pine needles and falling on her ass, her teeth jarring in her head. “Shit!”
Ford stepped out from behind one of the huge tree trunks behind her, advancing toward her quickly. His hand rested on the butt of his Beretta, though he hadn’t yet unsnapped the retention strap of the holster.
The man’s got fucking ice water in his veins.
Her heart pounding like a frantic animal in her chest, Falon scrambled down the hill, the heavy camera slipping from her hand as she toppled, with a surprised shriek, over a little rise, landing hard on her back, knocking the wind from her.
Gasping for breath, she felt as if a thousand pound weight had compressed her chest into nothingness, Ford’s tall frame looming over her.
He squatted next to her, drawing her up under the arms until she knelt in the dirt, her breath slowly returning to her.
Ford didn’t say a word as he watched her, his eyes darker, harder, than she’d ever seen them before. His expression was dead neutral, the straight lips betraying nothing, only the intense gaze giving her a clue to his state of mind.
He was far from happy.
Her voice was little more than a squeak as she forced the words from her lips. “How… did…?”
Ford rose to his feet, moving around behind her. “I hoped my suspicions were misplaced, but I assigned Deputy Anders to tail you in his unmarked. Just in case.” His voice lowered an octave, vibrating in her chest. “You were more predictable than I’d hoped.”
Cold metal wrapped around one of her wrists, and she tried to pull away. Ford yanked her arm behind her with ridiculous ease, taking hold of her other hand.
“W-what the hell… are you doing?”
Ford’s voice was a deep rumble at her ear as the hard cuff closed pitilessly tight around her other wrist.
“Oh, I think you’re smart enough to figure that out, Ms. Moore.”
To Be Continued…
# # #
Book IV
Falon’s Captivity
Trent Evans
Prologue
I didn’t know what was worse anymore — when he opened that door or when he closed it.
How many times had she wondered? How many minutes had she counted until they’d fallen away in the blackness, unmoored in the shadows of her cell?
But it was a waste of time. He had her, and there was not
hing she could do about it now.
The only thing that mattered was figuring him out. What was he really after? What did he truly want?
It wasn’t just her body — he could have that any time he wanted, and we both knew it. And yet, here she stayed — in this dark hole, lost to the world, her only connection to it that man who was both her protector and her captor.
She had to remember the deal. The agreement was her only true protection.
“Keep it the fuck together, Falon!”
She clapped her hand over her lips.At least he’d left enough slack in her chains for her to do that much. She had to be careful though. He could be out there, just outside the threshold of her dark, little kingdom of a single soul.
Tracking the time was perhaps the best way to regain her bearings. It kept her anchored in the now, in what might happen, in the knowledge that — however far away it might seem — eventually she’d be free.
For the thousandth time, she cursed her stupidity, her hubris, her idiotic conviction that she could pull this off. It was a cruel irony of fate that a single, impulsive, split second decision could profoundly influence the rest of a person’s life.
In ways one could never expect.
“Calm, Falon. You can do this.”
Shaking her head again, she bit into her tongue, the pinching burn a reminder to shut the fuck up, to keep her thoughts in the one place they were still safe — her mind.
Maybe he’d figure out a way in there too?
It was true though. A bastard he might have been, perhaps even a monster. But somehow, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her.
Well, not more than she could bear anyway.
Not that it mattered much anymore. Nobody knew where she was,not yet. Hell, her boss probably didn’t even miss her yet.
Not setting a check-in date wasn’t your smartest choice, Falon.
Among many.
She missed clothes — a luxury more precious that almost anything, now that she’d been deprived of them. But she knew he only saw them as an impediment, something that got in the way of his enjoyment of the physical attributes of his living sex toy.
The traitorous tightening of her nipples didn’t surprise her anymore. She’d given up on making sense of any of it. How had he managed it? How had me turned her against… herself? Was it that he saw what was already there and simply brought it to the fore? Was she that shallow, that simple?
What did it mean that her body readied itself with an anticipation borne of far more than a need to survive? More than was even logical?
Stockholm syndrome.
The thought echoed in her mind more and more now, even if she tried to suppress it, tried to argue against even the possibility that it could be.
She wasn’t that weak. That much she knew. It would take a lot more than this to break her.
But how much more of this could she take? How much more did he intend to put her through? What was the end game, when terms of the agreement had been fulfilled?
She already suspected, deep down, that there could only be one end to this, a single conclusion to what this had become. Her strength was ebbing, something she couldn’t deny it any longer. Her exhaustion was bad enough, but what was the worst was the temptation, the increasingly appealing prospect of simply… surrendering.
Giving him what he wanted.
What then, Falon?
Maybe he’d turn her into one of the Stepfords populating that town? Hadn’t that been the worst? That they’d all agreed to it? Wanted a life like that?
I think you know why it really bothered you. Why lie to yourself?
“Stop it, you idiot,” she whispered, her voice rasping like the slither of a serpent through fallen leaves. She hated the way every sound was amplified in her little cell. He’d installed some sort of lighting along the tops of the walls in the basement though the faint illumination spraying up onto the painted ceiling doing little to brighten the dismal space she occupied.
At least it seemed dim enough to let her sleep.
Her heart froze in her chest at the sound, the familiar thump and creaking of stairs filling her with that maddening mix of dread and anticipation, her body exhibiting an increasingly Pavlovian response that mortified her more every time. Had he wanted it that way? Was turning her body against her just part of his plan?
With a creak of hinges, the cell door swung open, his shadowed silhouette all she could make out in the low light.
He was here again.
Chapter 1
He thought she’d talk more.
Ford watched her in his rear-view mirror, her blonde sun-kissed good looks paler now, the set of her jaw betraying something different than fright.
Her blue eyes met his gaze. “You can’t do this, you know. You think arresting me is going to stop this shit from getting out?”
“That’s exactly what I think.”
He turned the truck onto Dyer Road. Though he hoped he’d never have to do this, he knew the protocol well in such cases. If she knew just how much trouble she was really in, he suspected she’d be a blubbering mess there in the back seat.
Or maybe not.
Falon, young, hapless producer girl or not, was a smart one. And tougher than she looked, if he had to guess. Things would have been much, much different if Deputy Anders hadn’t tailed her. The spot she’d chosen in the park was perfect for concealment. They’d never have spotted her in a million years. Who knew what god-awful chaos she’d have unleashed for White Valley if she’d slipped away?
“What am I being charged with, Sheriff?”
The new venom in her tone made him crack a grin. He liked a woman who didn’t just roll over and give up. He respected that kind of strength, even though it wouldn’t matter in the end.
“I’m sure we can think of something,” he muttered, stopping at the light where Waters Avenue crossed Dyer, the intersection marking the western edge of town. “Disturbing the peace comes to mind.”
“Bullshit.”
“I don’t think a judge is going think much of that defense.”
“As if I’ll see a fucking judge,” she hissed under her breath, looking out her window again. “You didn’t have to leave these cuffs on, Sheriff. Not like I’m going to overpower mister Big Bad Cop.”
“I’m not taking any chances, Ms. Moore. You’ve already proven I can’t trust you. Until you’ve disabused me of the inclination to not trust you any farther than I can throw you, I’ll have to err on the side of caution. I think you understand.”
Her murmured curse wasn’t quite audible, but it didn’t need to be. He got the message loud and clear — she was going to fight.
“Where are you taking me? The station’s the other way, isn’t it?”
“Observant, I see.” He pulled the truck over onto the gravel shoulder, rocks jumping up and crackling against the undercarriage as he brought the Tahoe to a stop. He flipped on the light bar, then draped an elbow over the side of his seat, turning toward her. “We’re not going to the police station.”
“Why not? I need to make my phone call. Then we’ll see how you like it when you’ve fucked somebody in the press.” She smiled, a bitter edge to it utterly devoid of amusement or warmth. “You think criminals are bad? We’ll make your life hell.”
“I haven’t fucked anyone in the press, Ms. Moore. Not yet anyway.”
“What—?”
“Just keep quiet for a minute.” He paused, looking out his window. The first applicant in The Walk would be reaching the viewpoint soon, perhaps at that very moment. He was irritated at having to miss this one, but something — and someone — even more intriguing had fallen into his lap.
And that person currently sat cuffed in his backseat.
“Need to talk to someone — and being in town isn’t the best place for you at the moment.”
“Not the best place? What the fuck?” Her eyes were wide now. “I want to talk to a lawyer, Ford. Now.”
This was something she didn’t expect
, and he knew keeping her off balance, uncertain, was the best way to handle her. She was a lot smarter than some might think, and he wasn’t about to give her an opportunity to prove it.
“No lawyer is going to get your ass out of the sling it’s in right now.” He lowered his voice, glaring at her. “If you’d simply listened to me, headed on out of here for greener pastures, this wouldn’t be happening. Now, you’ve forced me to do this — for your own good.”
“So, you’re arresting me — without charges — for… my own good?” She burst out laughing, looking down. “I can’t fucking believe this shit.”
“Believe it, Falon.” He faced forward once more, taking a deep breath as he brought the Tahoe back onto the road, gunning it up to fifty and leaving the lights on. “We’re going to have a little talk and figure out what we’re going to do with you.”
She was silent after that, another sign that she was a cooler customer than one might otherwise think. The more time she had to work out her situation, the more dangerous she was. Though he thought he could probably keep a handle on her, the girl would indeed bear watching. Close watching.
One thing was troubling him though. After he’d cuffed and stuffed her, he’d had a look at the documents she still had with her. She didn’t have much on her, but in her car they’d found a treasure trove of information, including laptops, tablets and thumb drives.
Most of the “dirt” she’d dug up on White Valley was exactly what he’d expected. That wasn’t the problem. Her source, which frustratingly wasn’t identified anywhere that they’d found thus far, had provided her information — damaging information.
The worst part of it though was that it was information that was entirely new to Ford. And if even half of it was true, Ms. Moore was going to turn out to be a whole lot more trouble than even he thought.
For the entire goddamned town.