Batiste

by Victoria Danann

  “Yeah. Feelin’ both grateful and humble right about now.”

  “Hmmm,” Brant grunted. “You can meditate later. Right now you’ve got a maneuver to coordinate. I’m texting you the map and directions to give Manatee when he calls.”

  “Not really sure how to thank you.”

  “That works then. ‘Cause no thanks is necessary. Right now you need to decide who’s gonna be the one person to go in and get Ms. Bellefeuille and which four guys are goin’ out into that field. If you want Dev to be one of ‘em, you got my approval.

  “Keep in mind that even the most careful plans are just plans until they’re history. Choose people who keep their heads. When the first shots are fired there’ll be a moment when things could go sideways.

  “The one who’s goin’ after the girl will be most vulnerable. I’m gonna send half my people to stay out of sight, but make sure you get out alive with what you came for. You call the minute you hear from Manatee.”

  “Sure. I will.”

  “Good.” Brant ended the call.

  Batiste looked at Pickup. “There’s a plan.” Pickup nodded. “Sounds like a good one, but…”

  Pickup checked over his shoulder again before daring to whisper, “You’re scared.” Batiste nodded. “But you’re not scared for you. You’re scared something will go wrong for her.”

  He nodded again. “She wouldn’t be with them if I’d listened to her. She didn’t want to go. Asked to stay. I pushed her right into their hands.”

  “You were tryin’ to choose the thing that would guarantee her safety. This place,” he waved at the lodge, “it’s not exactly designed for maximum security.”

  “Been thinkin’ ‘bout that a lot since this started.”

  “Everything in life is some kinda trade off or another.”

  “When did you get so smart? Huh?”

  Pickup grinned. “You back? For good?”

  “No matter what,” Batiste said and Pickup believed him.

  He wasn’t any good to Angelique checked out and drowning in the self-indulgence of guilt. Like Brant had said, he could meditate later. Like Pickup had said, they didn’t need a whiney little bitch.

  He shoved the phone in his pants pocket and walked with purpose into the main room of the lodge and straight toward Dev, who was, as Pickup had guessed, havin’ a drink.

  Blaise was behind the bar pouring. Batiste glanced his way and said, “I’ll have one of those.”

  Batiste picked up his shot of bourbon and turned around to address the members. Holding the glass up at chest height, he said, “Everybody who wants one have a drink to the Devils. After this, there’ll be no more takin’ the edge off until this is over. Not so much as a beer.”

  Blaise poured three more shots for those who wanted them, then Batiste toasted. “To Angelique.” Those who had been drinking beer from long necks chugged what remained. “Bar’s closed till further notice. Meeting is adjourned, but everybody sleeps here tonight. You’ll all be needed tomorrow.”

  He leaned against the bar next to where Dev had been standing. “Guess I owe you for coverin’ me.”

  “Did it for her. You don’t owe me a thing.”

  Batiste sniffed and wiggled his head back and forth. “Your prez has a plan for tomorrow. It’s a good plan. Sendin’ four of us to meet four of them for the payoff. Brant said it might be a good idea to send you as one of the four. How would you feel about that?”

  “My feelings aren’t relevant. I’m going to do whatever my president says he needs done.”

  Batiste nodded. “He must think a lot of you.”

  “Seems unlikely,” Dev said. “I just got here.”

  “Yeah. But he’s a good judge of people.”

  “You gonna tell me the plan?”

  “Sure. Just as soon as I decide on the other three.”

  After going over the plan as he understood it, with all its holes and unknowns, Batiste told the Devils to get some sleep so they’d be at their best for whatever the day might offer. By then, Rou knew everything Batiste knew. All the members of Chapter Two, which was actually a bigger club, were at the ready to make sure they had the upper hand.

  He had no expectation of sleep, but Batiste found himself in the room Angel had occupied. Lying down on top of the coverlet, he pulled out his phone and held it in his hand like his life depended on it. And in a sense it did.

  After a minute he rolled over so he could breathe in the tingly aroma of her verbena soap and wondered if she used the same soap on her hair. To him it represented the most intoxicating, sexiest scent in the world. He would have given anything to be sleeping on the hard floor beside that bed again, knowing she was safe. His for the asking. If he wasn’t the dumbest son-of-a-bitch alive.

  He called her number, waited through the greeting, then said, “This is just to let you know I’m thinking ‘bout you. There’s not a second passes when I’m not thinking ‘bout you. I wish you could hear me right now, tellin’ you to hang on. We’re comin’, cher. Gonna make everything alright again. Over, under, sideways, round. Swear on my life.”

  CHAPTER NINE Two Legged Monsters

  “No soap needed,” the one called Howly taunted. “Not when you got pressure like this.”

  A few hours earlier or, for all she knew, it might have been days because there were no windows in her cell and no way to tell time, one of Angelique’s captors had appeared on the other side of the iron gate. Instead of food or water, he stuck a dart pistol between the bars and shot her.

  She yelled from the sting when it hit her in the thigh and jerked it out, but the sedative was so powerful that a little went a long way and she lost consciousness within seconds. When she woke again, she was naked. Her clothes were gone and there was nothing in the cell that could be used to cover herself. Her throat hurt even more and swallowing was painful.

  When she heard voices she crouched on the floor at the end of the iron bed trying to hide herself, but was learning that they had absolute power over her and would do what they wanted. She heard something dragging along the corridor. The fact that she couldn’t guess what it was caused her fear to ratchet up to the point of causing shakes. It was a foreign experience, that kind of fear.

  Peering above the bed she saw a jovial face between the iron bars. The man was clean shaven with a haircut that would be perfect for a Wall Street lawyer, and he was wearing a lime green, collared Ralph Lauren polo shirt. Odd.

  The mystery of what she’d heard dragging was solved when he held up a high power nozzle attached to the end of a garden hose.

  “Bath time,” he said in a sing song voice and shook the nozzle. He turned it on full force and hit her in the face. She reflexively threw her hands up. “Oh, now, see. That’s not gonna work. You need to come on over here and let me give you a nice shower. See that drain?” She had noticed there was a drain in the floor. With so little to look at in the cell it would have been impossible to not notice. But her eyes slid that way. “That’s right. Go stand over there and face me. I’ll tell you when to turn around and when to bend over.”

  She didn’t respond, didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, but the shaking grew worse.

  “See there’s two options. Hard way or easy way. Easy way is you do what I tell you. Not gonna hurt you. Just get a good look and get you nice and clean is all. Hard way is some of my friends are gonna come visit you in there and help you with your attitude.” He shrugged as if to say he didn’t care which choice she made. “Either way, this is gonna get done.”

  Both options were unthinkable, but if he was telling the truth, the ‘easy’ way meant she wouldn’t be touched. She tried to talk herself into survival mode. She told herself that she just had to hang on and stay alive. Batiste or her father or both of them would come for her. All she had to do was stay alive.

  She stood up, telling herself that strippers parade around naked in front of strangers all the time. There must be a trick to separating feelings from actions. She just had to concentrat
e until she found it. The shaking persisted and was joined by teeth chattering.

  “That’s right. You got nothin’ to be bashful about. Nothin’ I ain’t seen lots of times before.” She stood near the drain trying to cover herself with her hands. “Now see that won’t work. Gotta have some cooperation ‘cause I can’t get you clean that way. Hold your arms out to the sides.”

  It took all her will power to force her body to do as she was told. She looked the man in the eye and said, “The Devils are going to kill you for this.”

  He laughed. “Not likely.”

  He turned the dial to ‘jet’ pressure and aimed it at her nipples. The power behind the stream was strong and painful when it hit sensitive body parts. She gasped and instinctively turned her back.

  “That won’t do. Did I tell you to turn away? You need to face me so I can get you good and clean. Unless you’d rather go the hard way.”

  She faced the gate, held her arms out, closed her eyes, and clenched her teeth knowing what was coming. The force of the water was torture, but she managed. It went on for ten minutes, his instructions for turning, bending, posing. By the time he’d decided she was ‘clean’ the skin all over her body was red like she’d been sunburned.

  She stood there for a long time after he was gone, uncertain about what to do next. Other than continuing to stand, she could sit her bare vagina down on the nasty mattress not knowing what was on it or she could sit on the bare floor. Same problem. Eventually she was so tired of standing she had to make a choice.

  Sitting down on the mattress, she reasoned that antibiotics would kill whatever she might come in contact with after she was rescued from this insanity. At least that was the hope.

  Eventually she fell over and went to sleep, there being no doubt some of the sedating chemicals were still active in her bloodstream.

  The next time she woke, the iron hinges on the door to her cell were squeaking as they swung open. She heard a man’s voice say, “Watch out for the chop chop chink moves.”

  Before she had time to assess what was going on, she was rushed by four men who tied her wrists together in front of her with actual lariat style rope, the kind that burns. She kicked out and landed a blow that must have hurt one of them because their answer was a fist to the side of her face. She was temporarily stunned by the impact, disoriented, her ears filled with an unpleasant ringing she hoped to never hear again.

  While her faculties were working to recover from the assault, they bound her ankles, leaving an eight inch length so she could walk, in a compromised fashion, but not kick. They also blindfolded her with a black bandanna.

  She was pulled to her feet and pushed forward. Not being able to catch herself because of the short length of rope restraining her ankles, she fell onto the concrete floor. Two men pulled her upright again with a roughness that was unnecessary, but she gathered from the laughter, fun for them.

  She was forced ahead roughly, wrists bound in front of her, with a man on either side holding her arms far tighter than was necessary. Their grips felt like the most unbearable moment of squeezing as applied by a blood pressure cuff, but that was not her biggest worry.

  She was also bared to view by multiple men, she couldn’t say how many, being taken somewhere for a purpose that couldn’t be good. Her thoughts constantly flicked between the indignity of her nakedness, the soreness of her throat, the burning of rope at her wrists and ankles, the vice grips on both arms, her face which, she could tell without touching, was swelling, bruising, and hot.

  Every one of those traumas to her body and spirit trumped the pain of the injuries she’d sustained when she’d run from the execution of her drivers so that they were no longer of note. What was foremost in her mind was the terror of not knowing what was coming next, made even worse by the fact that she couldn’t see.

  The distance wasn’t far, but it took a while because of the hobble they’d placed on her, but eventually she was jerked to a stop.

  “Do that again,” one of the voices said. “I like the way it makes her tits jiggle.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” The voice was deep, gravelly, commanding and carried an undertone of brutality, perhaps intentionally. “You ready?”

  Angelique didn’t know who the question was directed to, but the implication of being ‘ready’ for something unknown scared her even more and caused her to begin the early stages of hyperventilation.

  Batiste opened his eyes to banging, not knocking, on the door. He sat up feeling surprised that he’d actually fallen asleep at some point.

  “CHRIST!” he yelled at the door. “What is it?”

  Pickup entered and closed the door behind him. “It’s not good.”

  Batiste took a deep breath. “Tell me.” He searched around for his phone and felt a little stab of panic when he didn’t see it.

  “I’ve got it here.” Pickup said, holding up the phone.

  Batiste frowned. “How’d you get my phone?”

  “Took it. Knew you needed to sleep.”

  “You snuck in here and lifted my phone.”

  “Yeah. I did.”

  “That’s treason.”

  “You can hang me after this is over.”

  “Give me the phone,” he growled.

  “Not so fast. Somethin’ you need to know first.” There was intimidation in the way Batiste got to his feet, but Pickup stood his ground. “It’s a video. Angie’s in it. You’re not gonna like it.”

  Batiste snatched the phone out of Pickup’s hand and stabbed at the play arrow.

  “Just want you to be prepared,” Pickup said.

  What Batiste saw made him want to retch. His Angel was being led naked into a dimly lit room. Even with the low light Batiste could tell that her body had been abused. In a millisecond he took in the blindfold, the rope bindings, the bruises, the cuts, and the fact that she was in a roomful of men who were hostile to the Devils.

  The camera managed to obscure the faces of most of them, or cut off their heads altogether. Except for Manatee who, apparently, wanted to be the star. He was seated in a chair, wearing jeans, his cut and nothing else. He motioned with two fingers and the men holding Angie forced her across the room. When they tried to push her down so that she was laying across his lap, she fought them, but hands and feet bound, she wasn’t much match for two oversized men.

  Within seconds she was laying across Manatee’s lap in the posture of a person volunteering for spanking. One man held the rope that bound her wrists so that her arms were straight out in front of her. A heavy chair was brought in and placed so that her feet could be tied to it, rendering her completely immobile. Last one of them looped a rope over her head and pulled so that it was right around her neck. Not tight enough to close off her windpipe. Just tight enough to be a threat.

  Everything they did sent her panic skyrocketing higher and her breathing coming faster. She felt a big calloused hand rubbing up and down her spine. She tried to twist away from the hand, but the man holding the end of the rope around her neck pulled. She fought that as well for a couple of seconds.

  When the rope was released she went still.

  “We just want your daddy to see we’re takin’ good care you. When you’re a good girl, you get to breathe. See?”

  His hand inched lower and lower until he was lightly rubbing her buttocks in a cruel, degrading satire of petting and fondling.

  Angie’s entire body bucked in rebellion of the touch and the sadism behind it. The way she was pinned down didn’t make much movement possible, but the effort she put into trying to get away was evident.

  “What a sweet butt you have.” Manatee laughed like he was enjoying that, continued to run his hand over her exposed ass. Crack! Suddenly the flat of his hand came down with slap. Hard. Her shocked yell of surprise and pain was coupled with the reflexive jerk of her body. Judging from the laughter, it seemed to entertain the spectators.

  Manatee said in a voice mocking a fatherly lecture, “When you’re a bad girl, it’s mu
ch more fun for me. The more you resist and wiggle around… Well, it makes me hard and makes me want to…” He made a big show of inserting his third finger into her pussy.

  Angelique screamed and again fought the restraints while the rope around her neck tightened. Maybe it was the rope. Maybe it was hyperventilation. Maybe it was fear. It could have been some combination of all those things, but she lost consciousness.

  Though he was breathing hard and sick at his stomach, Batiste forced himself to keep watching, through his own goddamn tears. He was glad Pickup had the insight to understand that he needed to be left alone.

  When she went limp, Manatee grinned at the camera, said, “Oops,” then put his third finger in his mouth and licked, making exaggerated moaning sounds.

  They took the rope off her neck, untied her feet from the chair, and dragged her out of the room.

  “That was just a little insurance,” Manatee said to the camera. “Just to let you know we’re not above havin’ a little fun with feminine guests. Rou’s little girl hasn’t been hurt. Not a single cock has touched her. Yet.

  “If everything goes off without a hitch today, we’ll keep it like that. If not, we’ll there’s a bunch of guys here that would just as soon take payment in other ways.” He reached down and adjusted his package for punctuation. “It’s also what you call an information video about what happens to women when people get crosswise with Stars and Bars. “Texting instructions in a few.”

  Batiste set the phone down on the bed and stared out the window.

  “You’re not gonna…” Pickup began.

  “No!” Batiste snapped. “Who’s seen this?”

  “Rou.”

  “ROU? Can this get any motherfucking worse?”

  “He’s the reason I came to get you. He called freakin’ the fuck out. Sayin’ he got a video and he’d put out the eyes of anybody else who watched it.”