The Stolen Girl

by Samantha Westlake

  I felt something hard but warm rubbing against the cheeks of my ass. I was still forced down on the ground, unable to turn and look behind me, but what else could that rod be? Slammer had his cock out and was rubbing it up and down on my ass, searching for my hole so that he could take me. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I closed my eyes and waited to feel the pain I knew was coming...

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  My eyes were shut and my face was wet as I waited for Slammer to rape me, to steal away my virginity. His cock was out, I was naked, and there was nothing left to stop him. I couldn't fight him off. I was helpless.

  But instead, I heard the sound of heavy boots coming from outside the house. Someone was running up the stairs! Both Slammer and I froze, and both of our gazes turned towards the door.

  It flew open a second later to reveal Roads standing there, panting and looking flushed and out of breath. “The police!” he was shouting as he entered. “The police are headed up towards here-”

  His voice cut off abruptly as his brain finally comprehended what his eyes were seeing. I was pinned down on the floor, my sweater shoved roughly up into my armpits and my pants forced down around my ankles. Slammer was crouched on top of me, one hand firmly in between my shoulder blades to hold me down, and his cock flopping out and now resting on my bare and exposed ass. The carpet beneath my face was damp from my crying, and I was certain that there were visible streaks of wetness on my face.

  From deep in Roads’ throat rose up a sound that I’d never heard before. He sounded like a wolverine; it was a deep and guttural growl, a sound of pure anger and rage. His hands rose up, not even tightening into fists, but merely constricting and jerking as if he was trying to strangle the air itself. And a moment later, he lunged forward, diving towards us.

  Still pinning me, Slammer opened his mouth to speak, but Roads hit him before the words could form. The gang’s second in command slammed into the leader in a flying tackle, knocking them both off of me. As I rolled away, grabbing for my pants to pull them up so I wouldn’t be basically bound at the knees, the two men twisted back and forth on the ground. They were locked together now, and both of them were wordlessly shouting and yelling.

  After a moment, Roads managed to gain the upper hand, literally climbing up so that he was on top of Slammer. His hands rose up, and he landed a few powerful punches on the man beneath him. Even from across the room, I heard the sickening sound of his fists thudding into flesh.

  “You… you monster!” Roads roared down at Slammer. “You’re a sickening shit stain that doesn’t deserve to live, and I’m going to kill you!”

  Unfortunately, Slammer had merely been regaining his breath, and he launched a renewed attack. He leapt up, throwing Roads off of him, and immediately dove back down with his fists balled. “You fucking betrayed us!” he yelled back, landing on top of Roads and grappling with him to try and pin him down. “When I do something, you don’t question it - you do it!”

  “Not when that thing is rape! You sick asshole!” Roads was on the defensive, but he clearly wasn’t giving up.

  At this moment, my ears caught another sound, in the background but steadily growing louder. I could hear a wailing sound, and the steady rise and fall of its pitch could only be one thing. Police sirens. Just as Roads had been starting to say when he had come in, the police were on their way to this house.

  My mind was awash in panic. I struggled up to my feet, but wasn’t sure what to do. I stared around the room wildly. From upstairs, I could hear the thud of more footsteps; the other bikers, up in their rooms, must also be hearing the sirens. As the sounds drew closer, I could distinguish that there were multiple wails, not quite in sync with each other. Several cars must all be coming. But what was I supposed to do?

  My eyes were flashing around the room, looking for some way that I could help break up the fight between Roads and Slammer. They were still rolling back and forth, a whirlwind of kicks, punches, yells, and curses, and I knew that I would be smashed to a pulp if I tried to physically interject. Could I find some sort of weapon? Something to use on Slammer, maybe to put him out long enough for Roads to recover?

  I spun around in a circle, searching around the room. A lamp? A glass bottle? Something on the table was glinting in the light, catching my eye. I took a step towards it, and then felt my heart leap up into my throat as I realized what it was. The gun that Slammer had drawn from his waistband was still sitting on the coffee table, unguarded!

  In a sudden rush of motion, I bolted around the furniture, between the chairs and towards that pistol on the table. As I ran, my eyes caught movement from the stairs on the far side of the room, and I saw that Flamer and Chainz were both coming down, looking confused. Their eyes went to me as I ran, and it only took a moment for them to connect the dots and realize what I was after.

  But even as the other couple bikers started forward, they were too late. I skidded to a stop at the table, my hand outstretched, and my fingers closed around the butt of the pistol. The metal was cool to the touch, and the weapon was surprisingly heavy as I lifted it up.

  This wasn’t my first time with a gun, and despite my fear and panic filling my mind, some element of the training my father had forced me to endure was still present. My right hand slipped around the grip of the pistol, finger off the trigger, and my left hand also came up to wrap around and steady my grip. My thumb clicked the safety off; the weapon was now hot and ready to fire. I could tell by its weight that it was loaded.

  Flamer and Chainz had started forward, but now that I was holding the gun, they stopped. Chainz’s eyes widened, while Flamer put her hands up slightly in an instinctive sign of surrender. But I didn’t care about them. I spun around, gun out at arms’ length, pointing it at Roads and Slammer as they fought back and forth on the ground.

  “Stop.” My voice was oddly calm, devoid of all emotion. Something in my tone must have sunk through the men’s thick skulls, as they both paused in their attacks and turned towards me.

  At that moment, Slammer happened to have the upper hand; he was crouching on top of Roads, his fist upraised. His eyes went first to me, and then focused on the weapon in my hands. He paused, fist still up in the air and clenched.

  “Get up.” I gestured with the barrel of the gun at the gang leader.

  The man slowly rose up to his feet, climbing off of his opponent. He was moving slowly, carefully, but those devious eyes of his were still locked on me. When I briefly made contact with them, I saw that they were still filled with burning, simmering fury, enough to make me shiver. Now standing, he took a small step towards me.

  “No! Stay where you are!” I shouted at him. Despite my words, however, the barrel of the weapon trembled slightly in my hands. Slammer’s eyes flicked down to it, and then back up to my face. He could read my fear, could sense my hesitation. He took another small step forward.

  “What are you going to do?” the man said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are you really going to shoot me, little kitty?” Another step closer to me. He was only a few feet away. “Do you really have the guts to pull that trigger?”

  By now, the gun was shaking as I struggled to hold it up, and I could feel the tears once again welling up at the corners of my eyes. “Please, stop,” I begged, not sure whether I was trying to convince the monster approaching me or myself. “Don’t make me have to do this.”

  “Oh, you won’t do it,” Slammer replied, his voice still low and quiet. “I know you, kitty. I can see inside your head. And deep down, you want to be submissive. You want someone else to take control. You’re not going to shoot me.”

  A tiny corner of my mind was still listening to the other sounds, trickling in from outside the room. Those sirens had been drawing closer and closer, but now they seemed to have stopped. Some sort of bright light was flickering outside the windows, on the other side of the drawn window shades. But that was all secondary to the big man in black slowly closing in on me. “Please,” I eked out, one
last time.

  Slammer took yet another step forward. His face had been calm as he had approached me, but now his mouth began to twist around into a snarl, his lip curling back. “Gimme the gun, you little bitch,” he spat out. One of his hands reached forward, towards me.

  I could feel a chair behind me, preventing me from backing up. There was nowhere else that I could run, no place I could hide. I had no other option.

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  I pulled the trigger.

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  About an hour previously, Leonard Sterling’s cell phone had rung. He picked it up, and this time, he recognized the number that was calling.

  “Hi, Carol,” he said, swiping his finger across. “Is there any news?”

  He wasn’t expecting much of an answer. But to his surprise, Carol’s voice on the other end was immediate, and she sounded like she was a combination of stressed, on edge, and… excited? “Yes!” she nearly yelled into the phone. “We have a signal!”

  “A signal?”

  “We just received a set of blackmail photos,” Carol began.

  Sterling gasped. “Blackmail!?” That meant that his daughter truly had been abducted - she hadn’t simply run away or gotten lost! But if there were photos, that also meant that she was alive, he quickly realized. There was still hope!

  “Yes, blackmail photos. Pretty standard, girl in front of a blank wall, holding up a national newspaper with today’s date. But whoever sent them didn’t put enough encryption on their signal - they sent the pictures over a cellular data network, which lets us determine an approximate location. And there just happens to be a fairly well-known motorcycle gang in that area, one that owns a large house which they use for parties and storing items. We’re on our way now.”

  For the first time in what felt like weeks, the senator felt a surge of hope, real, supported hope, bloom inside his chest. He made an immediate decision. “Pick me up,” he ordered.

  At the other end of the line, Carol paused. “Listen,” she began after a moment. “This could be a very tense situation. It might be best for you to wait and see-”

  “No,” Sterling insisted, cutting her off. He injected every drop of political authority into his voice that he could muster. “She is my daughter, and I promised that I would be there for her no matter what. You’re going to pick me up and take me with you. I’m not budging on this, Agent Gates.”

  He hoped that dropping the formal name would emphasize his point. Despite still feeling aftershocks from that intense surge of attraction to this woman, he had the connections to have her demoted or worse, and he intended to, for the first time in his career, squeeze every last drop out of his political clout.

  Carol let out a sigh, but she relented. “Okay, I’ll send a car around to pick you up,” she said at length. “It’s about forty minutes away from here, so the ride will take a while. Don’t talk to anyone.”

  Sterling promised to keep his mouth shut, and true to the agent’s word, a car pulled up at his home in under ten minutes. Sterling climbed into the back seat, and suppressed the slight pang of disappointment that Carol wasn’t waiting there for him. But, of course, she had taken a separate car, aiming to get to the possible place where his daughter was being held as rapidly as possible, in case the abductors decided to move.

  Once the senator was in the car, the driver, a young man with mirrored aviators covering his face, stepped on the gas pedal heavily and they leapt away from the curb. Sterling sat in the back, his seat belt fastened and his eyes closed, and for the first time in a long time, the man prayed. He prayed to anyone who was listening, to God, to Jesus, that his daughter would be safely returned to him. And with his eyes closed and his head bowed slightly, the car sped towards the house where his daughter’s kidnappers may be at this very moment.

  Carol had predicted that it would take the car forty minutes to reach the house, but the driver behind the sunglasses clearly had different ideas. Barely thirty minutes later, he pulled off the highway, swerving down a couple of side roads before pulling into a small building with a couple of black-and-white police cars parked outside. Through the windows, Sterling could see several people standing in a rough circle outside the station, most of them clad in SWAT armor with “FBI” plastered across the back of their shoulder blades.

  The senator clambered out of the back seat and hurried over. One of the individuals in the group looked shorter than the men around her, and she wore an FBI issued windbreaker below her blonde hair, tossed lightly by a breeze. She turned at the sound of Sterling’s steps.

  For just an instant, a heartwarming smile bloomed across Carol’s face as she laid eyes on him, and despite the negative emotions currently suffusing his mind, Sterling couldn’t help smiling back. Even now, she looked beautiful, a sharp and dangerous jewel. Her windbreaker was pushed back at the hip, revealing both the tightness of her slacks and the firearm strapped to her side.

  But the smile on her face only lasted for a moment, and was then replaced by icy cold determination. “So, our plan is clear,” she reiterated, turning back to the SWAT officers after giving Sterling a nod of acknowledgment. “We will approach with as much stealth as possible, unless there is contact. If we do have contact, we move in fast, looking to cut them off and take them off guard. Is that understood?”

  The men around her nodded their assent, and they began shuffling away, some of them performing last-minute checks on the weapons slung over their shoulders or strapped at their sides. Carol watched them for a moment, her hands planted on her hips, and then she turned to Sterling as he stepped up next to her.

  “We think that we can catch them off guard,” she explained, not bothering with small talk. “It’s early morning, and we just got reports that a couple of gang members are headed out of the building, probably to gather supplies. It doesn’t sound like they’re about to leave. We can move in and catch them before they realize that they’ve been found, and hopefully recover your daughter without any complications.”

  “So what am I going to do?” the senator asked.

  Carol lifted her hand, paused for a moment as if reconsidering, but then went ahead and patted Sterling on the chest. “I’ll let you come up to the perimeter,” she gave in, rubbing her hand back and forth across his tight muscles. “But I can’t let you come up any further. I have to think about your safety just as much as anyone else’s. Maybe even more.”

  Despite wanting to be at the very edge of the action, a tiny part of him overcome with bravado and wanting to grab a weapon and charge into the house at the front of the team, Sterling knew that Carol was making the right call. “Okay,” he agreed, and for just a moment, while no one was looking, he ran his hand down the small of her back.

  The touch made the FBI agent shiver slightly, and a tiny smile danced around the edges of her lips. “Then you’re coming with me,” she said, pointing towards one of the police cars. Sterling walked with her and opened the passenger door. But before he could climb in, he heard a shout from behind him, and turned to see what was happening.

  A pair of bikers had decided to turn down the street, and as they had passed in front of the station, one of the SWAT officers must have recognized a gang member. Or perhaps vice versa. In any case, one of the men brought up his weapon, what looked like a six-shot grenade launcher, and fired a shot as Sterling watched in horror.

  The shot flew as a black streak across the road and connected with one of the bikers, a very large and obese black man with a shaved head. The round must have been some sort of bean bag, but it still had enough force to spin the man around at the shoulder, knocking his hands free of the controls. He tumbled off the bike, rolling to a dusty stop on the side of the road, and the bike, now free of a rider, shot across the oncoming line and landed in a ditch on the far side with a loud crunch.

  The other man, his head turned and his mouth open as he saw his partner physically thrown from his ride, gunned the chopper between his knees. The SWAT officer
who had fired the bean bag brought his gun around, but his shot went wide, and the biker roared around a corner and out of sight.

  “Shit!” Carol cursed, the words imbued with surprising ferocity. She grabbed a walkie talkie from her belt and began barking orders into it while climbing into the squad car. She turned over the engine without waiting for Sterling, and he quickly pulled himself into the passenger seat.

  “Our cover’s blown,” she spat out between commands issued into the two-way radio, pulling the car into gear and flooring it out of the lot. Her fingers flicked a switch and the sirens atop the squad car lit up and howled into life. “We can’t catch that guy, not this close, and he’s going to sound the alarm when he gets back. If we don’t move in now, they’ll either vanish, or they’ll set up defensible positions.”

  The car roared around the small and empty streets of the small town, heading along the same route that the biker had taken. In between fumbling for his seat belt, Sterling risked a quick look over his shoulder, out the back of the squad car. One of the other men had gone running across the road to grab the fat man knocked off his bike, but the rest had climbed into their own vehicles and were close behind, their own lights and sirens activated as well.

  Carol must have had the accelerator pedal mashed all the way to the floor, and was focusing far more on speed than on precision in her driving. Sterling clung to the handle of the door and gritted his teeth as they went over bump after bump. It was too loud to pray, to do anything but keep his eyes peeled and try not to get in the way.

  Less than five minutes later, they pulled up outside of a large but decaying house, multiple stories tall, covered in wood siding and peeling paint. There were at least a dozen motorcycles parked outside, and although the house was quiet, they arrived just in time to see that biker they had been following disappear into the front door.