Bikers Don't Ask Twice:: (Outlaw MC Erotica) (3 page)

I tried to think about things. Why was I here? Why me? Surely they could have taken any girl from the college, yet it was only me sat tied to the chair with a stocking over my head. It must have been the ransom they were talking about. My heart sank, because if that were true I was screwed.
 

My dad was the local Governor. He was a powerful and outspoken man, and he loved nothing more than getting himself on the television and railing at his political opponents. He was an especially tough person mentally. Interviewers often invited him on their show in the hopes of making him squirm, as they often loved to do with other politicians, but my dad never let them. He got on air and then he shouted and bullied until the interviewer was an incoherent wreck. My dad wasn't one to be manipulated.
 

This is how I knew I was in big trouble. He'd once told me when I was little, in all seriousness, "Honey, if you ever get kidnapped I ain't paying your ransom. I'm telling you that now in case it get happens.” I wasn't his little girl anymore, I was a grown woman who'd just finished college.
 

I heard the leader walk to the other end of the room. He opened something, closed it again, and then walked back to where he'd been. I heard a twist and then something fizzed, and then there was the sound of him taking a big swig of a drink.
 

I couldn't see anything through the stocking but somehow I knew he was looking at me. Suddenly I regretted what I was wearing. I had been on a night out with my girlfriends when he'd taken me, and we'd all tried to dress as sexy as we could. I had gone all out and I wore a miniskirt that reached high up past my thighs and a top that was practically just a bra.
 

It was exaggeration for effect, of course. As a woman I was as sheltered as they came. My dad had made sure that I never, ever got up to anything I shouldn't, because if I was caught doing something then it would look badly on him and hurt his career. Consequently I'd never done drugs and I hardly ever drank more than a bottle of beer when I went to parties. I'd only had sex with one man in my entire life – and that usually consisted of five minutes of missionary position with a guy I dated briefly in college. In that regard, I always felt like I’d missed out. My girlfriends told me how mind-blowing sex could be, but I didn't have the slightest idea.
 

I heard footsteps as the leader walked, and soon I could sense he was in front of me. Under the darkness of the stocking I couldn’t see him but I formed the mental impression that he was quite a bulky guy, with thick arms and legs and a moustache that twisted across his upper lip. He would probably have a tattoo; something about his mom or maybe a cliché skull and crossbones. All this was conjecture of course; I couldn't see a damn thing. All I knew about him was that he drove a motorcycle - he'd tied me to the seat when they took me - and that he liked to kidnap college girls.
 

"You okay darlin?" he said.
 

There was something about the way he spoke that made me think he was seriously asking if I was okay, as though he was genuinely concerned about my welfare. He probably thought that the fact that he had me tied up with a stocking over my head didn't mean he shouldn't be a gentleman. I had heard that bikers had a strange sense of honour.
 

I thought about how I could take advantage of this. He obviously wasn't going to kill me yet, and the first thing I needed to do was get this goddamn stocking off my head. But how? My arms and legs were tied to the chair, and I doubted he'd uncover me willingly.
 

Then I had an idea.
 

I started to make a weird choking sound, as though I were struggling to catch my breath. I grunted in a strange way like I imagined someone asphyxiating would sound. In my head it seemed ridiculous, but I could tell it was having its desired effect.
 

"Hey, honey, what's wrong with you? What the hell's that sound?"
 

I carried on my performance. I was no drama student, but I could act when I needed to because I'd been doing it all my life. My friends and my family and my dad all thought I was this butter-wouldn't-melt innocent girl, but they knew nothing about the dirty thoughts I had. The dreams I used to have about guys in college, where I'd let them strip me naked and dominate me and tell me what to do. My grunting increased until soon even I started to believe my act and thought I was choking. I moved my body from side to side and the chair started to rock and threatened to tip over.
 

I felt hands on my face, and there was an explosion of light as the stocking was lifted off my head. A cool draft hit me, a pleasing alternative to the stuffiness of the stocking.
 

I looked at the biker leader for the first time as he stood in front of me. What I’d imagined him to look like had been wrong. He wasn't some moustached wearing, tattooed ugly biker. He was young and his face was unblemished apart from the stubble that lined his jaw. There was a gentleness to his face but it also had an edge, and there was the look in his eyes of someone who'd seen more than his share of fights. He was entirely different to the kind of guy I’d been used to seeing around college, and suddenly the fantasies about those fresh-faced preppy guys seemed ridiculous when faced with the sexiness of this leather wearing biker. This was what a real man looked like.
 

He seemed to be experiencing the same thought when he looked at me. Evidently I wasn't what he expected either.
 

"Wow." He said.
 

I bent my head to the side and let my aching neck muscles stretch. The ride here hadn't been a gentle one.
 

"Want a picture?" I said.
 

"You're not what I expected, honey."
 

"What the hell do you want with me?" I said.
 

The gentle look left his face and was replaced with something mean, but it didn't sit right. It was like he was forcing it.
 

"You just shut up. I'm gonna leave the stocking off and let you get some air for a sec. But then it goes back on."
 

My brain ticked over and I wondered how I could buy myself some time. I always liked to think that my intelligence was my best asset, and usually it was, but in this situation I was going to have to use something else.
 

I bit my lip and let my tongue poke out seductively.
 

"Maybe you should leave it off. I'd hate to go back to that thing when I could be looking at a face as hot as yours," I said.
 

He turned his back and went to walk away from me.
 

"Get me a little water?" I said.
 

He looked at me, turning the question over in his head as though he were working out all the angles fetching me a glass of water could have. Finally he walked across the room to the sink, filled a glass with water and walked back to me. I hoped he might cut my hands loose and let me drink, but instead he held the glass up to my mouth.
 

Now was my chance, I thought. Play it up, play the game. Pretend you’re into him and then, when he has freed you, kick him in the balls and smash the glass over his face.
 

I leant my head back and opened my mouth. He tipped the glass up to me, and I stuck my tongue out and waggled it seductively at the rim, taking my time to trace my tongue along it. The leader's face was transfixed for a second, but then he regained control over himself and put the glass down.
 

"You obviously know my name. So what's yours?” I said.
 

"Call me Brad."
 

"Is that your real name?"
 

"What do you think? Do kidnappers give their real names to their victims?”
 

"How are we supposed to talk properly if you won’t tell me your real name."
 

"We're not going to talk," he said, and then turned his back to me and walked over to the couch.
 

That was the last thing he said to me for a while, but mercifully he didn't put the stocking back on. I watched him as he drank beer and smoked, his mouth forming an O shape as he blew smoke rings toward the ceiling. Every so often he'd throw a glance my way when he thought I wasn't looking.
 

After a few hours the room door opened, and the gravely-voiced man stepped in. He was exactly what I imagined; a mean looking son of a bitch. He had a scar across his forehead and a bolt through his nose. He was obviously the older of the two, which made me wonder why Brad was the leader.
 

"You're back early." said Brad.
 

"I couldn't settle." said gravelly voice.
 

Brad sat up. "Well it's good you're back because I've been thinking. I want to get this bitch out of here. Let's ring up her daddy and get our ransom."
 

I could tell from the way he spoke that he didn’t mean this. He didn’t think I was a bitch, and he didn’t want me out of there. He was just scared of what I could do to him if he kept me around much longer. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to control himself.
 

**

"You've got to fight all your battles yourself." That was something dad had said to me on more than one occasion as I grew up, and he applied the mantra to everything. When I was getting picked on in school - you've got to fight your own battles. When the college was threatening to kick me out - you've got to fight your own battles.
 

Brad and the other one were at the other end of the room talking in hushed tones. I looked at them and was surprised at how different they were. The other one was exactly what I'd imagined a biker to look like, and I'd taken a disliking to him. Brad on the other hand...In any other setting I could see myself getting a crush on him. He was gorgeous, blonde, and he had rough stubble lining his jaw. He had a sensitivity about him, but at the same time he looked tough. He wore his biker leathers well, and if we'd met on the street and he asked me to jump on the back of his bike, I'd definitely hop on and wrap my arms around his waist.
 

I had to stop thinking like this. I had to remember what he'd done. He had kidnapped me for God’s sake! He was a felon, he had abducted the daughter of a US Governor! Who knew what else he got up to? I knew that bikers were into all kinds of criminal activity, from selling guns all the way up to murder. I knew he was extremely bad news for me, but at the same time I felt myself becoming attracted to him.
 

They stopped their secretive whispers and walked toward me. The other one had a scowl on his face, but Brad was smiling.
 

"What's your father’s number?" he said.
 

I almost laughed. After all of this, they really didn't have a plan at all. They were so unprepared for the whole enterprise that they were asking their kidnap victim for help getting their ransom. The ludicrousness of the situation got the better of me and I let a laugh escape my mouth.
 

Seeing this, the other biker's face twisted into fury. He stormed up to me, put his hands on my shoulders and shook me. Any humour I found in the situation dissolved into cold spots of fear that slid up my arms and back. I could feel his hands dig into my shoulders, and I wished I could free myself and run.
 

"What's his damn number you little bitch?" he shouted.
 

Brad took a step forward.
 

"Cool it," he said.
 

The other one dug his hands tighter into my shoulder blades. Brad grabbed his friend by the shoulder and pulled him back. I was surprised by Brad’s strength, because his friend had a good fifty pounds on him.
 

"You've got to chill man. She ain't ever hurt us, and she's no good to us if we send her back bruised."
 

"Fuck it," said the other one. He walked away from us and out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
 

Brad stepped forward and out his hands lightly on my shoulders. I could feel his rough fingers in my naked shoulder blades, and the contact sent a flutter through me.
 

"Just give me the number, yeah? The sooner you do the sooner we can get our money. And then you can get out of here."
 

I gave him the number. Brad picked up his phone, dialled it in and then waited. I'd given him my dad’s office number, because that's where he spent eighteen hours of his day. Sometimes he even slept there.
 

My dad must have picked up because soon Brad was pacing the room talking. The conversation lasted five minutes and Brad's face grew angrier as it went on. I wondered what dad was saying to him. Would he even believe that they had me? Would he pay them the money?
 

Brad hung up the phone. He seemed to take a few seconds to compose himself, and then he turned to me. His face was grave.
 

"You got a problem," he said.
 

I knew already what the problem was. My dad wasn't going to pay up. It was written in Brad’s face, he had a look of disappointment over his failed plan. Or maybe it was guilt over what he was going to have to do to me. I mean, he couldn't exactly let me go now. I had seen his face, and a face like his would burn into any woman’s memory. He wasn't the sort of guy you could just forget.
 

"You could just let me go. I wouldn't say anything," I tried.
 

He shook his head.
 

"But why? There's nothing I could say, I don't even know where I am!"