Charged (26 page)

He drags the belt across my breasts, down my stomach, he rests it at my panties. I’m glad that when I grabbed my things at Hazel’s, I’d been sure to put on a pair, otherwise I would have been butt-fucking naked, and wide open for business. 

“You’ll be a fighter won’t you, Kate?” Clit licks his lips, tucking a finger into the edge of my panties. He pulls it through my slickness towards my clit and circles it around a couple times. “Oh, you are so wet. You like this don’t you? I bet Ryker fucked you hard last night. I bet he made you scream. You like to scream, don’t you?” He raises the belt and whips it down, slapping me across the top of my left leg and I wince. He smiles eerily, then strikes the other leg even harder hoping for a response. I won’t give it to him. I don’t make a sound.

“Did you want to say something, Kate? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Something’s in your mouth.” What a motherfucker. 

If I yell, he’ll get off on it, if I cry he’ll strike out harder until he can get off on it. 

Fuck him. If he wants my sounds, I won’t give anything. I’m seething mad, I’m pissed, and beyond fucking worn out by these crazed sadists. I glare up at him, then look to the far wall, refusing to give him my attention. He wants an audience from me, but I won’t give it. He doesn’t deserve it. 

“Fine. You want to make this harder on yourself. Don’t scream.” Clit rubs the belt along my stomach, then strikes, forcing his fingers into my pussy. I keep looking at the wall, and visualize that it’s Ryker. I know Clit, or guys like him. Ryker told me how Jack trained all of his ‘boys’ to behave. I honestly think Clit was a mean mother before he came to the shop. It would’ve been easy to teach him how to inflict and receive as he needed. Pain. Screams. Death and destruction. All of these are his bedmates, and I refuse to be one of them. 

“You’re so wet and turned on aren’t you? Maybe you only like it in your cunt? It’s not as much fun when you enjoy it. So let’s try a new game, sweetheart? Hans can give you a taste of that big mother-fucking anaconda up the ass. I bet he can make you scream with that.”

I guess I haven’t given him what he needs, so he’s decided to up the ante. Maybe he knows he doesn’t have enough cock to make me hurt — or to make me scream. 

“Don’t you worry none though. I might even remove the gag so I can hear you yell out as he rips you apart.” Clit steps from between my legs with a gleeful smacking of his lips as he inspects his belt handiwork. I know if I look down, there will be bright red, angry welts, streaking my pale skin. They are marks of a warrior. I’m stronger than him. I’m stronger than any of these cocksuckers. Knowing this is going to be fucking painful I try to think of anything else as they untie my one hand and flip me over. 

I’ve had anal sex before, but with lots and lots of lube, never dry, and never forced by a New York Subway train, Hans’ cock is as wide and long as the L line. 

Hans rounds the side of the desk, standing at the end. My legs are spread wide, and held in place, as contestant number two steps to the plate. This time they didn’t strap my legs down, so I try to kick out which earns me a smack from the belt. My chest sears with pain, and I swear there will be blood. I turn my head to scream out. With a rock hard smack to my stretched open jaw from Clit’s stony fist, I can’t help the tears that well in the corners of my eyes. 

“Oh, look at that boys. That didn’t take long. We broke her in quick. Now the festivities can start. Stick that  —”

Clit is cut off as a knock at the door shocks him slightly. “Busy!” he shouts. 

“Not for me you’re not. Open the door, son.” Looking at Clit I see only fear. And if he’s terrified I’m scared. He wasn’t afraid of Ryker, he didn’t seem scared of Jack, but the look on his face — he’s deathly afraid of whoever that voice belongs to. Motioning to the others to dress, Clit gathers his jeans and shirt, dressing quickly. 

“Open now, Cletus,” the voice says again, more forcefully. Deciding that he can do nothing more to me at this point,  Clit turns, takes two wide strides to the door and unlatches the locks. A gentle light from the shop streams in. From where I lay a tall grey haired man, walks into the room, he looks around, then fixes his eyes on me. I know now, I’m well and fucked. 

Let’s just top the list of
shit to not do today
into one big complete mess, Georgia. 

Coming closer, turning to Clit in a voice that would chill the warmest bones he says, “What are you doing with that girl, Cletus?”

“We were just havin’ some fun with her.” With a downward glance to the floor, Clit is clearly afraid of the same man I am, my uncle Mario. 

Mario motions for Hans to remove the shackles and the gag. I actually kind of liked that I was tied down and unable to speak. Now that my hands are free, I might just try to gouge out his eyes. Extending a hand to help me off the desk, I try looking away. If I don’t look him in the eyes, maybe he won’t recognize me — at least not as easily as Jack did. 

Today, I’ve had a black eye from a few good smacks, a punch while a ball-gag was in my mouth, and my awful coloured hair leaves something to be desired. Top that with a side of
my jaw feels like fire
after housing stiff rubber, and all I wanted to do is scream hard and long at the shitty week from hell. 

“Get yer’ ass over here, Cletus. You and I need to have a chat.” Looking directly at me, “You stay there,” he says and I know I’m right back in the thick of it. Mario turns, walking away with his arm around Clit’s neck, dragging him to the doorway, a knowing glare casting evil shadows across his face. “Please dress. I’d hate for him to see you this way.” 

Oh fuck. 

I shake myself for not being quicker at getting my shit and getting out. I castigate myself for being stuck in rural hell in the first place, and I most certainly hate the idea that I was such a fucking moron to get wrapped up in Clit’s games. I was found tied, almost raped — again — with a gag in my mouth, my uncle recognized me immediately.

As Hans and Jerry follow behind Mario and Clit, I’m left standing alone. I’ve never in my life put my jeans on so fast, or slung a shirt on as quickly, as I do now. I hope that Mario has taken them far enough away that I can sneak out the back entrance — if there is such a thing — so that I can run to Ryker’s waiting getaway truck and speed away. 

Tucking the shirt in, I hear the distinct pop of a gun three times in quick succession, just outside the door. I duck and attempt to make myself as tiny as I can making wishes that it Ryker shooting Mario and GF. I chant in my head stealthily looking out the door, and what I see chills me to the bone. I already knew what would be there, but being a nosy prick I looked anyway. 

On the floor outside the door are three sets of men’s boots — of course they’re attached to the dead men, as blood is already flowing onto the warm concrete. Laying prone, Clit, Hans — what a waste of a great dick, and Jerry are motionless. Bile rises in my mouth immediately. I turn back to the room, fast retching up in the corner. The measly food I ate last night, and whatever remained of the alcohol that was clouding my head has made a reappearance. 

And as always, death follows my family.

“Georgia. Come out darlin’. No one will hurt you.” 

Without even looking, I know the owner of that voice. My father. The murdering, philandering, cocksucker who destroyed my life. I’ve heard him enough on the news to know every nuance of that voice perfectly. 

Gianfranco Lusi always denied the claims, always said it was false accusations from the Fed’s. Always professing his undying love for the family he lost. 

I know better than them all. He’s the devil himself.

Ryker

T
wenty-five minutes. That’s all it took to change the escape plan. The whole thing blew apart in twenty-five minutes. 

When I left Georgia to take her bags to the truck, I stepped out of the building to find a big fucker leaning against my Ford. Tall with wide shoulders, a greying beard trimmed tight, tattoos coursing all the way up and down both crossed sleeves, with heavy rings on each hand, and short peppered, black hair. Clearly the man works out, and could give me a run for my money if he knows how to use those pipes. 

“Can I help you?” I gruffly ask. I honestly don’t really care to know if I can. I just want him off the truck. 

“Nope,” he says curtly. 

“Then get the fuck off my truck.” 

“Uh, nope.” 

I toss the bags into the back, turn to him and size the asshole up. “I asked nicely, the next time it’ll be with fists. Now, get the fuck off.” 

“No, Ryker. I’m not moving.” 

“The fuck you say. Get off. Go lean on a college kid’s car. Maybe they’ll care who you are.” He looks at me, smirks, then crosses and uncrosses his legs as he leans further into the door. 

“Today my patience is actually the best you’ll ever see. Last warning. Get off the truck.” 

“Nope. Make me.” He smiles wide, knowingly pissing me off. 

“You have nothin’ to offer me —”

“I doubt that,” he says smugly. I truly don’t give a fuck if he can. Why he’s here now, I can only assume is because of Georgia. 

“Look, I get it. For twenty years you were moving, protecting, and otherwise fixing something that had nothin’ to do with you. I was, and you did nothing about it. Now is not the time to mend bridges, and I will put you on your ass if you don’t get the fuck off my truck.” Without the picture from Georgia’s phone, I wouldn’t have had any idea who this gruff, smug sonofabitch was.

“She called me this morning. Said you two needed help.” He steps from the door rising to his full height. I thought I was big, but Carlo John fucking Mancuso is at least six foot six, with a build like a New England Patriots linebacker. 

“So, what the fuck does that have to do with me? You’re her handler Mr. FBI, not mine. Never was, never cared, never stuck around to find out how I was fairing in hell. So you can go screw yourself.” 

Walking away from him, I always thought that if I saw him I’d be glad. I thought as a kid that he’d appear out of the blue with an
‘I love you, I’m here to take you away from all this shit’.
But now that I’m older, and done a hell of alot of shit, I don’t really give a flying monkey’s ass if he’s here to save my eternal soul. 

“She called to save you both.” Yep. Of course she did. Afraid to be someone’s death. “And she’s inside — right, now — probably getting her shit together so she can run. Am I right? This shit in the truck hers, too?” 

Shaking off this fucker isn’t going to be easy. “What do you want Carlo?” No use in beating around the bush, might as well put it all out there.

“As you walked out the side, they walked in the front. I bet they’ve already shot her in the fucking head. All my work to save her and you — down the fucking drain. So you tell me, does it matter if I’m here Ryker?”

It may have taken a second, but I got it. She was in there while they walked in. 

Without thought, I turn and run to find her and get her out before she’s noticed. 

“Thanks for the tip. Now fuck off.” I don’t need to turn to know the bad ass looking FBI dude is right on my heels.

“Not open for discussion and not your call if I’m here.” He steps to the door, pulls it open quietly with his Glock44 in hand — old school guy, then enters to the left. 

I wish I’d known a few minutes ago that they came in, instead of standing outside arguing with Carlo. We wasted precious time getting her out of town. And even though they know nothing about what went down at the house, it’ll be a whopper of a surprise to know the Feds have arrived. 

As far as the brothers are concerned, I’m the good little lap dog that does as I’m fucking told. So, I leave Carlo walking into the garage without a fucking care. I belong here. I know where my fucking gun is stored, and if a fight breaks out, or they use her as leverage, I’m prepared. 

Carlo hides behind a set of Rat rod engine covers, fenders and rear quarters that Hans has been working on for the past two weeks. He sanded the shit out of them and beat them up to look real nice, and it will be a big waste to see them not get on a car. 

Walking through, all of the guys I pass are dead quiet, like a group of church mice. Normally they’d all be loud as fuck, especially if a girl was in the room and unattended. It gets’ me wondering what the hell is happening?