Saving Brigit (11 page)

She turned her cheek to the table and gave in to his thrusts and withdrawals. Her breasts rubbed against the table with each drive, creating a rhythm not entirely unpleasant.

The second man finished faster than the first had. She braced herself for the third guy, and she was right. He probed her briefly and then sank all the way in. His strokes were slow. Running his hands up her back, he skimmed the curve of her breasts, and then coasted down her sides to her butt cheeks. He squeezed them, thrust into her, pulled out, thrust again.

Oh, God, she was going to come. Here she was, spread on a table with three men poking her, and her traitorous body was reacting. But he felt so good pushing into her, touching, rubbing.

At his next thrust, she pushed back as well as she could. He stopped. Had she done something wrong? Had her reaction caused trouble for her and Fatima? The men gibbered to each other. The man inside her grasped her hips and literally pulled her onto him, making her move in time to his increased pushes. He liked her participation.

Brigit tried hard to remain quiet, but when one of the men reached under to tweak her clit, she cried out and came in a shattering climax. With all that had been shot into her, she shouldn’t have felt this man come, but she did. His warm jism spurted into her and then ran out and down her legs.

She was breathing hard when the guard untied her hands and helped her stand. She was turned to face her captives, who stood naked before her. A female servant hurried to her with a pillow and warm cloth and pointed to one of the men’s cocks. Brigit nodded. She’d seen Fatima do this many times.

She knelt on the pillow and used the cloth to clean him. The woman provided a different cloth for each man. The last, who was the first man who had approached her, played with her ponytail while she cleaned him. If they liked her damn hair so much, she decided, she’d use it to her advantage.

Bending, she rubbed against his thigh and then raised her head so that long strands of her blonde hair trailed across his dark cock. She felt his eyes on her. His cock began to rise again. She snapped her head so that her hair flew around to tap his other thigh. He grabbed her hair and rubbed it on his cock, which was once more at full staff, aimed directly at Brigit’s mouth. Would she be in trouble if she…licked it? She did and was pleased to see he approved.

Before she could do more, the guard jerked her away to be cleaned and lightly perfumed again. So, the test wasn’t over.

The men sat on pillows around a low-lying table to drink. Brigit remembered that Fatima had said the drinks often had something in them to make the men more lustful. The leering gaze the client shot her seemed to prove that was the case. He reached down and stroked his erection as if in preparation.

When the female moved away, the guard chained Brigit to cuffs hanging from the ceiling, her arms outspread. The Asian came over and flicked her nipples. His eyes narrowed, and he grasped one and gave it a twist. Pain shot through her, but she didn’t cry out. She wouldn’t give this bastard the satisfaction.

Fatima had said something about being true to one’s nature. Well, she was an American, by God, and she had a will. With that came power to decide her fate.

Other women might be submissive, but not her. There had to be some reason why this place wanted an American. Brigit thought it might be because of their spirit.

The man reached for her other breast. Over his head, she saw the remaining two watching. Was there a question in the first man’s eyes? Did he wonder if she would accept the abuse or respond? He wouldn’t have to wonder for long.

Brigit grasped the chain and swung her legs around the man’s waist. Locking her ankles, she tugged him forward, managing to nestle his cock at the opening to her pussy. With a shocked expression, he looked into her eyes. Then his lids hooded, and he pushed into her.

The hair around his cock bristled against her shaved skin. He withdrew slightly and drove in with a grunt, abrading her clit and sending tendrils of smoky need through her. If her fate was to be a—she cringed to think it—
prostitute
, then she was going to be elite. She was going to be the goddamn goddess of prostitutes. Men would be clamoring for her because she had a spark of character and spunk and didn’t just lie there and take it. They’d never break her. Never.

The man licked her breast like she was the best Popsicle in the world, sending her to the brink of another orgasm. Brigit felt someone poke her from behind. She jabbed her ass back to take him. Soft pants whispered at her ear. She laid her head on the back guy’s shoulder, ready to fly apart in release.

She closed her eyes and let go.

For hours, Thia had sat in a small room waiting to hear news of what Omar was telling Rashid. She had a half bath at her disposal, a coffee pot, sink, sofa and a TV that carried four channels, all in Arabic. After an hour, she’d wished for a book. After the second hour passed, she would have killed for even a
People
magazine. But now, she’d be thrilled to see a mindless game show, if only it was in English. When she was about to charge through the door leading to where they’d taken Omar, Rashid emerged.

“Thank God!” Thia rushed to him. “I was about to go crazy.”

A slight smile touched his lips. “I am sorry. I did not think it would go so long.” Rashid looked his normal handsome self, seeming unruffled by the kidnapping or the interrogation.

“Did he tell you where Brigit is?”

“Yes.” He knitted his brows. “It isn’t good, but it is not hopeless, either.”

Thia wanted to collapse into the nearest chair, but she braced herself. She’d already imagined the worst. “You can tell me.”

He seemed to study her for several moments, and then he lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “In the mountains of Tajikistan, there is a place called The Spirit’s Paradise. It is where rich and powerful men escape from their normal lives. Rich, powerful and unsavory men. It is quite exclusive.”

“And Brigit?” Thia could hardly speak.

“Part of the men’s entertainment is a brothel. It seems there’s a desire for young American women.”

She thought she’d imagined the worst. She’d thought Brigit might have been sold to someone and used as a slave, but to be in a place where any man could demand her services—where
many
could—that was definitely worse.

“Should we go back to the embassy? Surely this is proof Brigit’s in danger.”

“She’s in eastern Tajikistan, and there, not even the government gets involved. Besides, diplomacy between countries takes time. The area is remote. To Omar’s knowledge, no one has ever escaped. He said the need for Americans is high because they misbehave so much.”

Thia nodded. “Americans aren’t used to being treated like whores. They’d fight back.”

“When a woman resists in a place like that, it’s usually not good. Would your friend give in or—” He was cut off by Thia’s sharp laugh.

“Oh, yes. She has spirit.”

Rashid frowned. “Then our time is limited. Your friend is in danger, if she hasn’t already perished.”

Thia felt the blood drain from her face. “No. I can’t think that way.”

He examined her face. “I think we can send two men in and ask about any American women. Once we know she’s there, we can work on a way to get her out.”

“Did Omar describe the place?”

Rashid went to the coffee pot and poured a cup of the black liquid. “He’s never been in, except as a customer one time. Riffraff like Omar are kept on the fringes and are used to procure. He took Brigit because his boss held his sister for ransom. There’s little honor among thieves, regardless of the old adage.” He sipped his coffee. “The place is run by a man known only as the Claw. He operates with an iron hand and keeps only men he trusts around.

“The place is in a valley three or four days from here, accessible on narrow mountain trails. Our friend Omar thinks we’ll never gain access. He described it as a fortress built into the mountains.” Rashid shrugged. “There are many such places in the mountains of Afghanistan and Pakistan and in Tajikistan, too, it seems.”

“Why Brigit? Did he say? Surely any American woman would do?” She said the words and then immediately regretted them. “Not that I’d wish that fate on anyone.”

Rashid’s eyes softened as though he understood her feelings. “He already knew her, and he says she asked to come home with him.” He paused, letting that sink in. “The good news is that most of the women are primarily Middle Eastern. They’re bred to be subservient, so it doesn’t take a large staff to keep them under control. The number of men my colleagues and I will have to deal with is limited.”

Thia began pacing the room. Ten steps, turn. Ten steps turn. “If Omar doesn’t know much about the interior or how the guard system works or anything useful, I don’t see how sending in men is going to work. It’s risky and slow.”

“We have few other options.”

“We have me.” She stopped and stared at him just as he was raising the cup to his lips. He halted and stared back.

“What do you mean? You cannot consider going into that place yourself.”

“I can, and I am. I can’t sit around while Brigit is thrown to the wolves. I won’t. Besides, what better way to find out what’s going on than to have someone actually inside? You said this Claw person only has men around he trusts, so you can’t get a man in there to work.” She stopped to gauge how her argument was working. Rashid didn’t look convinced. She tried again.

“Sending a guy in to have sex is worthless. What could he learn about the women and where they live? As soon as he started asking questions, he’d be thrown out. I’m our best hope of finding Brigit. I’m our only hope of
saving
her.” Her gaze met his directly.

Rashid set his cup on the counter. “Assuming we do get you inside. How would you contact us? They will not let you walk in there with your satellite phone, you know. Then I will have two women to get out instead of one.” He shook his head. “You are brave to suggest it, but no. This is not a good plan.”

Thia launched herself forward. She tore through the door and entered the room where Rashid and three other men had taken Omar. Rashid’s men jumped up from the straight-backed chairs where they’d been sitting and smoking. All conversation stopped as they stared at Thia in wonder. Two of the men had drawn their handguns and aimed in her direction. Her breath caught in her throat.

“It is all right.” Rashid said from behind her. The men laid the guns on the table and slowly took their seats again.

She swept her gaze from them to the man tied to a chair. A washcloth had been accordion folded and stuffed in his mouth. His head lolled against the back of the chair.

“He doesn’t look like you’ve done anything to him.”

Rashid chuckled quietly. “There are ways of making someone talk that do not involve black eyes and split lips.”

Thia walked to the table, grabbed one of the guns before the men had a chance to stop her, and strode to Omar. She ripped the cloth out of his mouth. His eyes wide, he opened his mouth to say something. Thia jammed the gun in his mouth.

“If you don’t know anything useful, give me one reason why I shouldn’t blow your head off right now.”

Of course he couldn’t talk. She had the gun in his mouth. The irony wasn’t lost on her, but she enjoyed the look of him, fearful and overpowered. After all he’d done, he deserved this. She removed the gun.

“Can you get me into this place?”

Amusement replaced the fear in his eyes. “You?” He said the word with a sneer in his voice. “They want young women, not—”

Rashid flew forward and slapped Omar across the face. Omar’s head snapped to the side, and blood ran down the corner of his mouth.

He grinned at Thia. “I did not say we never split a lip.” Gingerly, he took the gun from Thia and handed it back to a man at the table.

“I want to shoot him.”

“I know, but we need him.”

“You are old,” Omar mumbled.

“You will find a way to get her in if that is what we decide, you worthless pig. I know where your family lives. I know about your sister. If you fail us, they will die. But your sister will live long enough to know a man. Several men, and they won’t be gentle.”

Omar’s eyes widened again, and his breath hitched. “I can try, but when they see her, they will wonder why I brought them someone of her age,” he sniveled.

“For Christ’s sake, I’m only 41.” Thia jammed her fists on her hips.

“Most men like young women with firm breasts and stamina,” Rashid added. “Is it not the way in your country, too?”

Thia sighed. “Yes, I guess so.” She bit her bottom lip. “So my plan wouldn’t work anyway.”

“Maybe it will.” Rashid took her elbow and pulled her aside. “Omar should tell his dogs he has another American, an experienced
woman
.” He gave her a pointed look. “Do you know what I mean?”

“Why?” She was surprised and a little insulted.

“By saying you have already done this work, they will be more willing to overlook your age. And they know their training time will be lessened. They won’t think you’ll fight so much either.”

Thia gave the idea some thought. “It could work.”

Rashid glanced at the men behind them, all of whom were avidly watching the exchange. He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “
Do
you have experience?”

Thia thought back to all Derek had taught her in the past months. His face filled her mind. She wished she could talk with him about this. Hell, she wished she could burrow into the comfort of his arms and dump the whole mess in his capable hands. But he wasn’t here. More, she’d taken on the job, and now she had to finish it, no matter what it cost her.

“Not really, except with one man. But if there’s a chance we can get Brigit out, I can fake it.”

Rashid snorted a harsh laugh. “Women.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “I do not like this plan, but we have no choice.” He jerked his head toward the door and steered her to the other room. “Take care of the pig,” he said over his shoulder.

Omar protested, and then there was quiet. Presumably they’d stuffed his mouth again.
Good, though he deserves much worse.