The Stolen Girl (10 page)

So instead, Sterling merely kept a slight smile on his face as he helped Carol back to her feet, helped her gather up her articles of clothing from where they had ended up, scattered around the couch. She kept her gaze down as she dressed herself, but then, as he followed her to the front door, she paused, turning back to him with a face painted in worry.

“Please, please don’t take this the wrong way,” she begged, gazing up at him, those blue eyes now softer than he had ever seen before. “I really am attracted to you, but if you think that this could compromise my investigation at all, I will stop immediately! You’ll never see me again and I’ll get a new agent transferred-”

Sterling leaned in and kissed her, lightly but effectively shutting her off mid-speech. She resisted for a second, the first resistance she had shown, but then melted against him, her arms reaching up to encircle his neck and hold him close.

“I have every confidence in you,” the senator whispered down to the FBI agent. “And when my daughter is back, safe and sound thanks to you, I hope you will let me take you out to dinner.”

Carol blinked up at him, and then smiled. “I’d like that,” she whispered back.

And with one last parting, happy little wave, the FBI agent exited, walking down the steps and across the senator’s front lawn towards where her car was parked, down the street. Sterling closed the door, in case any reporters were still around, but he watched the woman walk away. All of his old worries and fears were still in his mind, but their voices were a little quieter now, a little more muffled. There was a spark of hope inside his brain now, as well, dancing and in flux, but never going out.

Sterling made sure his door was locked and bolted, and then made his way upstairs, towards his bed. Now, he could feel exhaustion setting into his bones. It had been a long day. He needed to be ready for whatever tomorrow would bring.

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I
needed to escape. That much was certain.

I had been sitting on Roads’ bed for the last half hour, my eyes closed as I struggled to meditate, to clear my mind. I had been trying this for years, on and off along with my dad, ever since I had seen a show about monks as a little girl and had excitedly told him about it. Neither of us had ever gotten very good at the “empty mind” part, but I still resorted to it in times of stress.

But I had decided with all my will that I had to escape. I didn’t want to spend any more time trapped here, locked in this room while my guards below fucked and frolicked, intoxicated and not on their guard.

My gaze rose up to glare at the locked door to the bedroom. That was definitely the only way in or out of this room; there were no other doors, and a quick glance out the window revealed that, even if I got it open, I would have to contend with a full 2.5-story drop onto hard, uncushioned ground below. And this side of the house was covered with sheer siding, offering no opportunity for hand holds. That wasn’t an option.

I got up and rattled the door knob again, more to make sure that it was locked than out of any hope that it would suddenly spring open. There was a key hole on this side as well, and when I lowered my eye to gaze through it, I could see the light of the hallway.

I cast my vision about the room once again. There were a few knick knacks scattered around on top of the dresser and the writing desk, but nothing that looked like it would be useful for breaking down the door. The hinges of the door were on the inside, but I didn’t have any tools that could dislodge the pins in them, and I had never tried to do anything like that before. I didn’t know the first step.

My attention returned to the lock. Maybe I could find something to pick it? I remembered that, in the drawer in the bedside nightstand, there had been some bobby pins. I threw myself across the bed with a flop, yanked the drawer back open, and grabbed them.

I bent a couple of the bobby pins out until they were relatively straight and then returned to the door. I had never picked a lock before, but they did it all the time in movies and on TV - how hard could it be? And I understood the basics, thanks to all those crime procedurals that my dad liked to leave on while cooking dinner. Pins inside the lock moved up and down, and the key turned because it lifted all the pins to the right height. So all I had to do was bump them up to the right height, and I should be able to twist the lock picks and unlock the door!

Unfortunately, as I soon discovered, actually turning this information into a real-life unlocked door was a lot harder. I could feel the pins clicking up and down as I moved the bobby pin back and forth inside the keyhole, but they just seemed to come clicking right back down. There was nothing holding them up at the right height.

I tried twisting one bobby pin in the lock, putting some tension on it in hopes that it would turn as soon as I had raised the pins inside to the right level. This time, when I jiggled the other straightened pin, I could hear clicking noises, and the pins seemed to set. A few more jiggles, a bit of careful twisting, and suddenly I felt the bobby pins turn! I had done it! I had successfully picked a lock!

I withdrew the pins and tossed them aside; I no longer needed them. But before immediately getting up and making a mad dash out of the room, I took one last, long look around, trying to see if there was anything else that could be of use. No phone, no obvious weapons, and unfortunately, most of Roads’ clothes were far too large to suitably fit me. I did grab a shirt out of one of his dresser drawers and used it to wipe myself off as best I could, trying to get the worst of the road dust and grime off of my skin.

There was a mirror hanging on one wall. I stepped in front of it, looked at my reflection, and grimaced. Yeah, definitely nothing like that beautiful picture they had shown on television. I was fairly certain that my dad or his campaign manager had picked that. Sure, it was a fairly recent picture of me, but it also showed off my beauty, made me seem appealing - and thus, my father seemed appealing as well. Tugged at the heartstrings, you might say. I didn’t believe for an instant that my father would sink so low as to even consider such a thing, but I couldn’t say the same for his campaign manager and staff. After raking my hands through my hair a couple times to try and smooth it back down before giving up, I decided that things weren’t going to get any better.

Slowly twisting the doorknob, I stuck my head around the door frame and peered cautiously down the hallway. There wasn’t anyone in either direction, but I wanted to be sure - no point in escaping, only to get nabbed just outside the door! I had swiped a pair of overly large shoes from Roads’ closet, figuring that large shoes were better than no shoes, and I made exaggerated care to lift each foot fully before lowering it back down as I made my escape. The halls were carpeted, but a creak or a scrape could still attract unwanted attention.

No one appeared, however, and I successfully made it to the top of the second floor landing. I peered down the stairs, concerned that they might still be occupied. Chainz and his female companion had apparently moved on, however, and the way looked clear.

In fact, as I strained my ears, it sounded as if the whole party had died down a bit. There was much less noise rising up from downstairs, and the few shouts and exclamations I still heard were fainter, possibly coming from the kitchen or somewhere else in the back of the house. That meant that the coast might be clear!

Trying to balance between speed and stealthy, I hurried down the stairs. Just as I had guessed, it looked like the living room was deserted! I could see a couple figures, men and women equally, sprawled out on the couches, but there didn’t seem to be much motion any longer. They had simply passed out - some of them possibly still inside their partners.

I carefully walked across the carpet. I could see the front door! I didn’t have any idea what I would do once outside, but I figured that it wouldn’t be too hard to walk down the hill and into town. Then, all I had to do was find a phone, maybe the police station, and I could phone home. Someone would come and pick me up, and this would all be over!

“Hey! Wait just a minute!”

I froze mid-step. Oh no. A second later, a big hand descended, grabbing roughly at my arm.

“This party’s just getting started!” slurred the voice from behind me as the hand tugged at me. “And baby, you sure are a cutie! Why don’t you take a little wander upstairs with me? I’ll show ya a good time!”

I turned as the hand pulled, but I didn’t recognize this man. He was an older fellow, his hair a solid metal gray and a bit of a beer gut hanging over a pair of jeans. His leather vest hung open in the front, and he was holding a large bottle of amber liquid loosely in his other hand. He gazed down at me, but he was blinking, and didn’t look like he could properly focus. This man didn’t recognize me!

“No thanks,” I replied, keeping my tone polite as I shrugged off his unstable grip on my arm.

The man, already half-turned towards the stairs, stopped and spun around to scrutinize me. His eyes blinked several times as he tried to focus on me. “Whaddaya mean, no?” he sputtered. “You bitch! You come to our party, you better put out!”

He was now raising his voice and yelling quite loudly. I stepped forward, raising my hands, trying to urge him to keep his voice down. But as I made shushing noises, I heard the creak of the door, further back in the house, and the thumping of approaching footsteps. Someone heavy. Someone male.

I shrank back, taking a few more steps towards the door. Freedom was so close! But then, as the man appeared from around the corner at the opposite end of the room, my hopes vanished into nothing. I recognized this man. And my heart sank.

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T
he man at the other end of the room took two long strides forward, shifting his arms in circles to loosen up the muscles. “Well, well,” he purred, his lips spreading into a slow, sinister grin. “Kitty, where are you trying to run off to?”

As Slammer advanced across the room towards me, I sought about frantically for some sort of weapon, something to use to defend myself. My hand fell on an empty liquor bottle, sitting on top of one of the tables, and I snatched it up. I held it out in front of myself, trying to stop my hand from shaking. I couldn’t quite force it to be steady.

As he watched me try and hold up my makeshift weapon, the grin abruptly vanished from Slammer’s face. He lunged forward, moving so fast that I could barely track him. He slammed one big hand down on my own, forcing me to drop the bottle from my stinging fingers, and swept me up into his grip with the other hand. His arm wrapped around my neck and he pinned me back against him. I struggled and tried to break free, but it was like fighting iron.

“You stupid bitch!” Slammer grunted into my ear as I flailed about ineffectually. “You think that you can get away from us? I’m gonna put you in your place, you little bitch! I’ll give you what you deserve!”

Leaning forward on me, he kicked out my knees from behind, forcing me down onto the carpet. Looming over me, he released his grip on my neck, but then delivered a ringing slap to my face, twisting my head around. As my hands flew up to my reddened, painful cheek, the man dropped his hands down to his belt, tugging it free. As I turned my fearful eyes back up to him, he tugged his black pants open and yanked at something inside.

“Here you go,” the man grunted, his hand wrapping around the back of my head. As his fingers tightened in my hair, they pulled me forward, and I felt something hard and thick poking at my lips. As I gasped for air to push aside the pain in my cheek, that fleshy rod slid inside my mouth.

The pressure on the back of my head held that unfamiliar, overly large thing in my mouth for a minute, and then I managed to pull free. The long rod slid out of my mouth as I gasped and sucked in precious air. My eyes, slightly hazy, managed to come to focus on what was in front of me, and a new wave of horror hit me. I had just taken Slammer’s cock inside my mouth!

I stared at the giant appendage, hanging in front of me and still glistening wetly with my spit. The thing looked nearly as big as my forearm, and darkened to a raspberry color at the head. I swore that I could see it pulsing, quivering slightly as it hung out of the man’s unzipped pants.