The Stolen Girl (13 page)

“Listen, Slammer wants the girl downstairs, right away,” she commented, still wearing a bit of a grin. “Dressed would probably be preferable. I actually brought by some clothes that might fit her, since I’m getting a little sick of seeing her in those pajamas. Want to open the door so I can pass them over?”

Still looking a little on the defensive, Roads did as requested, stepping back a bit so that the door could open further. Sure enough, Flamer was holding a pile of clothing, which she pressed into the male biker’s hands. But before she left, she reached down, fast as lightning, and I saw her hand flick at the man’s drooping cock! “Now, I think you two might need to put your activities on hold until later,” she said with her smirk growing. “Slammer probably won’t want to wait that long. And I’m sure you don’t want him to intrude!”

A moment later, the woman’s brightly colored hair withdrew from the doorframe, along with the rest of her head. Roads pushed the door shut behind her and then turned to me, his expression looking a little baffled as he held out the pile of clothing.

I reached forward, taking the clothes from him. As I did so, the sheet fell away from my torso, exposing my boobs to him. The moment from before was past, but I still saw Roads’ eyes briefly flick down to drink in the sight before he hauled them back up to my face with an effort. A light blush suffused my cheeks, but I made no motion to cover myself back up.

“So,” Roads said after a minute as we both busied ourselves with getting dressed. “About that, about what was happening before we were interrupted…”

My mouth opened to reply, but just like him, I wasn’t sure quite what to say. How could I express that rush of emotion I had felt? Was that only a one-time thing? But as I looked up at the man, stepping into a pair of boxers, his muscles bulging as he bent forward to haul them up over his muscular legs, that rosy glow was still definitely present in my mind.

“Later,” I replied back, pulling a sweater top over my head. “We can resume later.”

“Later,” Roads agreed, sounding a little relieved.

The clothes that Flamer had brought me were a little large, a little bulky on my slim frame, but they would stay on me, and they did a much better job of covering me than my previous, ragged outfit. I climbed up out of bed. She had even found a pair of flats that stayed on my feet, if just barely! It was great to finally have shoes that fit me, even if they weren’t perfectly sized. I climbed up from the bed, opening the door as Roads buttoned up a flannel shirt he’d retrieved from his dresser.

The two of us walked downstairs. As we descended, I could smell the tell-tale odors of eggs and bacon wafting up, and I felt my stomach grumble loudly. I couldn’t even remember the last time that I’d eaten - I had completely skipped dinner the previous night.

The rumbling from my belly was loud enough for Roads to catch it. “Go talk to Slammer,” he said quietly as we reached the bottom of the staircase. “I’ll go grab you some food from the kitchen. I’ll be right back; he won’t try anything.”

I nodded back to this, trying not to show any of the dread that suddenly appeared in the pit of my stomach. It was a poor substitute for food. But as we stepped off the bottom stair, I could see Slammer standing in the living room, with the biker with the short cropped hair and glasses standing next to him.

As I drew closer, I realized that Slammer was even standing in the same spot as last night - the spot where he had forced me down to my knees, had forced his dick into my mouth, had nearly raped me. I tried to steel my mind as I came closer, tried to tell myself that he wasn’t going to try anything now, but my legs still quivered as I approached.

Slammer was holding something in his hands, tapping it against one palm. As we got closer, I realized that it was rolled-up newspaper. The big man was still dressed in black, but he barely gave me a glance as I came nervously closer. Instead, he merely reached out and shoved the rolled up paper into my hands. “Hold this up,” he ordered. “Cable here is going to take some pictures.”

I glanced over at the biker with glasses, and realized that he was holding a small digital camera. He must be Cable. I unrolled the paper that had been handed to me, and realized that it had today’s date. This must be a part of the kidnapping process.

Cable glanced up at me, and thankfully, I didn’t see any malice in his expression. “Here, just come this way,” he said, gesturing me over. He carefully positioned me up against a blank wall where the sunlight fell on me. I held the paper between my hands and kept it in front of me, almost like a shield. Cable’s touch was gentle, but Slammer was hanging behind him, staring at me. I couldn’t tell if the leader of the gang was wearing an expression of anger, frustration, or lustful desire, but either way, I felt dirtied just by it resting on me.

Cable made a few more adjustments to me, making sure that the date was clearly visible on the paper, and then lifted up the camera. He snapped a few pictures, and then lowered the device to examine each photo. “Gotta make sure that there’s nothing that can identify us,” he said, talking just as much to himself as to the gang leader hanging over his shoulder.

“Whatever,” Slammer replied in a grunt, his eyes never leaving my face. “Just get them uploaded and sent. Don’t forget to include the ransom.”

After he finished scrutinizing the photos, Cable stepped over to one of the chairs at a coffee table, where a laptop had been propped open. He pulled the memory card out of the camera and slotted it into the laptop, lifting it up onto his lap as he sat. He began industriously tapping buttons on the computer, not looking up and seemingly totally immersed in his efforts.

Slammer briefly pulled his gaze away from me to look over Cable’s shoulder. “And you’re sending these directly to the senator?” he asked, his voice making it clear that he expected nothing but an affirmative confirmation.

Cable nodded. “Yep, sending them now,” he replied. After a moment, he glanced up at the big black-clad man. “You know, up until I hit this button, we could still just turn her in for the reward money,” he said, the unspoken question evident in his tone.

I felt a slight spring of hope at this. But that hope was quickly dashed as Slammer shook his head. “She knows about us,” he replied. “We’re going to get the ransom, and then get the hell out of here. Stick to the plan.”

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

A
t this command, Cable nodded, his face only reflecting a slight frown for an instant before going back to focused concentration on the screen. I only barely caught the expression, and I doubted that Slammer had seen it from his position behind the bespectacled biker. It was good to see that the leader of this gang didn’t have as firm of a power base as I had previously believed, however.

As Cable returned his full attention to the laptop, I heard footsteps from the back of the house. Roads appeared from the kitchen, and I was pleased to see a steaming plate in one of his hands. Biggie was thumping along behind him, his footsteps considerably heavier on the carpeted floor.

Roads came over to me and passed the plate down into my hands, along with a plastic fork. I looked down at a pile of steaming scrambled eggs, a couple slices of toast, and a few strips of bacon. All of the food was hot, fresh, and it looked like the most amazing, delicious thing that I’d ever seen. I scooted over to the nearest couch and sat down, not even waiting for permission or looking up at the bikers. I grabbed the fork with one hand and dug in.

While I filled my mouth with hot, steaming, delicious food, Biggie cleared his throat. “Yo,” he began, addressing Slammer. “We’re almost out of supplies. We need to send someone into town to grab some more, especially if we’re gonna be around here for another few days.”

Slammer nodded, not looking surprised. He had been expecting this. “Sure,” he agreed. “Biggie, you can go.” He paused for moment, his lips lifting in a slight, cruel grin. “Oh, and take Roads with you to help carry the shit.”

In my seat on the couch, I froze, a bite of bacon still in my mouth. This wasn’t good. Not good at all.

Among the bikers, Biggie merely nodded at this, but Roads froze. He shot a quick, concerned, nervous glance towards me, and then cleared his throat. “You know, there are plenty of other bikers who could go,” he said, his tone revealing his distrust. “Flamer is up, or you could send Chainz-”

“No,” Slammer cut him off forcefully. “You. You’ve been spending far too much time with our little golden kitty here, and I think it’s affecting you.” The man took a step closer to Roads, his eyes narrowing. “Is your allegiance still to us, Roads? Or are you a traitor to your gang? Your family?”

“I’m not a traitor,” Roads replied, but the note of conviction was lacking from his voice. He glanced at me again, and I could see the pained concern evident in his eyes, on his face. There was no way that Slammer missed that. This was bad. Really bad.

His face stormy and the threat evident in his expression, Slammer took a step towards Roads. “Am I going to have to repeat myself?” he asked, his voice quiet but undercut with raw danger.

Roads risked one last look towards me, but there was nothing he could do, no way out. “No, I’m going,” he said, reaching back behind him and patting Biggie on the shoulder.

The big black man behind him nodded and amicably ambled past us, heading for the front door. I wasn’t sure that the other gang member had even picked up on the tension; his mind had appeared to be elsewhere. Roads followed him, and I knew that he was dying to say something to me. But he had no chance, no opportunity. He paused at the front door, however, clearly fighting with himself over what decision to make.

Slammer stepped forward, and I saw the man fumbling for something. I turned and looked at him, and then gasped with shock. Slammer was reaching into the back of his pants, and had withdrawn a large, silver-plated handgun from the back of his waistband! He held it up in the air so that the light glinted off its polished surfaces, showing it off to Roads. “Don’t worry,” he said, satisfaction clear in his voice. “I’ll be sure to keep her nice and safe.”

After announcing this, Slammer slowly lowered the gun down to set it on the table beside where Cable was still clicking away on the computer. The gang leader’s eyes never left Roads’ face, however. Roads looked tortured, but he had no options left. I watched as my savior, my only defender, walked out. The front door slammed shut behind him with a slam that rang of deadly finality.

After Roads and Biggie had left the house, Slammer walked over to stand behind Cable as the smaller, wirier biker clicked away at the keys on his laptop. The gang leader’s big hand came down and settled on Cable’s shoulder. “Are the pictures sent?” the man asked.

Cable nodded, one hand coming up to push his glasses a little further back up his nose. “Yeah, I sent them in,” he replied. For a moment, it looked as if he wanted to add something more, but he swallowed his words. “Now what?”

“Now we wait,” Slammer told him. “And while we’re waiting, I think that I’m going to have a few words with our little captive kitty.” He didn’t add any more, but I saw his grip on Cable’s shoulder tighten, sending a clear message.

The bespectacled biker stood up from the couch, clicking his laptop shut. “Sure,” he said, not sounding as though he wanted to stick around much. “I’ll call you if I hear anything back from the photos.”

“Good,” Slammer nodded, and he crossed his arms. He stood like that, watching Cable’s retreating back until the man was out of the room. I shivered, wishing that I could shrink back into myself and disappear. Now, it was just Slammer and I, alone in the living room. And I was wishing that I could be anywhere else in the world.

Not wanting to look up and make eye contact, I stared down at the plate still on my lap. It was empty; without even realizing what I had been doing, I had finished off the entire meal. The fork was resting on top of the plate; I briefly considered holding on to it, trying to use it as a makeshift weapon, but I knew that it was a futile idea. The plastic tines wouldn’t do any real damage - and that was even if Slammer didn’t have a gun at his disposal. But he did, and I knew that I couldn’t fight back against that.

My eyes flicked to the weapon in question, still sitting on the low table. It was only a couple steps away from me. It was so close, and for a brief instant, I had a vision of diving forward, snatching it up, turning it on Slammer and blowing him away. But I didn’t know how to handle a gun, and I knew that the big man would be able to reach the pistol before me. It was nothing more than a fantasy.

After another long minute of gazing down at the empty plate and taking long, slow breaths, a shadow fell across me. Slowly, terror rising up from my stomach to fill my throat and make my breathing shallow, I looked up.

Slammer was standing over me, a half-glare, half-leer on his face as he stared down at me. “Get up,” he ordered. There was no note of a question in the statement. It was a bald faced order.

My knees were shaking, my entire body quaking. Slowly, shivering, I set the plate down on the table in front of me and rose up to my feet. Once standing, Slammer reached out with one hand and grabbed my chin, twisting around my head so that I was forced to gaze up at him. “You know, I’m a pretty smart guy,” he said, sounding half as though he was speaking to himself. “People always seem to think that I’m dumb, that I miss a lot, but I pay attention. I see a lot of things. I know what’s going on.”