Collateral Damage ~ For Scuttle Buttin'

Eighteen year old Amelia Stone's apathetic gaze flicked from the packet of Marlboros on the desk to the almost equally puce visage of her form tutor, Mrs Lincoln.

"I told you last term that this kind of behaviour would not be tolerated at The Rochester Academy. If I recall correctly, your father was very unimpressed."

Mayor Nathan Stone had indeed been 'unimpressed.' Far from expressing concern for the health and happiness of his eldest daughter, he had instead bitched constantly about how precious his time was. He didn't want to be called to the school because he simply did not give a shit. Amelia was there specifically to separate her from her step-mother and younger half siblings, who did not attend boarding school. Nathan had remarried barely two years after Amelia's mother had passed, to some grasping society ditz half his age. Amelia had been appalled. Dad didn't take kindly to being considered a perverted old man by his own daughter and their relationship had never recovered. When he had tentatively suggested Rochester Academy, expecting an epic fight, Amelia had merely been relieved. She had packed her bags without a fuss and during school holidays she kept mostly to her room or went out.

"Father was very explicit about not being contacted unless there was a real problem." Amelia tried valiantly to keep from rolling her eyes. "He's a very busy man."

Amelia wasn't too concerned. While she fractured the occasional rule, she did actually study. Her grades were impeccable and in class she was polite, engaged and hardworking. Outside of class however, she found the Rochester set of vapid débutantes utterly unbearable. Amelia had a few friends but kept mostly to herself, when she wasn't sneaking into town with her room-mate to blow off some steam. After she graduated this summer she would go to college and then she could sever ties with her dad altogether.

Mrs Lincoln changed tack. "And you have been told repeatedly about make-up, Amelia. Our girls do not walk around looking like emo kids. Light, nude make-up is acceptable for seniors but yours is excessive. It's much too dark. And really child, girls your age need no embellishment whatsoever. It's not good for your skin you know."

Amelia sat silent. She had not been asked a question. She did not want to volunteer a false promise to tone it down, which was obviously Mrs Lincoln's hope.

"Mrs Lincoln, we have one more term together." Amelia ventured. In another twelve weeks this would all be irrelevant, so why were they even having this conversation.

"And in one more term you can follow whichever fashion trends you wish to. Until then I will need you to follow the same basic rules that have governed all your years at this school. Have you forgotten what they are, Amelia?"

"No Mrs Lincoln."

"Then since you're such a smart girl, I will not expect to have to remind you again." Mrs Lincoln seemed to tire of the exchange and picked up her pen. "You are dismissed."

Amelia stood and picked up her bag, carefully watching Mrs Lincoln. Since her father had got punitive about her allowance she had to be very careful what she bought and Marlboros were expensive. She looked out the window over Mrs Lincoln's shoulder and nodded. Immediately a vicious fight broke out beneath the teacher's window, between a tall black girl and a blonde.

"I'm going to turn you upside down you little thief!"

"Get off of me!"

Naturally Mrs Lincoln was up and banging on the window in moments, her back to her desk. Amelia swiped her cigarettes and made her escape.

Fifteen minutes later, the three girls were all hiding out by a load of dumpsters, smoking Marlboro Reds.

"You do realise you're going to get detention." Keisha told Amelia.

"Totally worth it. Besides, I have assignments to do."

"You better not have detention on Friday." Louise warned her. "It's Daniel's party. Mark is going." She teased, knowing Amelia had something of a crush on him.

Daniel was a day pupil at the boys' academy on an adjacent campus. His father was high flying lawyer and the party was rumoured to be epic. He was turning eighteen. Mark on the other hand was a scholarship kid and therefore much more interesting. While the affluent girls at Rochester's viewed him with disdain, Amelia had found herself entranced by his social conscience, unassuming manner and hard rock appreciation. They occasionally shared a joint through the fencing between their campuses of an evening. Rochester's did not take lightly the responsibility of safeguarding their hormone fuelled teenage girls, so they didn't get much time together. Mark wouldn't sneak out or flout the rules because he feared losing his funding. Getting caught wrapped round a Mayor's daughter from Rochester Academy was a pretty certain way of doing it. Keisha and Louise had been remorseless in their mockery of Amelia ever since they had studied Romeo and Juliette in class.

"Well I had better get some killer heels then." Amelia smiled. "Or I'm not going to be in his line of sight." At just five feet tall, Amelia was petite and slender. If not for her perfectly formed B cups she could pass for a much younger girl. It meant her chances of drinking illegally were less than zero however but she had high hopes of Daniel's party. Mark had already messaged her and promised to hook Amelia and her friends up with some booze.

"You're going to give me my fucking money, Nathan. You're going to give me my fucking money by tomorrow, or I will bury you and salt the earth. Your children will change their names to get away from it. Do you hear me, Nathan? Tomorrow."

Solomon Petrakis had been leaning over the mayor's desk, eyes locked on the man he'd grown up with. A man he once called his friend. It had seemed a lifetime ago, and now in this lifetime, his 'friend' was backing him into a corner. It wasn't life or death for Nathan, not yet, but it was becoming that way for Solomon. Weakness did not work in his line of work. Weakness was a sign that you were no longer cut out for your position, and served as an invitation for some ambitious thug to come take it. Weakness is how you were later found stuffed in a barrel.

Behind them, the door burst open, a pair of security guards stopping just inside the room to assess the situation. Solomon shook his head when he saw them, a humorous laugh rumbling in his throat as his eyes turned back to his old friend.

"You're a fucking coward, Nathan." There was more to say, he could spend the next hour filling his old friend's head with the horrors he would inflict on him if he didn't pay up, but he knew better. Threats with witnesses present was how one wound up sitting in a cell. Instead, he left it at that and turned to leave, his message delivered.

"Get your fuckin' hands off me," he said, snatching his arm away as one of the guards tried to take him by the elbow, "I'm leaving."

Once outside, he crossed the street to where his car sat idling, the driver waiting for him behind the wheel. "She's outside, smoking with friends," the man said as he handed the tablet over to Solomon. On it, a streaming video showed the girl with a couple others from a distance, all with a burning cigarette pinched between their fingers. The view of one of her friends was partially obstructed by a large dumpster, but the girl couldn't have mattered less to them if she was a cardboard cutout. Amelia was the only one he had eyes for.

"Keep someone on her," he said, turning off the tablet's screen and setting it down between the seats. "Day and night. We'll take her at the first opportunity."

The man next to him nodded and turned on the blinker so he could pull out into traffic.

"Fucking Nathan. At least you'll get to help rape the little cunt if he doesn't pay."

With a laugh, the driver pulled them out into traffic, and they made their way from City Hall, where the mayor sat with sweat on his brow, staring at a bank statement that contained far too many zeros to save his skin.

Friday night finally came around and the three girls got ready in Amelia and Keisha's room, vying for space in front of the wardrobe mirror. Amelia walked in wrapped in a towel, which she divested herself of so she could wriggle into her dress.

"Oh my god, you can't wear that!" Louise squealed, half in horror and half in jealousy.

"Watch me."

It was a body controlling dress made of tights bands of fabric that lovingly lifted up Amelia's small pale breasts and hugged the slight curve of her arse. You could not wear a single scrap of clothing under it, or the effect was ruined. She hadn't bargained on this turn of events when she ordered the dress online but nothing was going to stop her wearing it now. With grim determination, she buckled on the skyscraper heels she had been learning to walk in for the last couple of weeks. No way was she going to all this trouble only to fall flat on her face... with her bare pussy in the air!

Amelia's phone beeped and she snatched it up while the girls teased her.

"I'm already at Daniel's with the booze. Let me know when you're on your way. Can't wait to see you."

She and Mark had been calling and texting with increasing frequency. Amelia was conflicted however. Soon they would both be leaving Rochester's and going their separate ways. Did she really want to lose her cherry to someone who was going to be just a summer romance? Then Amelia had realised Mark assumed her to be experienced. To some guys, a gothic fashion sense was associated with promiscuity. It irked Amelia he thought like that but she hadn't managed to correct him either. If she got a little drunk tonight anything could happen though and she had a couple of condoms stashed in her purse just in case. Better to have them and not need them than get knocked up because she was drunk. In the shower she had used hair removal cream, so now below the neck she was bald as a newborn. She had been too nervous to try anything as artistic as a landing strip and besides, probably nobody was going to see it. Exploring the softness of her newly bald lips, Amelia had been unable to resist rubbing herself to a fast, frustrated orgasm. She regretted it though, because now she was horny as hell.

"Wow Amelia, you look incredible." Mark allowed himself a long, appreciative look at her and then tried really damn hard to keep his eyes above her tits and his dick under control. Jesus Christ. Even Daniel was impressed and he usually only had eyes for tanned blondes. He poured her a vodka tonic, trying to get used to little Amelia being a foot taller than usual. "Wanna dance?"

Amelia downed the drink in one go and set her plastic tumbler down.

"Sure." She smiled.

There were literally hundreds of kids crammed into Daniel's mansion. While he had tried to be selective about who he invited, there were a lot more people here than he planned for. He just fervently hoped nobody had been stupid enough to put it on facebook or his folks wouldn't have a house to come back to after the Easter break. His friends had given up trying to control entry and it wasn't even ten o'clock. The neighbours weren't going to like this at all.

The next day arrived, and Solomon watched the clock. It would not be accurate to say he conducted what business he needed to, but even those around him noticed that he was distracted. Preoccupied. He could check a clock on the wall, if there happened to be one where they were. Look at the watch on his wrist. Check his phone. With every hour that drained past, he grew more agitated. By the time 10pm rolled around, the boss was clearly at his boiling point. A routine trip to pick up a payment for... services rendered... turned into an unexpectedly late night when Solomon shot the man in the head for...

Well, they weren't even sure, exactly. Taking too long? Looking him in the eye? Whatever the man's crime, it was his last and it meant a group had to stay behind and clean up the mess. Not a single complaint was heard from them, during or after the cleanup, for fear their blood would join the mess.

They knew that the mayor had stiffed him on a significant loan, but it seemed strange that the boss would take the slight so personally. When a group was gathered in what served as his office early the next morning, they were all certain Solomon had slept little the night before. The lack of sleep had done nothing to dim the fire in his eyes as he laid out the plan for the coming days, though.

The girl was only a part of it, it turned out. What had originally been seen as a bargaining chip had turned into something else entirely now, something more complex and far more likely to attract attention. Solomon didn't care.

Friday night seemed to arrive quickly, and once the targets were in place, things were quickly set in motion.

The first team watched as Nathan left his office well after dark and climbed behind the wheel of a car that, while nice, was showing it's age. They followed at a distance, sure of his destination but taking no chances on losing him. He had no mistress that they were aware of, no AA meetings he attended in secret, no poker game with friends. As luck would have it - lucky for their continued existence among the living, anyway - his new family would be out of the house when he arrived home, and remain so for a few hours. Plenty of time to accomplish their goals, and to create maximum damage in his world. He pulled into the driveway of the "mayor's mansion," though in truth it was something of a stretch to call it that, and entered the front door seemingly unaware of their presence down the street. A single number, 1, was texted to Solomon's phone.

"They're in place and ready," he said, extinguishing the screen on his phone and slipping it back into the pocket of his jeans. He sat in the back seat of a car in what was a very nice part of town. Across the street and two houses down, a party was in full swing. The lights were bright, the music loud, and teenagers in the full tumult of early adulthood were living without a care in the world. And somewhere in there, Nathan's daughter Amelia was entirely unaware of the horrors about to find her.

"Let's go," Solomon said, opening his door and stepping out into the street, his boots crunching in the gravel. The driver flashed his lights once before stepping out, and two houses down from the party in the opposite direction, four men stepped out of the car like a team of brutish synchronized swimmers. All seven approached the house silently, each of them donning a black knit ski mask as they reached the other side of the street. They expected to be in the house no more than a couple minutes, and with the alcohol that was undoubtedly flowing within it seemed reasonable that no one would really be able to identify them. But it was also the mayor's daughter, and they were taking no chances.

They entered quickly, shoving people out of the way when they needed to. Each of them had seen her arrival at the party, knew what she was wearing - one of them had even intercepted the delivery man a few days before, paid him off, and delivered the package to her himself, just to put physical eyes on her before they took her - and as small pockets of drunk and stoned teenagers realized something was amiss, they all scanned they rooms as they worked their way through.

They found her in a room filled with writhing, sweating people. Every spare inch of the room was filled with a thumping beat and the noxious mingling of perfume and hormones. They were not gentle as they shoved people aside, some of them barely noticing as they were moved one way instead of another. The few who did might exclaim "Hey man!" or "What the fuck?" but they were in no condition to pose any real threat, and so they were all but ignored. Seven masked men moved as a unit, and all of them were laser-focused on the slender girl in the painted-on red dress.

Her ass was grinding back into the crotch of a boy who didn't seem to be much bigger than she was. Both of them were much to wrapped up in the other to see what was happening until it was all much too late.

The boy was grabbed, one hand yanking his head back by the hair, the other grabbing him by the throat. Robbed suddenly of his balance, his arms pinwheeled in an attempt to regain it. One of the six remaining had a gun in his hand, and the boy's knee exploded as the muzzle flashed. The sound of the firing gun and the screams of pain as he was discarded onto the ground sliced easily through the music, and people began to flee through every available door as quickly as their unsteady legs would carry them.

Poor Amelia had no such option. As two men handled the boy she was dancing with, giving him the gift of years of both physical and mental therapy, she was similarly grabbed by the hair, her head jerked around so they could all get a good look at her. The one holding her glanced back at Solomon, who nodded his approval. They had their girl. Turning back to her, he swiftly ended whatever struggle she may be mustering with a punch meant to separate her from her consciousness. The girl was lifted and tossed over his shoulder with minimal effort, his hands on her bare thighs as he turned with her to leave.

Behind his mask, Solomon smiled as he saw the girl's smooth cunt peeking from between her thighs.

The exit from the house was quicker than their entrance, the path far more clear with people fleeing from the sound of gunshots and screaming. The two groups parted ways on the front lawn, the girl carried to Solomon's car and laid across the back seat with him. In total, it was seven minutes from stepping out of the car to pulling away from the curb as her eyes rolled uselessly in her head, and she struggled to regain her senses.

2

The number arrived by itself in a text message from Solomon, a reply to the 1 message that was sent, and it meant it was time for them to move. The foolhardy man didn't even have an alarm turned on when they entered, so confident he was that his old friend wouldn't actually come for him. It was a mistake he would regret more and more in the coming hours.

A gun subdued him easily, Nathan was no fighter, and he began to sob as he was led to the basement he'd converted into an office. He fell into the plush leather chair they'd turned around for him, tears falling from his cheeks and darkening the white fabric of his starched shirt.

"Please," he sniffed, unable to pull his eyes away from the gun, "I don't- I don't have it now, but I can move some things around, or, or, or... or borrow the money to give to him! I could-"

"Take off your pants."

The order silenced him, and he blinked in confusion. It was, perhaps, not the last thing he ever expected to hear from them, but it was certainly quite far down the list.

"What?" he said. "What? What do you...?"

"Take them off," the order was repeated, and the gun moved a few inches closer to his face. With wide, frightened eyes, he unbuckled his belt and lifted his hips, opening the button his his pants and working them down.

"Tighty whities, too."

The hesitation this time was only momentary, the gun was still far too close to consider not doing as he was told, and so he hooked his thumbs in the waistband and began pushing it all down past his hips, his thighs, his knees. As he did, a suitcase was set on the desk near him, a loud thock thock filling the room as the latches were released. Another of the men moved around to his other side, and a laptop was opened on his desk. A dongle was plugged into the side, and after a moment of connecting with the mobile network, the screen blossomed brightly, showing the static shot of a stainless steel table in the middle of a room. The floor seemed to be a simple concrete slab, the walls made of cinder block. The lighting was harsh, yellow and uneven, and for a moment he forgot his nakedness as he leaned closer to the screen, trying to make sense of what he was watching.

"This is your fault, Nathan." a voice said through the speaker suddenly. He recognized it quickly as Solomon's, and he opened his mouth to speak.

"Save it," the man with the gun said, nudging his temple with the barrel. "He doesn't want to hear you. You're just watching now."

Movement changed the lighting in the room, a flash of red and black moved close in front of the camera, which left the table out of focus momentarily as the autofocus worked to return things to their original state. The red color was in the center of the blurry frame, and when the picture finally came back into focus he saw that it was the groggy figure... of his fucking daughter.

"I've got seven men here, Nathan. Seven men I've promised a chance to break in your precious little girl here. But I'll give you one final chance to make things right. To save her from this. Give me my money, Nathan, give it to the men there with you, and I'll let her go."

Solomon stepped in front of the camera, his face filling the frame, his eyes dark and angry.

"Not unharmed, but I'll let her go. "

And then he smiled into the camera, brightly, terribly, and raised his voice to call out, "Who's raping the little bitch first?"

Amelia had been gaining in confidence as she worked her way through several vodka tonics. In order to be able to keep dancing, she was simply downing one every half hour or so and then heading back to the dancefloor. Mark seemed happy enough to grind with her and she was being very careful not to flash anything she shouldn't. After all their messaging there wasn't much to say and it wasn't often they got physical time together, at liberty to touch one another. Mark's hands were on her arse but he was at least leaving her tits alone. Amelia turned round to grind her arse against him a little. She knew he was hard as a rock and in her drunken state she found this more exciting than dangerous.

She looked up as two dark silhouettes closed in on her and Mark abruptly vanished from behind her, setting her off balance. She turned around just in time to see his knee explode. Amelia screamed and moved toward him as everyone else scattered. Everyone but the black clad thugs who had just blown apart her boyfriend's leg. Amelia's legs were already shaking as her hair was grabbed. What with her ridiculous outfit and drunkenness she could offer no resistance of any description. Her knees would not obey her. She was still screaming Mark's name. She hadn't even the wit to demand to know why they were doing this. All she could say was his name. Her tear streaked face was thrust into those of her attackers' until one of them nodded. If they hadn't knocked her out she would have simply collapsed.

Amelia became aware of splintering pain in her head and her stomach roiled with queasiness. It took some moments for her to discern that she was in a moving vehicle and not simply so drunk that the ground wouldn't stay still. Why was she in a car?

The it all came rushing in on her. Mark's leg blowing apart in front of her. The metallic smell and taste of blood. The kidnappers.

She jolted into full consciousness and tried to sit up but succeeded only in sliding off the leather seats. Her dress and shoes were almost as effective as shackles in terms of incapacitating her. A man dragged her back into the seat by her hair and Amelia stared up at him. Terror had sobered her up somewhat and she realised that it did not bode well, her having seen his face. There was something vaguely familiar about him that she could not place. Amelia looked out of the window but there was nothing to see through the blacked out glass. She turned back to her captor.

"So what the hell is happening?" She asked.

He gave no reply but the malevolent triumph in his dark eyes spoke for itself. Presumably he wanted to extort money. Amelia chose not to wonder what her price was in her father's eyes. She had a feeling she wouldn't be thrilled by the figure. She was still his daughter though. He would pay. If he paid, they would have no reason to harm her. Amelia tried valiantly to find this reassuring but the pieces didn't fit. Why would they maim her boyfriend when they could easily have overpowered him? Why commit such a terrible crime for no apparent gain? Why was she looking at this guy's face and not his ski mask?

At their destination she was herded by the men into a room that contained nothing but a table and a camera. The men didn't leave, they were leering at her. The ringleader stepped towards the camera and one of the men propelled Amelia forwards, staggering in her heels, until she moved into shot.

"This is your fault, Nathan." His voice was deep and menacing, with just the slight hint of an accent that spoke of long years in America. If it was at all possible for Amelia's eyes to widen further, they did so. What the hell had her father done?

"I've got seven men here, Nathan. Seven men I've promised a chance to break in your precious little girl here. But I'll give you one final chance to make things right. To save her from this. Give me my money, Nathan, give it to the men there with you, and I'll let her go."

"Jesus." Amelia didn't doubt his sincerity for an instant. She began to hyperventilate, her legs shaking again. She covered her mouth with her hands, feigning disbelief but in actuality, forcibly biting down on the impulse to ask her father just what the fuck he had done. If it was drugs, whores, whatever. She could well believe it of him. He was a selfish arsehole and always had been. How had he pissed these people off? Had he already refused to pay?

The man moved close to the camera and spat his next few words, "Not unharmed, but I'll let her go."

Amelia yanked her train of thought together and considered what to say, how best to appeal to daddy dear. If this gang thought she was a beloved child they were in for a shock.

"Who's raping the little bitch first?" He called out, to be answered with lascivious grunts and chuckles. Amelia tried not to hear the sound of eight men disrobing. She moved to the camera, quickly before they tried to stop her.

"Please Dad, just pay them the money. These guys are not kidding around. They shot my boyfriend. They will..." She faltered, hyperventilating and trying not to cry. She couldn't utter the word rape and there was no way she was giving any indication of her virginity to these animals. "They will do whatever it is they threaten to do. So please... please pay whatever it is they want. I love you. If I don't get out of this, you should know that." She broke down crying, swaying on her heels. "Please!"