A Cunt's Ransom. [Closed]

[SomewhatPsycho]

http://c.wrzuta.pl/wi5850/e04a059c001ee13b503725c9/martin_pichler_17​

It's filthy weather. Torrential rain that keeps people off the streets, that reduces visibility and that washes evidence away. A freezing downpour that aided by the wind falls at a 45 degree angle. City rain that tastes like grit. Welcome to Glasgow.

His quarry is walking briskly towards home, hunched over in a hooded parka that's ridiculously oversized on her body. All he can see is the rear view but he knows this girl. He know how she walks, what she wears, where she goes and who she sees. She's become of increasing interest to him and he has done his homework. She however is completely unaware of the danger she's about to find herself in. He tosses a fag butt into a drain and smacks the glass in the driver side window of a black, featureless transit van, before diving into the back. It's time.

They catch the girl up and then slow, he slides open the side door, leaning his six foot, three inch frame out over the pavement, rainwater going down his back and stinging his eyes as his leather clad torso bears down on his oblivious victim, arms outstretched like some kind of fucked up angel of death.

Which is what he is.

He snatches the girl off the street and tosses her into the van, flinging her hard into the metal wall to stun her, knowing her heavy coat will muffle the inevitable clanging noise. He doesn't want her fighting or screaming until he's got the van closed. Her parka aids him in this, the oversized coat tangling her up and disorienting her. By the time she's scrambling to her knees and filling her lungs he is ready. He flips her onto her back, making sure to knock the wind out of her and sits down hard on her legs. Then when she gasps he stuffs her mouth full of cloth and duct tapes it shut.

He smiles down at her. A great wide victorious shit eating grin edged with pure malevolence.

He backhands her hard across her taped up face. Watching the pain and shock go through her. Her eyes water and streak her make-up. Now is not the time to fuck this little bitch up however. His dick twitches into a semi and he knows she's aware of it. Let her stew. Let her see that it's her suffering that arouses him, far more than her hot little body ever will.

She lifts her hands and it might have been a placatory gesture but he doesn't give nearly enough of a fuck to find out. His fist shoots out and closes around her throat. He lean down to speak slowly and clearly right into her face - as it turns purple. His deep throaty voice made even harsher by his strong Glaswegian accent.

"Lets get a few things straight, poppet. I'm much bigger and stronger than you and I'm far more of a cunt. You make too much noise, resist when it's futile or otherwise fuck with my gameplan and I will take great pleasure in making you wish you hadn't. All will become clear when I'm good and ready. So if you've got the brains you were born with, you'll take your coat off and let me tie your hands and wrists."

He eases his weight off of her and watches her carefully. She knows she's not going to escape from the back of a moving vehicle but can she really bring herself to just do what the fuck she's told without even a token struggle?

It's quite obvious he's hoping there's a token struggle.

 

[saysalice]

OOC: Trigger warning. This is going to be another bad one.

http://img003.lazygirls.info/people/inna/inna_photo_by_innaofficial_instagram_VqH1uew8.sized.jpg​

She likes this weather. She's always liked rain, but especially on nights like this, she finds it fitting. By turns cooling, gentle, and a scourge against her hot face. Cleansing. Absolving. It gives her wet hair an excuse, and at times, her wet lashes. Washes evidence away.

He'd insisted that she take his parka, and she likes this, too - feeling lost inside it, wrapped up in a warmth that smells vaguely of his aftershave. A vaguely damp heat, like his bare skin against hers. She walks home in his embrace with the hood down, stepping in all the puddles, ruining her expensive shoes. Letting the rain run into her eyes to blur her vision. It's okay. She knows the way by heart.

She is happy. She tells herself that she is. Why shouldn't she be, with a man who loves her so very, very much - who treats her like a queen, who kisses her like he does and makes her body cry out like -

- and then she's off her feet, thrust backwards and can't catch her breath - the hood blows up, obscuring her vision and she's airborne - turning over and then crashing into something before she has time to gasp -

hit - I'm hit - am I?

Must be. But not too hard. Her ribs ache, and she's crumpled on the ground and dazed, but she can still move her head and wiggle her toes.

Stupid. Not paying attention, on a night like this. Lucky, she thinks, as she puts her hands down gingerly to push herself to her feet. Lucky she wasn't -

not pavement, it's

She looks up frowning in time to see his face - very calm - and then she's slammed down hard, skull clanging against metal, and now she really can't breathe and he's on top of her, so heavy astride her and she opens her mouth to scream, and he stuffs it with a rag. She tries to retch it up and feels his warm hand pressing firmly into her face through the strip of industrial tape.

He smiles and she blinks up at him, feeling herself beginning to shudder.

I don't

And then he slaps her hard, knocking her head to one side, temple banging against the metal floor again, black stars in a spray across her field of vision as her eyes fill up with water and she stares back at him, snuffling over the tape, trying to understand.

Still smiling with his teeth down at her. She can feel his cock as he straddles her.

She hasn't even tried to fight him.

She doesn't want to be hit again, so she raises her hands slowly - he allows it - up level with her face, fingers outstretched, palms to him. She lets her fingers interlace like trembling tree branches, blocking the sight of him - horrid handsome face, she doesn't know him - she doesn't want to look. She doesn't know what this is. She blinks and tears run down the sides of her face, and she parts her fingers to make herself look at him, trying to make him understand.

I won't

just don't

And then there's no air and it seems to take her several seconds in the void - head aching, eyeballs burning with the pressure, hands reflexively going for his wrist, slapping and clawing at him, before she grasps that it's him, doing it. He has her by the throat - and now she is fighting him and feeling the futility of it, her strength already sapping away - into him, she could believe. And he, as solid and stolid as stone as he watches her die slowly under him, with his cock hard against her.

why

He is leaning in close now so that she can hear him over the roar of her pulse in her ears, and she has no choice but to look up at him and listen, though it's near-impossible to appreciate his words and their meaning over the screaming, instinctual drive to

just live

Still, she is trying to nod under his hand - no noise - no resistance - don't fuck with him - yes, yes! With the last of her strength - she can't even see his grinning face anymore - she is not fighting him, she is struggling to agree. And as even the faint light inside the van is blotted out by a more consuming darkness, and all that's left are the fingers tight around her throat and the airless vacuum in her chest, she listens for his voice.

And then he lets her go, and the first breath is too big and raw, and she wheezes it back out almost at once, feeling a sick uneasy tremor in her belly as her vision begins to clear - equal parts gratitude and terror. He has allowed her this breath. It belongs to him. Breathing hard over the strip of tape, she blinks and blinks until she can see him again. Still on top of her, still watching her. Such a pleasant face to look at, this man who has come to teach her about death and make threats of pain.

why - why me?

But there isn't time to wonder. He is looking down at her expectantly, waiting for some response. Annalise thinks back quickly, trying to remember everything he said. Something at the end, when her head was pounding, something -

the coat

let him tie me

She is shuddering again, and she wonders if he can feel it in her slight frame, pinned between his legs.

There isn't time, and who in their right mind would argue after such a demonstration? There is no choice. Still, she feels hot tears welling up again. She remembers some talk show piece of advice: never let yourself be taken to a second location. You'll be isolated, powerless - he will be in complete control, and you will have his undivided attention.

He is waiting for her answer. She nods - a jerky, abbreviated gesture - and feels him move off her, enough to let her open the coat. She rises up on her knees and fumbles in the dark with the zipper and her shaky hands - it's not an act, but she is trying to think. He's taken her voice. If he ties her wrists, she'll be little more than a rag doll

poppet

for him to drag around as he pleases. The van is moving - if it's stopped, she hasn't noticed - but it's not going so fast. It still has to navigate the winding city streets, for now. She tugs hard at the zipper, jamming it on purpose. Her fluster is a ruse, but her rising anxiety is real. She might break her legs. She might not make it at all, and then he might - might -

take great pleasure

but she has to - she has to try. She can't just let him take her.

At last, the zipper comes free. Annalise takes the wet parka in both hands and reluctantly shrugs out of it, glancing up at him. Beneath, she is wearing a light silk blouse in the palest blush of pink over her jeans. Under that, a white demi cup bra that is nearly sheer. Matching thong. Peter likes that sort of thing. For the first time tonight, she has time to consider the possibility that this man may get a very good look at the underwear she's put on.

She pauses on the thought, but he's watching her and she hurries to pull her arms out of the sleeves, turning the shining whites of her eyes to stare at the floor, afraid he will read her mind.

he said he wouldn't hurt me - no he didn't say that

Her pulse is racing, heart is knocking in her chest. She tries to look past him to see where the door handle will be, but she doesn't dare let her gaze stop on anything for more than a second.

She has to try.

She springs up and throws the parka - oversized, large enough to cover a man's wide, muscled back and heavy with rain-clotted down - up over his head, and lunges past him, outstretched fingers stubbing against the door, then scrabbling for the handle. With both hands she rattles it viciously, but it won't yield to her, so she changes tack and slams the heels of her palms against the metal, and then her fists and her soft-soled shoes. Pounding and kicking at the door to attract any attention there might be, at this late hour.

Sobbing and moaning and sniveling over her mouthful of cloth and tape, feeling her body dissolve into violent shudders, too terrified to look back over her shoulder. Knowing that any second now, she will feel his hands, his grip on her again.

 

[SomewhatPsycho]

The wet parka hit him in the face and he swatted it aside violently.

"Fucksakes!"

His quarry hurls herself at the van door but lacks the strength to open it. Even he would have to give it some welly to get the side door open against the van's slipstream. If she'd tried the rear door she might have been more successful but she'd also have gone straight under the next car. The noise is a problem though. Nothing sounds quite like caged cunt thrashing against a transit wall. Impossible to mistake for anything else, except maybe an animal. Bystanders are generally more outraged at an animal being mistreated than a human, so caution is definitely advised.

She's quite the sight though in her duct tape gag, mussed up hair and tight little body in a sheer pink blouse. Doesn't appear to be anything substantial under it either. A vision flashes through his mind of grabbing her by the tits from behind, flinging her face down on the dirty metal of the truck bed and yanking her tight jeans and knickers down just far enough to allow him to get his dick into her arse while she squeals and bucks.

She's tired herself with this little display. She knows it's pointless. Her knees are giving way and her kicks are weakening already. He reaches out one ripped arm, hooks it over her shoulder and across her chest to pull her back against him. He drops to his knees and takes her with him as the truck lurches from side to side. Now she's sat across his lap facing away from him and his free hand twists into her hair, pulling her neck back to expose her fragrant throat. He speaks low into her ear like a lover, admiring the redness his fingermarks are blossoming into.

"Oh you don't want to be giving me any excuse."

He pitches her forwards, driving her face towards the metal floor only to yank it back at the last picosecond to prevent it being smashed in, as the rest of her hands heavily face down. He pins her arms and grinds his pelvis into her arsecheeks, letting the merest but most obscene moan fall from his lips.

"Because I will ruin you."

He pulls cableties from his back pocket and sits down on her legs while he ties her wrists.

"You could be sat with just your hands tied but you had to push it, didn't you?" His tone is light and rhetorical, the way people talk to pets and babies. "You're going to regret that."

He ties her flailing ankles without undue hassle and then loops more cable ties to hog tie his victim. Once she's bundled up tight he spreads the parka out and places her on it. He watches her pretty little face twist in pain as he lifts her by her tied limbs and wonders how much pain she's going to be in by the time they're an hour's drive out of the city.

They stop at a petrol station once they've got out of Glasgow and a tall black man in his thirties with an equally broad Scottish accent babysits Annalise while he takes a leak. He eyes the girl lasciviously, lying as she is on her side with her tits thrust out in their sheer top.

"Ooh pretty... isn't she Cal?" He suddenly looks sheepish as he realises he's just said the kidnapper's name in front of the victim.

"Her auld man knows exactly who I am." Cal responds jovially. "But you're still a softheided twat so best keep it zipped eh?" His gaze drops to the man's flies. "And that as well!"

Just before they leave the petrol station, Cal gets back into the van and lies next to Annalise, propping his head on one arm as though they're sharing a bed.

"Now, we've got a bit of a drive and I'm going to sit up front. Your auld man owes me and I intend to make him pay but not at the expense of my own freedom. You cross me again and start making any kind of racket..." He cups her taped up face with his free hand, smushing it up and looking at her patronisingly like she's a cute little puppy. "I will slit your throat and dump you in the nearest gutter."

Cal flashed her another dazzling smile, locked Annalise into the van and went to sit up front with Ben, where they talked loudly about the 'fitba' as the truck wound its way around tiny rural roads.

 

[saysalice]

She is out of breath even before she hears his impatient curse behind her, and her pounding becomes briefly more frantic and she tries the door handle again, wrenching it hard enough to tear one laquered fingernail down to the quick - to no avail. She is panting in shrieky nasal whimpers over the band of tape now, and she doesn't dare turn around. It seems to her that he merely waits, unconcerned, knowing that it won't - and it doesn't - take long for her knocks to dwindle to weak slaps, and for her rubber soles to glance noiselessly off the inside door.

She has tired herself to the point that she can hardly fight when she feels his thick forearm wrap around her chest to drag her back to him, pulling her hard against him. She wriggles uselessly in his grasp even as he takes her by the hair, wrapping it tight around his fist to pull her head back. She rolls her eyes back to try to see him as he speaks his quiet threat.

Does he feel the change in her, the heave of her chest under his arm and the way her whole body tenses at his promise, and then goes still? She has only a second to process his words and then she is falling - not falling, thrust forward before she has time to gasp or even screw her eyes shut, so she sees it - the floor of the van rushing to meet her at blinding speed - and it's his hold on her hair that stops her, jerking her back and saving her face.

Again, she knows a moment of sick gratitude as she wheezes a sob in delayed response. Then his hips are pushing up into her, making her feel his hard cock - these tight jeans are no buffer, she can feel too much of the shape of him in the cleft of her ass, and she can imagine - she can't help imagining -

The lewd noise that escapes his lips makes her twitch. He'll feel it. I will ruin you. Cold against the floor of the van, through her thin blouse, it feels as though her heart is beating in her stomach, faster and faster. She is utterly still and silent, holding her breath as she waits for the inevitable.

His hands are brisk and purposeful on her, positioning her effortlessly, pulling her knobby wrists back behind her, but he is easing off - she feels his weight shift to pin her legs, feels the insistent pressure of his erection fall away. His voice as he chides her for her little stunt is reproachful, but with none of the ominous undertones of just a moment ago. Annalise exhales a sigh of relief, and is startled to hear it round off in a low moan.

She winces as she feels the dig of a plastic cable tie being pulled snug around her wrists. All the advice she can remember: claw at the face, the eyes - chew through tape and cable ties - scream "fire," instead of "rape"...none of it is of any use to her. She doesn't fight him as she feels him hold her ankles together and slip a cable tie around them, as well. It's sinking in, what it means to be completely helpless, for the first time in her adult life - and what it might mean, to be helpless to him.

Only when she feels him draw her arms and legs up behind her and realizes what he means to do, does she resist him again - she's caught her breath now, and she twists and kicks at him with her tethered feet - but tied as she is, it's only a matter of seconds before he has her neatly trussed up. He knows what to do, what to say, how to handle her little acts of defiance. He -

he's done this before

A cry is jerked out of her as the entire weight of her body is suddenly hanging, straining the joints of her arms and legs, pulling the cable ties to cut into her skin as he lifts her up to place her on the cold, damp parka.

So easy for him to take her, make her do what he wants, render her immobile - dependent on him - her life is now completely in his hands. So easy for him to hurt her, and then to make it stop. He is quiet, perhaps lost in his own thoughts as they drive on, and Annalise feels the hot tears filling her eyes again. She turns her head to rest her other cheek on the parka, looking away from him. It's all she can do.

It takes her several seconds after the van stops to register that they aren't moving - that they've reached their destination. The second location. His territory. Where anything can happen.

But -

A door slams from up front, and she blinks at the sound. Of course - someone's been driving, this whole time. She's been so afraid of him - what he might do, and what he wants, that she's thoroughly overlooked or ignored the fact that there must be at least one other person in the van. In on this. Fully aware that there is a woman tied up in the back.

She has begun to tremble as she watches the man with her rise to a crouch and move to the back of the van, where a door opens - there was a back door - and a smiling black man backlit by neon glare greets her captor with a rapid exchange of Glaswegian patter.

She is trying to think fast. Neon signs - still in public, then - there's still a chance. Her captor steps out, and she has time to wonder if, even bound as she is, she can somehow make enough noise to attract attention.

And then the black man climbs into the back, and her eyes widen in alarm as he slides in next to her. She can feel her whole body stiffen. She doesn't know what he will or won't do.

But he's only looking down at her, smiling at her, and after a moment, Annalise wonders if she can possibly appeal to him before the other gets back. Wriggling around on the parka, trying to turn so that she can look up into his face, and he just watches her. She can feel the wetness that has seeped into her blouse, can feel the clammy chill of it clinging to her as she shuffles to get on her side, and she sees his gaze linger on the curves of her body, and she swallows hard. Maybe he's just the driver. Maybe he's a good man.

Looking up at him with pained and pathetic eyes, she beseeches him in a series of grunts and whimpers and moans, squirming on the parka, straining against her bonds. Does he understand? He never takes his eyes off her, and he never stops smiling. Her voice fades out gradually as it occurs to her that the noises she's making sound vaguely sexual, under the circumstances.

Footfalls on the asphalt alert them to her captor's return, and Annalise falls silent, listening as the black man addresses him - as Cal.

Cal

She'll remember it.

He is unconcerned - she's seen both their faces now, too, and neither seems at all concerned. It doesn't bode well. But - what is he saying?

"Her auld man knows exactly who I am."

She tries to sit up, frowning, and hurts herself. The black man zips up his fly and returns to the front, and this one - Cal - climbs into the back with her again. Stretching out next to her, too close. She can't look at him as he speaks to her again, laying it out in very simple terms.

"Your auld man owes me and I intend to make him pay..."

She can't breathe. Then his hand is on her face, pinching her cheeks and turning her to make her look at him. She blinks her horrified glare back at him as he casually promises to slit her throat, should she cause him any more trouble. She nods to show him she understands, even as he's flashing that charming smile and sliding out the back door again, shutting her into darkness as the motor starts up and doors slam, and all she can think is:

Nick - it's something to do with Nick

She could scream. There are tears in her eyes again, but this time it's anger behind them. She tries to tell herself that nothing's changed - she's still in terrible trouble, she doesn't know where they're taking her - but oh my God - to hear him speak of her husband - ! Nick! Nick must be in some mess. Is that what this is about? Not some psycho killer or some random sex pick-up - is it a ransom thing?

It's starting to make sense. Why he - this Cal - threatened her, but didn't hurt her again, even when she made her attempt to escape. Why he didn't rape her in the back of the van - hasn't even stripped her. It's about money. She can feel herself relaxing in the uncomfortable bonds, and a tiny voice of warning pipes up in her mind.

don't let your guard down - it doesn't change anything

Yes, but if it's about money...well, they have money. Plenty. These men just - know it. They know who she is. Who her husband is. That's all this is. They'll contact Nick, and Nick - Nick will pay them, of course. And they'll let her go.

But God, she could kill him! She will kill him, for letting this happen - whatever trouble he's in. She's never involved herself in his business, and she can't imagine what this is about. She is racking her brain now, trying to recall whether she's ever met anyone named Cal - Calvin, maybe - at any of the business dinners and social functions and charity events she's attended with him. She shakes her head, once. She would have remembered...that face.

It means she's not going to die. They can't hold her for ransom if she's not alive and well. They won't hold her for long - Nick will pay it, whatever it is, to get her back. She just has to - to behave herself now, and not give them an excuse

any excuse

to...to... Well, they won't. She won't push it. She just has to wait for them to contact Nick. Nick will sort this out.

 

[SomewhatPsycho]

Their destination was a large old bed and breakfast, or at least, what had been a cosy little family run hotel some years ago. Scotland was littered with the places, a byproduct of the fickle and seasonal tourist industry. Like most places in rural Scotland, it was tucked away amid craggy hills with goats tenaciously clinging to them. Forest bordered the place on one side and a deceptively deep and clear loch meandered lazily through the landscape. Oh it looked tranquil enough but there was an undertow that would drag any but the strongest swimmer to their deaths - Cal had checked... by proxy.

He had a brothel in the city that was decidedly lower rent but this place was his pride and joy. Cal knew better than to get attached to places. The nature of his business made it necessary to relocate on a regular basis but he liked it here. There were 5 'guest rooms' that his six current girls worked from and a large 'family room' that they were all locked up to sleep in. There was a covered patio with a hot tub and a lounge where punters could view the merchandise. In a large former 'games room' adjacent to the kitchen some of Cal's trusted men oversaw the processing of the heroin and cocaine he farmed out to city dealers. There were also some handy outbuildings Cal used for... various things.

In this remote location, she could scream the fucking place down and nobody would hear or care. Hell, his girls often did. Men paid a lot of money to be abusive to his merchandise. So there was no pretence. No attempt made to cover up what they were doing.

Cal and his compatriot opened up the back of the van and grinned evilly at their trussed up little victim. Their bodies prevented Annalise from getting any kind of look at where they were. She was obviously in pain from being hogtied for so long and she was shivering from being in damp clothes. Wordlessly, they wrapped the parka around her head and carried her through into a small brick shed. The place had been crudely soundproofed with old mattresses but there was really no need. Just an extra precaution. They set her down on a narrow, metal framed bunk that took up one wall and nearly half the floorspace. It had some frankly revolting ex-brothel bedding. The only other things in the shed were a plastic bottle of water, a rusty bucket and a roll of toilet paper. Space was at a premium, so Cal was left alone with Annalise.

"So here we are. Ah hope you like what I've done wi' the place." He kicked the bucket with a booted foot, making it clang loudly. "All mod cons."

He produced a wicked looking serrated flick knife and sawed through the cable ties. There was no need to pin his victim while she was crippled from the long drive she had spent hogtied.

"I imagine you're wondering what the fuck is going on." He continued conversationally to her taped up face. "Well for now you can keep right on wondering."

Uncaring of her numbness and discomfort, Cal flipped Annalise onto her back. He sliced open her blouse to expose her demi-cup bra and lifted the waistband of her trousers so he could inspect her bald little cunt covered by nothing more than a scrap of something that matched the bra.

"I have been watching you - I and my men - and you are a dirty little bitch." Cal watched her assimilate the implications of this. "While conducting ma research the last few weeks I've watched you spin your web of deceit." Cal continued to work on her clothes, slicing them all off. He knew she wasn't about to fight him while he had a knife and blood was still returning to her extremities. He chuckled at her obvious distress as the expensive bra got sliced, ripped from her hard enough to cause friction marks and flung on the dirt floor. "Oh I've already seen everything you've got. I've watched it getting fucked in the back of a car." Cal turned her over again and put her face down in the stained bedding so he could yank her jeans off and her thong came with them. Cal positioned himself behind her like a lover, pressing her back into a deep arch to lift her arse right up and expose her carefully shaved little fuckholes.

The muffled protestations escaping Annalise's gag changed in pitch ever so slightly. Cal smiled triumphantly and, gripping the knife in his fist he sank the cool metal into her pussy, groaning quietly as though he had just sunk his dick into her. He inserted the blade only as far as it would go with minimal resistance, maybe half a finger's length. He enjoyed watching her freak the fuck out without actually bucking back onto the blade and maiming herself.

He withdrew the knife and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her right up as he stood until she was scrambling to get her feet under her.

"You better fucking hope auld man is as stupid as he looks." He snarled quietly. "And if I were you I would not piss me off by making a pointless unholy racket or trying to tunnel through brick." Cal marched out the door, locked it and then fastened a padlock across it for good measure. Nobody but himself had a key.

 

[saysalice]

She was cold, she was wet, and she ached. Her body rocked on the damp parka on the floor of the van each time they hit a bump - and they seemed to be hitting more and more of them. Where the hell was he taking her? Her muscles ached with the strain of holding this miserable position for so long - she could not stretch, she could hardly breathe, and her fingers and toes were cold and tingly-numb. She clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to keep the blood flowing.

They were minor discomforts really, but now that she understood what was happening and no longer feared for her life, she had little else to focus on.

That's what she told herself.

She sighed impatiently as she tried and failed again to find a comfortable position in the hogtie. She was going to scream at Nick, when she saw him. When he came for her. What kind of idiot trouble had he got himself into, that had culminated in this insanity? Why was she a part of this? It wasn't Nick in the back of a van, headed off to God knows where with a couple of jovial thugs. She was being punished for his mistakes, and she would demand he tell her everything...and she would make damn sure he felt it, too. How traumatized she had been by all of this. Sure, she was okay - not really harmed, but they had really scared her. When they had -

She remembered the feel of his - Cal's - erection, pressing into her ass. When she'd thought that he would rape her and kill her. She was shivering, and she took several deep breaths to make herself stop.

Yes. She would make sure that Nick -

bump

bump

bump

She felt each one under her ribs, and she grunted irritably through the tape as she was jostled roughly around the back of the van, sliding and rolling into a corner, tangled up in the parka, without her hands or feet to stop her.

This was really too much.

But then they had stopped again. They were here. The second location. Annalise felt a stab of terror before she caught herself, made herself remember. It was about money. Money. And they had money. It might not buy happiness, but it could buy her. Buy her back.

She raised her head as she heard the rattle of the back door opening. A whiff of cold, fresh night air, and black on black as their silhouettes filled the frame, with only the pale milk glass gleam of moonlight on their wet teeth as they smiled down at her. She whined at them, and then they were hauling her out in a bundle with the parka - several minutes of suffocating on own hot breath, swathed in thick wet goose down - feeling their hands, careless but not cruel on her body - feeling the chill in the air through her thin blouse, and their unsteady gaits as they carried her between them across a spanse of uneven ground.

Where were they taking her?

There was no change in temperature, and no talking now, so it wasn't until she felt them shift to put her down, and felt the bed under her that she realized she'd been taken indoors. Cal pulled the parka from her face and head, and she could hear rain pattering on a metal roof, and also dripping in several places, much closer - into the dirt. She glanced around to take in her surroundings, and noted the dirt floor, first. The brick walls. Then her face pinched on an acrid twinge in her nostrils, and she lifted her head to look at the bed she was on. He was babbling on with some nonsense like a genial host, and the dappling of moonlight filtering through holes in the rusted-out roof revealed dark stains on the mattress, on the blanket her face had been buried in. Annalise flinched away, recoiling in disgust when a sudden dull ringing sound like a dented bell made her look up at him.

She had time to register the bucket - and then the toilet paper next to it, and to understand, cringing - before the more worrisome detail impressed itself upon her. The other man had left. She was alone with Cal again, in the dark. Whatever this space was, it was his.

He took out a knife. She could see the blade, even in the dim light - the jagged edge, the sharp pointed tip - and she looked away abruptly as he approached her on the bed. She felt cold all the way through - numb, petrified - unable to even form a coherent thought. He leaned over her and tugged firmly on the cable ties, making her taxed muscles scream in agony, and then she felt him pulling the knife through her bonds. Her chest ached as she wheezed on a relieved breath, even as her dead limbs thumped unceremoniously to the mattress, the blood rushing back to her extremities - and with it, a flood of unpleasant sensations - the burning ache in her joints, the prickle-fire of circulation returning to her hands and feet.

She didn't move - not even to flex her cold fingers. He was speaking again, and now he had her full attention. He had that knife.

She snuffled a whimper at him as he turned her over onto her back and made quick work of her flimsy blouse, reducing it to tatters as she stared fearfully up at him. She had thought she had it all figured out, she'd thought she knew what this was, and how it was going to go. He wasn't supposed to do this, she thought, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes as he ripped the blouse from her and proceeded to slide the blade under one shoulder strap of her bra. If he could do this -

"...you are a dirty little bitch," he was saying. Somehow, she could still manage indignation, and her nostrils flared as she scowled up at him.

It wasn't just pillow talk.

"I've watched you spin your web of deceit," as he pulled at her bra impatiently, hard enough to hurt before it gave way and joined her blouse in the dirt.

She was shivering. It wasn't just her bare skin, or her naked breasts.

He hardly glanced at her. Commenting as he positioned her, putting her facedown into that awful coverlet. She heard his voice over her own grunting and retching.

"Oh I've already seen everything you've got. I've watched it getting fucked in the back of a car."

For one stunned moment, even as she felt him jerking her jeans down over her hips, and then the thong in a single quick, frighteningly practiced movement, Annalise felt her heart pounding wildly in her chest as a surreal, deep, very domestic anxiety rose and rose, making her light-headed.

Peter.

She felt her cunt twitch in memory as she recalled the feel of his cock, thick and deep and rigid inside her as she had bounced in his lap - one bony knee wedged uncomfortably in the narrow space between the seat and the car door, the top of her head barely clearing the gently contoured roof and dome light of his cramped Mazda. She had clung to him with her arms around his neck, had felt his large gentle hands cradling her hips, easing her into his rhythm as he kissed her neck hotly - and he had cried out, hoarse in her ear when he came. After hours in the dark parking lot of the school where he taught History. Two Tuesdays ago.

She had only ever, ever fucked Peter in the back of a car.

Incredibly, she felt a warmth in her cheeks as Cal tugged her tight jeans down her legs. He was stripping her on this horrid bed, and she was blushing. He knew about Peter.

And then she felt his hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her down into a lewd position, and she wailed through her nose over the tape, mortified as she felt her hips lift, and knew she was exposing herself to him. What must she look like, to him? Little cat in heat. It wasn't supposed to go this way - it was about money.

She lowered her head in spite of the wad of crusty, musty blanket in her face, and screwed her eyes shut and waited, moaning low in her throat. He still had that deadly-serious knife, she reminded herself.

just live

- but there wasn't the wild insistence there had been, before. She had to be brave, she just had to endure this. He couldn't kill her and still get paid. She could live through this.

She was trembling, and she couldn't stop.

The first thrust of his cock would be the worst of it. Whatever he wanted, whatever he did to her after that

dirty little bitch

she could endure it. No harm done - not - not really. She just -

A strangled cry wavered up from the head of the bed as she felt the cold flat blade sliding into her, knowing immediately that it wasn't his cock - almost at once, that it was his knife, and she started to shiver and felt the sharp point dig into her - inside her - with the movement, and she went utterly still.

She pressed her palms into the mattress, then clawed the fingers of one hand into her hair, making a tight fist in her tangled curls to counter the instinctive urge to try to fight him, or to wrench away as she felt him push it in deeper.

The guttural, gratified noise he made seemed to stretch out long in the tiny room. Time stood still and all she knew was the feel of the knife inside her, the tight control she fought to keep over every inch of her body, and the sound - that sound - of his voice. When it stopped, she became aware of another voice - her own intermittent, fearful whimpers through the tape. The two noises together echoed in her memory, a disturbing combination.

Then just as quick, he slipped it out and his hand was in her hair, jerking her up off the bed, half dragging her across the dirt floor as she whined, stumbling on wobbly legs, trying to keep up.

He was making some vague, growly threats as he let her go and she felt herself beginning to tremble again, belatedly. Watching blankly as he walked out, closing the door behind him, and she heard him lock it from the outside.

He hadn't - hadn't - raped her. But he had -

She was shuddering so violently that she wasn't sure her legs would hold her upright. She glanced at the bed...and then opted to sink to her knees in the dirt, right where she was.

She couldn't even think.

After a number of minutes had passed, she had the presence of mind to raise her fingers to her face and peel off the strip of packing tape, and to cough up the rag in her mouth. She let them drop to the ground.

He had left her nothing - not the parka, not what was left of her clothes. Just the bed. The bucket. The roll of toilet paper - and - She spied the water bottle and crawled over to it. Her mouth was very dry, and she gulped several large, cold swallows, knowing she was only further dropping her body temperature, knowing she should ration what she had, in case it was all he allowed her. In case he kept her here for longer than expected. Her gaze lit on the bucket and then flitted away.

She recapped the bottle and wrapped her arms around herself and tried to make sense of everything. But her mind kept returning to one maddeningly insignificant thought:

he knows about Peter

I have been watching you

Of course, it shouldn't have surprised her, that he'd stumbled upon the affair. She was careful, but - anyone paying the slightest attention to her comings and goings would have discovered it, soon enough. He'd picked her up on the walk home from Peter's apartment.

oh I've already seen everything you've got

How long had he been tracking her movements, stalking her, watching her?

and you are a dirty little bitch

Had he seen her, what she did with Peter, just tonight?

Slumming it, Nick would have sneered. Nick or Nick's friends. Their wives. And maybe Anna secretly believed it too, on some level. Her encounters with dear, sweet Peter were reckless little acts of defiance, and the way she fucked him...

dirty little bitch

But Nick -

he knows me

Nick had no idea.

better than my husband knows me

She stifled another little shudder and hugged herself, hard enough to hurt. Not true. He knew one thing. It had worked out to his convenience - her stealth, slipping away tonight as she did, while no one was watching. That was all.

When she thought she could trust her legs again, she pushed up to her feet and stepped hesitantly back to the door. Locked, of course. She ran her fingers lightly over the rough wood - and then, on impulse, hammered one of her fists hard against it.

"Cal?" Her voice was oddly dampened in the small space, and she strained to make herself heard. "Cal - ?"

She stopped. He might not like it, her using his name.

She thumped again, feeling tiny splinters pricking the heel of her palm. "Hey! Wait - come back! Please?"

She felt the edge of panic creeping in as she listened to the resounding silence. She was beginning to shiver with the cold, her skin crawling with gooseflesh as her body heat leached away. She resisted the urge to look back at the bed, but could see it clearly in her mind as she pounded again, and cried out, her voice cracking:

"Hey - somebody? Cal?"

What had happened, on that bed? Some of the stains were identifiable...the rest, she could only guess at. What had happened, in this miserable little shed? If he was only in the business of kidnapping pretty, rich men's wives for ransom, why were there stains - some of them blood stains, some of them large - on the bedding?

She pounded with both fists until the small bones in her hands and wrists ached.

"Someone? Someone - PLEASE! Let me out!"

A darker fear teased at her, like wisps of black smoke at the edges of her mind, as she remembered his last warning to her. This was quickly bordering on an unholy racket...

pointless

...but she couldn't stop.

 

[SomewhatPsycho]

Cal drove for about fifteen minutes to his carefully selected penthouse flat, equidistant from his two main bases of operation. It was nothing spectacular but had to be the top floor so it was not overlooked. It had to be the only flat on that floor, so sound did not carry through. The building had to be made of concrete, with thick partitions. It had to be both easy to secure and not impossible to escape from. It had been chosen with care and Cal would not move on if he didn't have to.

What he had acquired was a large open space with the industrial feel of concrete floors, exposed brickwork and stark white paint. Most of the space was an open plan living space comprised of a sleeping area, galley kitchen/diner and lounge. The bath/shower room was the only enclosed space. On the edge of suburban Glasgow, the windows were five floors up and looked out onto woodland. There were routes up onto the roof and down an external fire escape. It was pretty much perfect.

Cal exited the building's underground car park and took an elevator to the fifth floor. He exited to be met with a standard looking apartment door that was actually toughened with steel and boasted some very impressive deadlocks. His key was coded to the door - much like a car key - and no replica would open it. Cal walked into his flat and straight past the naked kneeling girl in the hallway. He shrugged off his coat and poured himself a drink, wired after the evening's activities.

If he had ever known her name it had been long forgotten. She had come with a shipment from Moldova; drugs and sex slaves. Cal had been idly putting her through her paces when he realised that she wasn't uttering a single English word. Most of them knew 'stop, no, please, help' and words to that effects but everything this girl said was incomprehensible to him. She fought so hard too. Most of them were resigned already by that point in their journey but this girl had kicked and yelled with every ounce of her strength. Cal's interest became piqued.

There were any amount of girls who tried to win his favour in the vain hope that their lives would be less tragic for it but it was always pointless. Cal viewed himself as a puritanical brand of sadist in that he had no interest in fucking or abusing women who consented - on whatever level of coercion. If he wasn't putting a girl through a genuinely harrowing ordeal he was left unsated. So he had taken the Moldovan girl home, safe in the knowledge that she couldn't escape, that she couldn't understand anything she said on the phone or to associates and that nobody in that building would hear her scream.

He made very little effort to 'train' her. Capricious and malevolent in the extreme, there was no right way to behave around Cal. Most of what she figured out about him and his needs was common sense and intuition. He did not collar her. Collaring her would suggest that he wanted to keep her. He did not really interact with her at all, unless he was using her as an outlet. For months he had beaten and raped her with impunity. He had degraded and humiliated her without having to utter a single word in her language. He had terrorized and traumatised her beyond all recognition.

And that was the problem.

She was finally reaching the tipping point. Her pain, fear and degradation were slowly giving way to abject dead-eyed resignation. She had stopped trying to kill him or escape him a month or two ago. Oh, how he missed those days and the fun he had had rewarding her for her efforts. Now he could hardly look at her. He was going to have to dispose of her, she was too used up to make him any money as a whore. Disposing of her would take planning and effort however and Cal had yet to spot a replacement from among the girls that passed through his hands. He was so jaded that very little cunt could spark his interest and hold it for longer than a violent fuck.

Cal sank down onto his couch and swallowed some single malt. He cast his mind back to Annalise. She had that quirky goth thing going that always caught his eye. Pale skin that would mark the moment he glared at it. Watching her run rings round her husband the last few weeks, the glimpse he'd had into her life, it was something he hadn't done for a very long time. Certainly he'd never been attracted to a mark before. He wondered if hubby was missing her yet. What would he pay to get her back?

"Cunt?"

Cal found the girl in the kitchen area endeavouring to look busy. He approached her silently from behind and trapped her against the countertop. Cal pushed her face down and leaned one arm on the back of her neck. He didn't want to see her disgust or resignation. The he did something he hadn't in weeks and started circling her clit with one finger. There was nothing he didn't know about her body and pretty soon the juices started flowing. Cal relaxed his grip on her neck and let her arch into it as her arousal built. In a total departure from his usual MO, he inflicted no pain or discomfort beyond restraining her enough to convey that - as ever - he brooked no argument.

When she was close, he picked the girl up and carried her bruised little body over to his armchair. She was not usually permitted to sit on his furniture. He sat her on his lap and gave her the whiskey bottle, watching her eye him warily for any sign of a trick. She sipped and coughed. Cal took a pull on the bottle and handed it back to her. Once she'd had a couple of swallows, Cal set the bottle aside and pulled her head down, kissing her. The little bitch's whole body tensed in shock but after a moment she reciprocated clumsily, too scared of him to do otherwise.

Cal began to get frustrated. He recalled with exquisite clarity the vision that had been Annalise astride her lover in that car. She had fucked that boyfriend like it was the end of the world, sucking down his kisses like air. He could remember her pale tits bouncing as her tight little arse worked up and down, her back arching as she got close.

'Cunt,' as he had christened his Moldovan housepet - was a very poor substitute and she might hate his bones but Cal was still the only human contact she had had for over six months. He was confident she'd get the idea given a few more pointers and she had nothing left to lose but her life, something he cheapened daily. Cal lifted her off of his lap and made her stand on the arms of his chair. He grabbed her hips and pulled her onto his face. Cal went nuts on her abused pussy until she was bucking and whimpering. He swigged some more whiskey, poured more down her throat and kissed her again. This time her response was more abandoned. Cal sucked her tits while he wriggled out of his clothes, his T shirt flying across the room as he pulled cunt down onto his thick, rigid 12 inch uncut cock. Instead of slamming her down onto him and watching her squeal, Cal eased her into it with as much gentleness as he was ever going to muster. He lifted her hips and dropped them again, encouraging her to ride him. Cunt almost never had control of the action. For his part, Cal could hardly remember when he'd last been fucked by a wet, willing pussy. His thumb snaked down to strum her clit and he kissed her again.

Cunt started riding him, rubbing her clit hard against his thumb with each thrust. Cal contented himself with grinding up into her. He kissed her hard and closed his eyes, her tits bouncing in his face as cunt began to realise she really was getting a free orgasm.

"Come on Annalise, fuck me." Cal whispered into cunt's uncomprehending ear "Your auld man's watching... watching you whore for me." Cunt's moans got louder and Cal urged her down deeper and harder onto him, again stopping short of force. "Cum for me you little slut... come on my fucking cock." He kissed her again and she was right on the brink, her tongue writhing against his own.

"Fuck!"

Cal yanked cunt down, slamming her right down his shaft and spraying cum into her. Her head went back and she arched and spasmed into her own climax. Cal held her in place for exactly as long as it took him to cum, then lifted her off of him while she was still mid orgasm and dumped her onto his concrete floor. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and stuffed his slimy, deflating cock into her mouth so she could clean it. Cal rose and kicked her hard in the chest, to send her skittering out of his way. He crossed the room and fetched his cellphone, totally ignoring the progress of the trembling naked cunt licking droplets of his cum up from his floor and his chair.

He sat and composed himself, wondering how Annalise's husband was going to react.

Suddenly his screen flashed and the phone vibrated. Ben was calling.

"What?"

"She's gone mental, pal. Hasnae stopped in half an 'oor." Cal heard the phone being moved away from Ben's ear and then the unmistakeable sounds of an abducted woman screeching for help. "What do you want to do?"

Oh there were lots of things Cal wanted to do, even sated as he currently was for the moment. He gave his instructions and then hung up the phone. Cal allowed himself another two fingers of single malt before he made the call.

"Nicky boy! I'd return this call if I were you. I'd return it a whole lot faster than ma money's coming back in."

Ben approached Annalise's little prison, clutching the key Cal had left with him overnight. He pushed open the door and filled the doorway, before closing it behind him. He grabbed Annalise by the throat and brought her to her knees with minimal effort.

"Worn your'sen out haven't you?" He chuckled. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and tipped her head upwards. "I've been told to shut you up... Cal wasn't specific as to how." He freed his very thick ten inch cock and dragged Annalise until he head was against the nearest wall.

"You should put out your tongue... no? Fine."

He jammed his thumb into the side of her cheek to wedge her jaw open. She had to open as wide as possible to even take him at all.

"I'm going to render you fucking mute."

Ben slammed into her throat, smacking her head back into the wall with every attempt to get in deeper.

"Fuck yeah, take it all bitch"

He proceeded to grip her head and skull fuck her into near unconsciousness and concussion against the wall. When he finally pulled out, Annalise was a retching, twitching mess and collapsed as he sprayed his load down her throat. Ben tossed her onto the bunk and put her wrists through the metal bedframe to duct tape them through the headboard. He then taped up her mouth for good measure and tossed the rancid bedding onto her.

 

[saysalice]

Nicholas Sterling sighed as his call went to voicemail after the fourth ring.

He listened to the smile in his wife's voice.

"Heyyy, it's Annalise. I'm not available to take your call, so please leave me a message. Thanks. Bye!"

He spoke quietly into the phone as he slammed his door shut and the car glided smoothly away from the curb.

"I had hoped I would see you, in Arrivals. I just got in, I'm on my way. The way Brendan's driving tonight, he must have someone waiting up for him at home. I should be there in about twenty minutes."

He paused, and his voice dropped another decibel or two as he continued, "I brought you back a bottle of La Fuga. I know it's late, but...I thought maybe we could stay up, order some Pad Thai from that place you wanted to try, have a drink, and...and talk."

There was an uncharacteristic hesitance in his tone that his business colleagues would have been unnerved to hear. His call waiting beeped, startling him. It beeped again before he could think of something to say to fill the silence.

"I've...missed you, Anna." He cleared his throat and took a breath. "I know we -"

The other line beeped insistently in his ear, and he sighed and pulled back to frown at the screen irritably. Who in the hell - ?

His nostrils flared as he registered the number of the incoming call.

He brought the phone shakily back to his ear and gabbled in a rush: "I - I'll - be home soon, honey. I love you."

Nick made himself inhale and exhale. He pressed a button on the console to close the partition between the front and back seat. Steeled himself, set his features. Cleared his throat and tapped the screen to accept the call. His tone was perhaps tellingly brusque on his first words.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Hello?" Impatiently, and a little too loud, to drown out the beating of his heart.

He was talking to dead air.

He drew back again, thumbing the button to illuminate the timed-out screen. One missed call. He let out a long, slow breath.

He watched for several seconds to see if there would be a call back. When the voicemail icon popped up with a chime, startling him, he immediately turned off his screen.

One new message. He couldn't pretend he hadn't seen it.

He slipped his phone into his coat pocket and stared at his ghost-pale reflection in the tinted glass.

At the condo, Brendan offered to help with his luggage, but Nicholas waved him off with a distracted smile. He had learned to pack light, and there was just the one bag. He bumped it over the curb and through the doors across the deserted lobby, stepping into the waiting elevator. When he had turned his key and the heavy steel door had wheezed shut and he was utterly alone, he pulled his phone out again.

One new message.

Of course there was. In Nick's experience, Cal was not a man to suffer delays or excuses in patient silence. Gliding noiselessly in the elevator up to the penthouse, Nick wondered briefly if he should play the message now, before he went in. Call him back, if necessary. Deal with it. This last bit of business, tonight.

He was able to dismiss the thought quickly. It was very late, it was - he looked again - it was almost 2:00 am, for Chrissakes. He'd just come off a long flight. He could easily be sound asleep - could easily have been delayed. There were a dozen good reasons he might not answer, at this hour. Whatever it was, surely -

you know what it is

surely it could wait until morning.

He dropped his keys on the ugly little table she'd put in a couple of weeks ago, the one he was still tripping over, and paused to listen as he shrugged out of his overcoat. Nothing. She was asleep, of course. He was disappointed, but in retrospect he realized how self-absorbed it had been, to call her at this hour and expect her to be waiting for him - up for a little late-night heart-to-heart.

He hung up his coat and pushed his suitcase into the closet, reaching into the side pocket to take out the bottle of wine. He would help himself to a glass, anyway, and maybe catch up on some email

or voicemail

- or maybe - maybe the local news, just to unwind a bit, before he joined her. He walked across to the cupboard over the sink to get himself a glass. He was fishing for a corkscrew in a drawer full of kitchen gadgets when his gaze snagged on a thread of light at the end of the dark hallway.

A light was on, in the bedroom.

"Anna?"

He took down another glass and set it on the counter, keeping one eye on the door as he wrestled with the corkscrew.

No answer.

are we still fighting?

He poured himself a glass, then set the bottle down and came around the island to pad quietly down the hall. After only a moment's hesitation, he tapped on the closed door. No answer. He turned the knob silently - maybe she'd fallen asleep, reading. He liked watching her sleep.

The lamp on the bedside table cast a soft glow across the room - plenty bright enough to see that she wasn't there. The bed was still neatly made, unslept in; the door to the en suite bathroom was set wide, but that room was dark. He checked it anyway.

Careless of the noise now as he grew more and more unsettled by the quiet emptiness, he strode down the hall and flung open the door to the guest room, slapping on the overhead light. Untouched.

Frowning, he returned to the front closet to retrieve his phone from his coat pocket. Checked for messages...still just the one. He brought up her cell phone number again and dialed, glancing around at the sparse, shadowy furnishings of the apartment - the stark minimalism that suited their lifestyle so well. Not one piece in this room that didn't fit perfectly, not one thing out of place...except...

"Heyyy, it's Annalise - "

Her purse slouched in the corner next to the fireplace like a skinned, defeated, round-bellied animal that had lain down there to die. Nick frowned at it as he waited through her message.

He fought with the note of impatience, the expectation that crept into his tone.

"It's me again. Ah - I'm here, I'm home...and you're...not." He caught sight of his own drooping posture in the floor-to-ceiling windows, and his spine stiffened, straightening to his full height.

"Maybe...you're out with Sylvie. Some gallery thing." He cleared his throat. "Look, Anna - it's really late, and I - I'd like you home."

He stopped again. She wouldn't appreciate that. He sighed into the phone. "Just - call me - or text me, will you? Let me know you're all right. Okay. Bye."

He grimaced at the dark screen as he ended the call. It was a fucking gift - some men were born charmers, smooth-talkers, but he always seemed to -

A faint sound - faintly familiar: brisk notes played on a xylophone - made him look up. He held his breath and waited, but it did not come again. He glanced vaguely in the direction he thought it had come from, and his eyes fell again upon her leather hobo bag, gleaming wetly in the dull light. With growing certainty, he crossed the carpet and reached for it, slipping his hand inside.

His fingers closed around the smooth, flat shape of her phone, and he drew it out and turned it over, thumbing the button. The home screen displayed the time: 2:27 AM. Three missed calls. Two voice mail messages.

To go out without her purse was one thing, but to leave without her phone... She always had her phone on her. He had laughed about it - she even took it with her to the bathroom when she was going to have a shower. Angry Birds, she'd smiled, dark lashes fluttering sheepishly. Candy Crush. FarmVille.

Three missed calls.

Nick blinked at the glowing home screen. He swiped a cold finger in a streak across the glass, and was prompted for a password.

One corner of his mouth twitched in reflex. Cute.

*

It had built up gradually. His threats were still ringing in her ears, the memory of his knife in her cunt, too vivid...if he could do that, what couldn't he do? What wouldn't he do to her?

But - in part, it was the delayed reaction, tearing out of her now. The pain she felt raw in her throat as her screams took on a hysterical pitch - jarring her bones as she pounded at the door - the phantom sting of his blade up inside her - they were reminders that she was still alive. She had been silent and meek, only daring to tremble on her fear and shock while in his presence. Now that she was alone, the need to scream at the horror of it was unbearable. Her own sounds - these wild keening notes she had never voiced in her life, reverberating from the solid door back into her face - only fed into her mindless panic, catching her up in a dangerous downward spiral.

Her voice cracked and warbled on the strain. Her hands and wrists throbbed, and her arms ached, hanging heavy with fatigue. Still, she croaked her pleas and thumped at the door with her bare toes. He wasn't coming back, she knew it. Perhaps believing it made her reckless enough to scream like this.

After an age, she stopped. Dropped down onto the dirt floor, still preferring it to the bed. Hugged her arms around herself and lowered her head into the crook of her elbow, shivering as hot tears trickled down her face. Nick would come for her soon. Whatever money he owed, Cal was eager enough for it that he was willing to do this desperate thing. He wouldn't waste time - he would call Nicholas, and Nick would - Nick would move heaven and earth to get her back.

She just had to wait, and not be -

Annalise caught her breath as a sound at the door interrupted her thoughts. She lifted her head, eyes widening as she registered the rattle and scrape of a key turning in the rusty padlock. She tried to scramble to her feet as the door opened, but wavered in her exhaustion and could only manage a crouch, like an animal cornered in its cage.

She hadn't considered what he might do to her, if her noise brought him back.

The shape in the doorway was wrong, she knew before he had stepped through that it wasn't Cal, but his companion from the van. The realization brought no comfort - this was a friend or associate who would cheerfully help him kidnap and terrorize a rich man's wife. She couldn't guess what these men were capable of.

He closed the door, shutting himself in with her, and Annalise scuttled on bare heels like a crab in the dirt to keep her distance as he approached her. Her voice was barely a rasp as she raised one trembly hand, pushing her palm out in his direction.

"Wait - please - just - "

He was laughing at her, and swept her up with a hand around her throat, pulling her to her knees as her voice died in a squeak. Her hands beating at him were palm fronds slapping at rosewood. Her eyes filled with tears as he jerked her head back by the hair.

"I've been told to shut you up... Cal wasn't specific as to how."

slit your throat and dump you in the nearest gutter

She gulped a breath to whine at him, then saw that he was taking his cock out. In his grip, she tried to shake her head as she felt herself being dragged across the dirt and thrust up against a wall.

She tried not to look at it, huge and hard in his fist - and then it was in her face and he was hooking a thumb between her teeth, pulling her face into a grimace to make her open. She tried to bite - reflex, instintinctual - and only hurt her jaw. Then his cock drove into her face, slamming her back against the bricks.

Her body danced under him like a marionette, flailing desperately as he hammered into her without a thought. His hand left her throat and his massive hands held her head steady to plow his cock in, forcing himself deep in her throat. She gasped and retched and choked on the sour burn of her vomit, she clawed at his hips and felt herself folded and crushed under his weight again and again, her skull thumped hard against the bricks - none of it slowed him in the slightest.

Her jaw ached around him, her face ran with tears as he tore into her hitching throat and drool spilled ceaselessly down her chin. She clung to him, arms around his waist like a lover as he slammed her into the wall, even as she felt his whole body tense on a grunt and he shoved his cock in, balls-deep, to come directly down her throat.

Dazed and reeling, she had hardly time to catch her breath before he had gathered her up like a bundle of twigs and thrown her onto the mattress, working quickly with a roll of tape to secure her to the bedframe. He slapped a strip of tape across her face, threw the foul blanket carelessly over her, and then he was out the door and she was alone again.

She couldn't cry; she couldn't lift her head. Waves of dizziness washed over her - the room was teetering and shaking around her. Annalise tried to think: Nick, and couldn't. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the overwhelming darkness.