"Who's The True Victim Here?" (closed)

[Alice2015]

"Who's The True Victim Here?"

CLOSED​

Alice stood for the longest time before the bound and hooded woman, just staring at her, unsure of what to do next. Carl had already left, to go deal with issuing the ransom demands and make arrangements for getaway cars, new IDs, so on, and such forth.

This was a bad idea, she told herself for the umpteenth time. A very, very, very bad idea.

Alice hadn't started yesterday with the plan of kidnapping an heiress to a fortune. That had been her fiancée's idea. Well, boyfriend, anyway; he'd proposed to her almost a year ago and given her this tiny quarter carat diamond on a 10 carat gold band, something that looked more like a high school promise ring than an engagement ring. Then last week, he'd taken the ring to get cleaned -- or so he'd said -- and came back without it. Alice confronted him about it when she realized that the rest of her jewelry, her laptop, their big screen television, and more were all gone. Carl had told her he needed cash to finance a business opportunity, which of course was this great kidnapping caper of his.

Carl had learned that their target was going to be partying with friends at The Pitstop, the typically crowded sports bar at which he worked. It was popular with the college crowd who watched the games on the multiple big screen televisions, then picked up on each other for quickies, mostly in the back seats of their cars or the cheap motels down the road near the coliseum.

That was how Carl got close to the rich bitch as he called her. The rich bitch this, the rich bitch that. Alice didn't know anything about her except for what she'd read on the young woman's Facebook, Instagram, and other social media accounts in the last 10 hours that she'd been watching over her.

Ten hours, Alice wondered, checking the clock on her phone. What the hell did Carl give her?

The night before, they'd managed to get close to the rich bitch while she was drinking and dancing, and Carl slipped something into her drink before he handed it to her. After that, it had simply been a matter of Alice waiting for her to go down the hall toward the bathroom, then guide her out the back door of the bar for some badly needed fresh air. Alice had directed the totally mind-zonked girl to Carl's car, parked just out of sight of the outdoor security camera. Once the young woman was sitting in the car and drifting toward unconsciousness, Alice's work was done; she only had to sit there until Carl's shift ended and he came out to drive them away to this abandoned house, where the rich bitch had spent the last 7 hours bound to a chair and barely moving.

Which brought Alice back to her dilemma: what to do now. The woman had regained consciousness and was now demanding to know what had happened to her. And without Carl here, Alice didn't know what to do.

 

[LizVegas79]

Jordan didn't know where she was, but wherever it was wasn't good.

She had been stripped down to her bra and panties and she was freezing. The sound of a cheap air conditioner, loud and droning told her she probably wasn't anywhere nice. Fortunately, there seemed to be only one other person with her in the room and it was a woman. A woman who, by the sound of her voice, might be as scared as Jordan was at the moment.

Although she couldn't see a thing, her other senses were quickly filling the void as she slowly came out of whatever drug-induced stupor she had been put in. Her wrists and ankles itched from the course, cheap twine that was binding them together. Her left knee ached perhaps from falling down on it. The muscles in her legs needed stretching which meant she had been sitting in the damn chair she was tied to for quite awhile.

Jordan did a quick check of her other senses. Her ass didn't hurt other than from sitting too long and her kitty didn't hurt either so at least she hadn't been raped while she was unconscious. Perhaps she had the woman to thank for that, but she couldn't be sure.

Thankfully, she hadn't heard the word 'Spic" or anything like that so whatever was going on wasn't racial. So if it wasn't sexual, or racial, she figured whatever mess she was in had to be about money.

The cheap air conditioner probably in a clapboard window, the smell of dank musk and mold, and the sound of trucks down-shifting and testing their brakes in the distance led her to believe she was in some crap-ass motel on the down slope off some interstate.

It certainly wasn't her first crap-ass motel.

As a child she had followed her father on tour criss-crossing the country at least a dozen times. Slowly, as her father's band got more and more famous, the motel rooms got better.

The first time the band was able to afford to stay in a hotel she actually cried for happiness.

The hotel rooms got nicer and nicer until she was 19. Until the attack that her father chose not to believe happened caused a huge wall in her heart to grow between them.

"Please ... I'm so cold," she begged. "My name's Jordan. I promise, I'm a nice person and ... I can tell by the sound of your voice that you are too. If you could just throw a blanket, or maybe some towels over me I'd really, really appreciate it. I'm so cold. Please. Do you want money? I can get it. I just ... I can't even think because I'm so cold."

 

[Alice2015]

"Please ... I'm so cold."

Alice nearly leaped out of her skin at the sound of Jordan's voice. She'd known the woman was returning to consciousness, but Jordan had gone from silence to a coherent sentence without any of the moaning and mumbling you saw in the movies and on television. I am NOT cut out for this! she thought to herself.

"My name's Jordan. I promise, I'm a nice person and ... I can tell by the sound of your voice that you are too."

Yeah, remember that at my parole hearing in 20 years, Alice thought. She was so sure that this was going to end up with her behind bars. Or worse, dead. Actually, dead might be better if all those prison movies and series were right.

The sound of my voice...? Alice suddenly thought. She looked to an old three-legged desk leaning up against the wall and to the cell phone sitting on it. Alice had been talking to Carl earlier, and Jordan must have heard her. Did she hear any of the plan? Alice began to panic. No. No, I didn't say anything like that. Just "yes" and "no" and "I understand" and "get back as soon as you can." But Alice knew she was going to have to be more careful in the future.

"If you could just throw a blanket, or maybe some towels over me I'd really, really appreciate it. I'm so cold. Please. Do you want money? I can get it. I just ... I can't even think because I'm so cold."

Alice looked Jordan's nearly naked body over and understood her complaint. She hadn't wanted to strip the girl, but Carl had made her do it.

"We have to know if she's got one of those chips," he said, already beginning to unbutton and unzip Jordan's clothes. "You know, like they put in dogs for when they get lost, but, for kidnappings instead."

Alice had understood what Carl was saying, and she'd helped. As Jordan's body became more and more exposed, Alice had noticed how physically beautiful and perfect she was. She'd also noticed Carl's eyes taking in Jordan's pert nipples and round ass and panty-encased folds. Oh, Alice's body was nice, too; Carl always told her so, usually as a pretext to get her naked and fuck, something he liked to do far more often than she did. Alice was fine with once or twice or three times a month, particularly since Carl rarely if ever did it for her, like she did for him. But, she loved him and knew -- or hoped -- he loved her, too, so parting her thighs and even opening her mouth for him, well, that was love, right?

"What are you doing?" she'd asked Carl with surprise, though, when he began pawing his hands all of their hostage's body.

"Looking for the chip?" he responded. "It'll be under her skin, hidden. What, did you think there was going to be a little sign that said secret location chip located here for easy removal by kidnappers? Think, Alice!"

That had hurt her feelings, but then, it wasn't the first time he'd said something with a ridiculing tone. Carl wasn't verbally abusive, per se; he could just be hard sometimes. Alice had expressed her understanding and had even begun to help, running her hands over Jordan's legs and arms, looking for the device or some evidence of an implant scar. But when Carl snapped loose Jordan's bra and began to pull it off her shoulders, well, that had been enough. She snapped, and when Carl told her it had to be done, she demanded he go in the other room.

"I'll do it!" she demanded. When he tried to say she didn't know what she was looking for, Alice told him flatly, "You touch her like you like to touch me, and I'm outta here and you can do this on your fucking own!"

Carl had thrown his hands up in surrender and backed away. But he wouldn't leave the room; he demanded on watching, to ensure Alice checked every where. She hadn't liked it -- she'd had to remove Jordan's panties and check around her private area -- but she would have liked Carl doing it even less.

When they were done, Alice reached for Jordan's clothes, but Carl quickly told her, "No. Just the panties."

"Why?" Alice had asked with disbelief, once again jealous.

"Because it will make her think twice before escaping if she's--"

"I'm putting her bra on, too!" Alice had quickly cut in. They'd argued, but Alice had won. Carl had offered to help, but Alice got it done. He returned closer to help tie Jordan to the chair, and when he asked if she would be fine alone, Alice was happy to tell him, "Of course. Go take care of business."

Now, listening to Jordan speak of how cold it was, Alice could empathize. She was almost always colder than those around her, even dressed as she was now in a tank top, button up, and cardigan, not to mention the leggings under her mid-thigh length skirt. She looked around the room, then said with a disappointing tone told Jordan, "There's just the blanket from our bed."

Alice could have let Jordan have her clothes back, of course. But Carl had said no. She stripped the little twin bed mattress on the floor that Carl had brought here for them, wrapped the sheet around Jordan's lower body and the blanket around her top half, then stepped back.

 

[LizVegas79]

"Oh my God ... thank you soooo much!" Jordan whispered as she tried to shrink her long, lean, nearly naked body into what little warmth the blanket afforded her. "I've been living in Vegas so long I think I'm actually allergic to the cold," she added with a thin, but grateful smile.

Trying to laugh at her own bad joke helped relieve a little stress. But when she got zero response from her captor, the stress dial went straight back up to ten.

What little of the phone conversation she had heard when she was slowly coming out of her stupor didn't make much sense. But pretending to still be out of it had bought her a little time and provided at least a little useful information hopefully..

As the fog lifted from her brain and her senses came alive she could tell she was with someone who didn't want to be there anymore than she did.

"I guess we're not in Vegas anymore though, huh?" she asked in what she hoped sounded like a casual tone.

Still nothing. Zip. Nada.

So it was going to be a waiting game, huh? Well, Jordan could play that game. Except that she knew she really couldn't. 'Impulsive' was possibly one of the defining characteristics of her personality.

Maybe it was time to stop skating by in life on her looks and famous for being famous persona. But this certainly wasn't the time for another one of her soul-crushing anxiety attacks or secret self-loathing meltdowns. She couldn't even use her fingers to wrap the blanket around her tighter because her hands were tied.

She was completely helpless, but it suddenly hit her - she only had herself to rely on now.

She had to stop shivering so should could think. And it seemed the only way to do that was to try to talk. If she was lucky, her captor would reply. Even the slightest warm breath on my skin would feel like mercy at this point, she thought to herself.

She took a deep breath and sighed. The only sound in the room was the rattling hum of the old air conditioner. Jordan's intuition, her rather razor sharp intuition that had come from years of living on the road and her mother's witchy-gypsy heritage, told her that someone else was not only in the room with her, they were only a mere three or four feet from her and staring right thru her.

She wiggled her shoulders in a futile effort to get the blanket to fall around her a little tighter.

"Could you please maybe snug this blanket around me a little tighter?" she begged after clearing her throat. "I'd do it myself, but, well, someone tied my hands behind my back."

Nothing. Zip. Nada. Again.

"Look, I wasn't kidding. I can get you some money. My father is kind of famous. I haven't talked with him in years because of ... well, never mind, let's just leave it at we aren't talking ... but I'm still friends with his lawyer, who is also his money guy. I know his number by heart. I can call him right now if you like. How much do you want? Hello? Please talk to me. I'm so scared. If - if I start to cry I may not be able to stop."

That last part was way too true.

Waaaay too true.

But honesty was all Jordan had left to offer.