The Job (23)

For a moment, shock stifled all movement. She couldn’t see, could barely breathe. For a heartbeat she wondered if Keegan had gotten home ahead of her–but she knew that he would never frighten her this way. Her hands flew up to try to release the pressure on her throat, to gain a quick breath. She tried to kick behind her, but the arm tightened and her focus was solely on breathing.

She was wrestled over to a chair, shoved into it. Rope fell around her securing her tightly. She heard the rasp of velcro, felt the scratch of it on her right wrist. He used it to bind her arm to the chair quickly.

There was another rasp, different from the first. Her left hand was slapped down onto the table, palm up. Something sticky landed across her fingers, keeping her hand flat.

Duct tape.

What the fuck was happening here?

“Please…whoever you are…please…just…my purse is on the table in the hall–take what you want…”

A hard slap against the back of her head was followed by another rasping sound. Her forearm was also taped to the table. My gawd, was he going to drug her? Her heart raced, and she tugged futilely against her bonds.

“Please,” she pleaded, hating the desperate fear in her voice. “Please– just let me go…”

There was a clicking sound that she recognized as the stove burner kicking on, the sharp pungent smell of gas carrying through the cloth bag covering her face. Something metal landed on the stove. He was cooking? What the fuck?


The bar was stocked, the back room ruthlessly organized.

“Not much else to do until the truck gets back here,” Keegan said, taking a drink from the coffee that was kept fresh in the kitchen.

“It totally pisses me off that someone fucked up the order.”

“Maybe it’s time to look for a new distributor?”


Jakob frowned into his cup. He glanced over at his friend who was swirling the dregs of his coffee.

“So…when are you going to ask her?”

Keegan looked up in surprise.

“Ask…her? What?”

Despite himself, he felt the embarrassed flush in his cheeks. For crissake, he was better at controlling himself than this! Still, J was his oldest friend. At the steady knowing look, he sighed.


“Picking out rings? or diamond nipple clamps?”

Keegan snorted.

“oh yeah, that’d go over well. Mandy will you marry me and wear my diamond nipple clamps as a sign of …” he broke off, laughing at the mental image that presented.

“You’re right about that. She won’t take any shit from you. Are you sure?”

“Hell, sure, I’m sure. Dammit, J, she’s got me. Got into me. Not certain when or how it happened…but–”

“But it happened. I’m happy for you. For her and you. You’re kind of an asshole, so I guess I’m happier for her.”

He socked his friend on the shoulder.

“So, when are you going to ask her? Mr. Romance and all that shit?”

Keegan laughed.

“No one–ever–has called me Mr. Romance. Wait. Are you jealous?”

“No!” Jakob was quick to disclaim. “I like Mandy just fine, and I’m sure she’d be a terrific submissive. But I’m not currently in the market for the old ball and chain. Not even for the collar and ball gag.”

“No, no, no,” Keegan interrupted. His face was serious but his eyes were alight with mischief. “Did you think–”

He paused.

Keegan stared at him blankly.

“Did you think that I should be asking you to marry me?”

Jakob looked at his friend and erupted into crying. His hands covered his face as he bent over sobbing. In seconds, he stood back up, and poked Keegan hard in the belly.

“You ass.”

Then he doubled over again in hysterical laughter.

Keegan shook his head.

“You’re a sick fuck. You know that.”

“You’re a sick fuck too. That’s why we’re ….friends. Special friends.” Jakob grabbed at his belly, laughing loudly.

“I’m going to go….someplace else. I don’t know where else. But someplace. Where you aren’t.”

With great dignity, Keegan left the room, closing the door, ever so slowly and quietly behind him, which sent Jakob off into gales of hysteria once more.


“Your 3:00 is here, Sir.”

Mish held the door open a bit wider, but waited for Jakob to dismiss her. A tall redhead stood in the entryway to his office. He couldn’t quite peg her. She wore jeans, a scuffed leather jacket, and her hair was contained in a neat ponytail. Her makeup was light, tasteful.

“And you are?” He asked. He had his schedule on his computer in front of him and there had not been an 3:00 appointment scheduled.

“I’m Savannah, Savannah Thompson. Your –” she turned to wave a hand at Mish, who was in her traditional black outfit; tight corset, fishnets, black killer stiletto’s with metal spiked heels, and heavy Goth make-up. “–girl said it would be okay to meet with you since you were on premises.”

“You may go, Mish. Thank you.”

He turned back to the redhead. She was a looker, that was for certain.

“Please, sit. How can I help you?”

“Your bartender sucks. Specifically the scruffy headed guy who works on Saturday’s? He’s rude, his drinks are inconsistent, and poorly made at best. I’m a hell of a lot better than him–and I happen to have an opening in my schedule to squeeze you in.”

He sat back in his chair, admiring her nerve as well as her looks. She met him eye for eye, calm and serene,  as if she really was doing him a favor.


Keegan pressed the redial button on his phone. Again. Three times, and no answer. Maybe Mandy was still in the store. Sometimes the reception in the deli area wasn’t good, and he’d asked her pick up some meats for dinner. He was in the mood for a thick roast beef sandwich, piled high with tomatoes, and melted Havarti-with-dill cheese slices. He hung up when her voice mail came on. He’d try again later.


“This is going to hurt. A lot.”

The voice was raspy and just behind her. Again, panic had her tugging at her hands, trying to gain her release. The smell of something hot came to her, a moment before that screaming heat was laid on her wrist. An animal cry of pain erupted from her– but his hand covered her mouth, effectively muffling her cries. It wouldn’t matter anyway, her neighbors all worked. She tried to move away from the searing pain, but could not even wriggle her fingers.

Whatever he had put on her moved away, and she heard the stove snick to “off”.  The faucet went on, a sharp hiss when the hot object hit the cold water. Drawers opened and closed as he searched for something. A moment later, a cold, wet cloth was laid over the burning pain of her wrist.

“There now, that’s not so bad.”

He stroked over the top of her head.

“You fucking Bastard.”

“Good to know that a little bit of heat didn’t dampen your spirits. It makes it much more fun to break the spirited girls.”

She tried to place the voice, but with the bag distorting sound, and the strange whispery tone he was using she couldn’t quite place it. It sounded a bit like the asshole who’d attacked her in the bathroom. Could it be Malcolm? Would he be so bold? Had he, in fact, been the one to attack Fae? Her mental ramblings were interrupted by his hands loosening her bindings. He tugged her to her feet, subduing her feeble attempt to strike at him. The movement of her left wrist reignited the burning pain.

He dragged her into the bedroom and threw her onto the bed. Again she fought through the pain, fought as hard as she could. He sat on her and wrapped his hand over her burned wrist, squeezing until she cried. Quickly he wrapped a rope around the painfully hurting area, securing it to the headboard. Any tug caused instant pain.

His hands slipped up under her sweatshirt, squeezing her breasts painfully.

“Where are your toys?”

She remained silent, but his fingers plucked at her nipple, squeezing it roughly.

“Where. Are. Your. Toys.”

Each word was punctuated by a brutal pinch. She whimpered, writhing despite her secured wrist.


“Where is it?”

“BathROOOM!” She shrieked as his fingers dug into her breast, the moons of his nails cutting painfully into the skin.

He rose from the bed, and she heard him crossing the room. With her free hand she tugged the hood from her head, gasping in quick gulps of air. Finally! Deep breaths. She heard a drawer slam and then froze in shock as he stepped into view.


“Where is it?”

He took a threatening step forward. Her mind raced, even as she trembled in fear. She could loosen the knot and get free–if she could get just a few moments to get at it. He moved across the room and reached into a bag she had not noticed. Pulling something from it, he turned and slapped it hard on her thighs. The long rubber strands sent a shockwave of pain through her. Her cries of pain became gasps as he hit her a second time. The idea bloomed even as she screamed when the whip landed again. She felt her jeans rip with the force of the impact.

“PLEASE!” she yelled. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!”

He paused, breathing hard.

“It’s in the bathroom. You have to close the door all the way to get the drawer open. It’s right behind the door, the bottom drawer there. It’s under the facecloths.”

“You better not be telling me a lie, cunt,” he growled, shaking the whip at her. He strode to the bathroom and shut the door. She turned, fingers shaking, to work at the knot holding her throbbing wrist to the bed.


6 thoughts on “The Job (23)

  1. oh that bastard is dead! and come on “someone” cancelled the liquor order, how can they not smell the set up?… geesh

I'm so glad you took the time to leave some words!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.