Dark Obsessions - Volume 2: Four Dark, Delicious Capture Fantasies

by Claire Thompson

  Horton waved toward Wes and Jed. “Dan, you remember Jed from the Business Alliance meetings. And this is the young man I was telling you about—Tom Cartwright. He’s very interested in a few of our, uh, more lucrative investments down in Mexico and Colombia.”

  “We can discuss that later,” Wallace said quickly, and though he was still smiling, Wes sensed he was annoyed with Bubba for speaking so freely. Yes, something was definitely afoot on this island, beyond pretty girls for hire. “You remember my son, DJ.” Wallace’s son was a clone of his father, with the same curly hair, small, piggy eyes and cruel mouth. Wes took an instant dislike to them both.

  The men were shown to their rooms. More out of habit than anything else, the first thing Wes did after setting down his overnight bag was to check out the room for anything suspicious. Under the guise of putting away his things, Wes performed a methodical search of the bedroom, the closet and the bathroom. He didn’t find any standard bugging devices, but, as he sat on the bed taking visual stock of every detail in the room, he spotted the telltale blink of a tiny red light reflected against the bowl of the light fixture over the bed. He was reasonably sure a video camera was hidden there, probably with an audio component as well.

  He decided not to disable it, as he had no plans to deviate from his Tom Cartwright persona, but it did make him wonder. Just who was being recorded in these rooms, and for what purpose?

  Dinner was a lavish affair served outside beneath trees strung with tiny lights. Wes noted the empty seats as he was directed to his chair. So far the promised sex-starved babes Horton had raved about on the yacht had yet to appear, but sure enough, once the men were seated and their wine poured, a tall, good-looking forty-something woman with auburn hair appeared, a line of four young women behind her, each lovelier than the last.

  The woman, whom Dan Wallace introduced as Dawn, smiled charmingly at the men around the table. “These are some of my girls,” she said, waving her hand toward the young women, who stood passively, fixed smiles on their pretty faces. Dawn presented Joanie, Esmé, Scarlett and Whitney, having each one step forward when she said their name. They all appeared to be in their early twenties, with killer bodies draped in sexy, silky outfits that revealed more than they covered.

  The girls slipped into the empty seats between the men. Bubba, to Wes’ left, had already laid instant claim to the girl named Scarlett, a buxom young thing who looked barely legal and giggled continuously. Wes turned to Whitney on his right and flashed a Tom Cartwright playboy smile in her direction. She smiled shyly back and batted long, thick lashes over eyes so blue they appeared to be violet.

  Wes, as Tom, made casual small talk laced with sexual innuendo with Whitney as plates piled with fresh seafood and exotic fruit were placed in front of them. Their wine glasses were continually refilled by silent male servers, though Wes barely touched his and neither, he noted, did Whitney. The girl replied to his questions and gentle teasing with correct responses, a smile fixed on her heart-shaped face, but something about her seemed just a little off.

  Wes watched the other girls seated around the table. They were talking and even laughing with the men who had chosen them. Was it his imagination, or did all of them have an odd sort of vacant expression beneath the flawless makeup and gracious smiles?

  Stay focused on your mission, Wes reminded himself. He was there to make a drug bust, not pass judgment on how these young women chose to make a living. He touched the cell phone in his pocket. He’d been hoping for a meeting that night with Horton and Wallace where he, as Tom Cartwright, could try to horn in on the action. He’d planned to record any incriminating verbal evidence to make the bust that much more solid, but so far that didn’t look like it was happening.

  “We can talk after the hunt,” Wallace said when Wes tried delicately to broach the subject. Turning to Horton, he added, “Who is this kid you brought along, Bubba? Seems he’s more interested in conducting business than in enjoying these young, hot babes we’ve provided for your entertainment. You won’t find girls like this anywhere else, I guar-an-tee.” Wallace’s color was high. His wine glass had been refilled so often Wes had lost count. He mock-scowled at Wes. “You’re not one of those fairy boys, are you?”

  Wes forced a hearty laugh, issued an outraged denial and promptly dropped the subject.

  The chatter and laughter around the table quieted as Wallace tapped his glass with a knife. “Gentlemen, I want to welcome you again to Pirate Island. You are now part of a very special elite. As a condition of participation in the hunt, you have to swear never to reveal the details to anyone, even other guys who have been guests here on the island for our more, uh, usual offering. I don’t like to make threats”—he bared his teeth in a predatory, wolfish smile as he looked from man to man—“but if any word of this hunt leaks out on the mainland, we’ll know who did the talking. To put it simply, I will not be happy if that occurs.”

  “And if Danny Boy ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy!” Horton cried drunkenly, waving his wine glass for emphasis and sloshing half its content onto the table in the process.

  DJ laughed loudly. Ignoring his son, Wallace flashed a cold smile and continued, “Tomorrow morning, three naked girls will be released into the wild on the far side of the island. Those girls are resting up now for their big adventure. You three men, with DJ’s assistance, will have four hours to hunt them down. You’ll be pretty much on your own. When you capture a girl, you’ll let DJ know via walkie-talkie so we can keep track of who’s still in the game.”

  “What if they hide so well we can’t find ’em?” Jed asked, his words a little slurred from alcohol.

  “Oh, you’ll find them, don’t you worry. There are only so many places to hide out there, and the girls know it’s just a game. They’ll give you a run for your money, sure, but when the hunt's over, you’ll each have a girl, and that’s a promise.”

  “Damn straight,” DJ added. “Those girls know what’ll happen if they don’t get caught. They won’t be able to sit down for a week.” Dan Wallace glared at his son, though nobody else seemed to notice.

  Horton rubbed his hands together. “Can’t wait to hunt me some poontang,” he chortled. “We gonna have guns or anything to add a little authenticity?” He drew out the last word, carefully enunciating each syllable.

  Wallace shook his head. “Knowing you, Bubba, you’d use it. We can’t have you killing off our girls.” He laughed. “But you will be supplied with a knife for clearing any brush if you need it, water and other supplies, including rope and cuffs to truss your quarry. We’ll include a few toys and a blanket roll in case you want to use them then and there. When you capture a girl, think of her as your property, won fair and square. There are no hard limits on Pirate Island. You can do anything—anything you wish, short of killing her, of course.” He barked a laugh, the other men around the table joining in, though the girls all stared silently down at their plates.

  This whole hunting of human beings, however staged and playful, left a bad taste in Wes’ mouth. And what the hell did Wallace mean by saying ‘anything short of killing them’? That left a whole lot of room for sickos like Horton, who Wes knew from prior experience with the man, regarded all women as pieces of ass to use and discard, except for his sainted wife, whom he hadn’t touched in a decade. And DJ’s comment about not being able to sit down for a week—what the hell was that about?

  Wes looked around at the pretty young women who had grown so subdued during Wallace’s speech. He tried to imagine voluntarily working under their conditions. Though he got it that they were working girls, the scenario seemed rather extreme, to put it mildly. These women must be paid a fortune to endure this shit. Wes had no choice but to go along. He’d let the other guys run around like horny teenaged lunatics. They could have all three girls. He’d take a pass.

  Wallace had finished his speech, and now Dawn, who apparently served as some kind of madam or den mother, rose gracefully and said, “Gentlemen, we have four lovely
young women here and only three of you. I know they’re all hoping to be chosen, so if any of you enjoy two sweet young things at once, you need only say the word.”

  “That’ll be me,” Bubba Horton piped up at once, as Wes had known he would. “I’ll take Scarlett and Esmé.”

  “And since Joanie here told me what that ruby at her throat signifies,” added Jed, “I’ll think I’ll try a little fun with whips and chain. I always wondered what it would be like.” He rubbed his hands together, his face greedy with lust.

  “You won’t be disappointed,” Dawn said approvingly. “She can handle a whipping beautifully and will always ask for more, won’t you, Joanie, dear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the girl said softly, while Wes struggled to keep the horror out of his expression.

  “That leaves Whitney for you, Tom,” Dawn added. “I presume you find her agreeable?”

  Wes glanced at Whitney, who smiled hesitantly at him, a pleasing blush moving over her dewy skin. Her nipples, he couldn’t help but notice, were beckoning him like two ripe cherries beneath her silky gown. In spite of himself, Wes’ cock stirred in response. “You betcha,” he replied with Tom Cartwright’s most seductive grin.

  “Just don’t stay up too late, boys,” Wallace said with a laugh. “You’ll want to be fresh for the hunt in the morning.

  Whitney stood just inside the door of Wes’ room at the resort. She reached for the spaghetti strap on her shoulder and pushed it down, revealing one round, perfect breast.

  Wes swallowed, sorely tempted. Then he thought about the camera recording their every move. “You know,” he said, stepping toward her and gently pulling the strap back into place. “I’m really tired. It’s been a long week. How are you at giving massages?”

  Whitney looked confused. “Massages?” she echoed. Then a sly smile slid over her face. She reached out and placed her hand over his crotch. “Oh, I’m very good at massages, sir. Let me show you.” She sank to her knees in front of him and reached for his fly.

  Wes stepped back. “No, no,” he said with a chuckle. “I mean an actual massage. My neck is killing me.” That wasn’t a lie—this weird fucking place had him completely on edge, every muscle tensed and on high alert.

  Whitney glanced at the overhead light, an anxious look flitting over her face. So, she knew there was a camera, too. Did she get paid based on how much sex she was able to provide? Would she get in trouble with Dawn, the den-mother-cum-pimp, if he were to complain she didn’t put out?

  “Let’s start with a back massage,” Wes said, reaching down to pull the girl to her feet. “And then we’ll see where we go from there.”

  A look of relief moved over the girl’s lovely face. She followed Wes to the bed and watched as he stripped off his shirt and jeans. Leaving on his underwear, he lay facedown on the mattress. Turning his head to her, he said, “I’m ready.”

  Whitney again slipped the straps of her gown from her shoulders, this time letting it fall from her curvaceous body. Wes realized his mouth had fallen slightly open with admiration, and he snapped it shut. Whitney’s eyes flicked once more toward the ceiling fixture. “I was born to serve,” she announced, as if making a speech. “It is my goal, my pleasure and my delight to make you happy, sir. Let me please you.”

  What an odd thing to say. She sounded like some kind of Stepford wife, but Wes only nodded. “Okay, then. It would please me to have a massage.”

  Whitney straddled his lower back. Her bare sex was moist and warm against his skin and his cock tingled in response. She reached for the bottle of body oil that had been conveniently placed on the nightstand beside the bed and squirted some onto her palm. Her fingers were surprisingly strong as she began to knead his neck and back muscles.

  “That’s fantastic,” Wes said with a groan of sincere appreciation. “You really know what you’re doing.” There were worse things than having a beautiful naked girl give you a massage, even if she was being paid to do it, and even if they were being recorded.

  Wes let himself drift in a semi-doze, relaxing fully beneath Whitney’s skilled touch. He came awake when she draped herself over his back, her breasts pressing like soft, plump peaches against his skin. She slipped her hand beneath his body and reached for his cock.

  Wes rolled over onto his back, gently disengaging the girl in the process. He reached for the lamp beside the bed and clicked off the light, plunging the room into darkness. He slipped an arm around Whitney’s shoulder and pulled her against him so his mouth was close to her ear. “Okay with you if we just snuggle awhile?”

  She tensed in his arms. “Please. I have to. He’ll find out,” she whispered urgently.

  He? Who? Wallace?

  A deep sense of disquiet moved through Wes’ gut. Aware the mic that was surely in the camera might be sensitive enough to pick up their murmurs, he moved his mouth even closer to her ear. “I’ll make sure it’s okay. I promise.” Turning his head, he cried out with lusty enthusiasm, “Oh, yeah. Yeah, baby, you hot little piece of ass. That’s it, oh, oh, yeah! Aaahhhhhh.”

  Beside him Whitney stifled a giggle. “Are you gay?” she whispered. “I promise I won’t tell.”

  Wes smiled in the dark. “Thanks, sugar, I appreciate that.”

  Whitney snuggled against Wes, her cheek resting on his chest. He could sense the girl was awake but she seemed content to follow his cue and remain quiet. He wanted to ask her all kinds of questions about the life she had chosen, and what was really going on beneath the veneer of this so-called exotic luxury resort. Now wasn’t the time, however. He contented himself instead with reviewing the map of the small island he’d committed to memory, gleaned from satellite photos and conversations with the captain of Horton’s vessel. The resort itself was only about five minutes by golf cart along the paved pathways that led to the dock, but he planned to take the back way along the shore so he could slip in undetected to watch whatever was going to go down. He would need to leave soon, as soon as Whitney fell asleep.

  Wes listened to her breathing, which slowly deepened as her body relaxed against him. When he was sure she was asleep, he eased himself from the bed and pulled on his clothing. Turning away from Whitney, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his smart phone. The time read 1:30, which should give him enough time. The other guests would be asleep or at least safely ensconced in their rooms by now. The phone battery had plenty of juice left in it for video recording. He slipped it back into his pocket and put on his running shoes.

  Just in case Whitney awoke and wondered where he was, Wes found a small pad of paper and a pen in the desk drawer. He left a note on the pillow beside her: Couldn’t sleep. Went for a walk on the beach. Back soon. Tom.

  Wes opened the sliding glass door that led out to a small veranda enclosed by a wrought iron fence. He slid it closed, watching Whitney’s motionless form in the bed as he did so. She didn’t move.

  Once outside, he took a moment to get his bearings. The shoreline beyond the building was gently lit with starlight and the dark waves lapped rhythmically against the sand. Wes opened the gate that led onto the beach and stepped through, latching it silently behind him.

  From overheard conversations since he’d joined the men on the yacht, Wes was reasonably sure Horton’s men were going to unload the goods their first night on the island, sometime between two and four. That gave him just enough time to arrive beforehand and stake out a hiding place.

  Wes walked quickly along the shore toward the dock. Within twenty minutes, he arrived near where the yacht had been anchored. Moving silently, he hugged the shadows of a small supply shed.

  He heard only the sound of the water sloshing against the big boat as it bobbed in the gentle waves. Wes lowered himself against the wall of the shed and waited, his phone ready to record. As he sat, he thought about the girls at the dinner table—at the odd mixture of wanton sexpot and terrified little girl all rolled into one. Was that just part of their act—to appear like innocent virgins? Was that supposed to be part o
f their appeal for dirty old men like Horton and Jed Thomas? Something told Wes there was more to it—far more, none of it good.

  Wes shifted instantly to full alert at the sound of a golf cart engine’s low whine, accompanied by the murmur of masculine voices. He remained where he was, still as a statue, his ears pricked, a surge of adrenaline heightening all his senses.

  He heard the gruff, confident sound of Dan Wallace, along with two other voices he didn’t recognize, one of them with a Spanish accent. As they got closer, he caught a few phrases. “Should be worth plenty, even with the cartel’s cut…” “Don’t worry, they’re occupied with pussy…” And then, at last, the words that clinched the deal, “About ten kilograms of heroin as pure as virgin snow.” Wes hoped his phone was picking up the audio.

  The men appeared beside the yacht. After a moment, two dark figures materialized on the deck. They began to hand down boxes to the two men accompanying Wallace. Horton was nowhere in sight. They were out of sound range now, and it was hard to make out exactly what was going on with only the stars for light, but Wes held up his cell phone camera just the same. Back at DEA headquarters, they’d be able to lighten and sharpen the video capture, hopefully getting a good, definitive image of that bastard, Dan Wallace, in the process. The video alone wasn’t necessarily proof of anything, but it would be one more piece of the puzzle Wes had spent so long trying to assemble.

  The delivery took less than ten minutes. The deckhands disappeared, and Wallace and his men drove away, leaving Wes alone and undiscovered against the shed. He opened his secure DEA email app and sent the audio and video feed. Next he opened the encrypted message app and typed rapidly with his thumbs to his contact at headquarters, Hugh Parker. Video of the drug transfer and some incriminating audio on its way to you. Keep the Coast Guard on high alert for any activity to or from the island until the bust is complete. Are your guys on standby? When can they be here?