“Archie.” She let out a soft laugh as I turned to look at her. The two of us were squeezed on my leather couch, eating Chinese food, and watching reruns of X-files. The television was casting a stunning blue light against her fair skin and those freckles were vibrant like her messy hair. I loved her like this.
I mean, I just loved her in general but I loved her comfortable. In a hoodie and sweatpants. Both, mind you, because her brother hadn’t offered any warning before telling her to spend the night here. I wasn’t complaining and she looked fucking adorable.
“What?” I grinned, “I’m serious, they are totally going to bang.”
Her eyes flashed with amusement. “Dude, this was the 90s. Maybe it will happen but probably at the end of season one thousand.”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed her the glass of wine she reached for. Those red lips pressed to the glass as she offered me a happy look. “Try this.”
From your lips? Deal.
The taste of berries and her cherry lip balm had me humming. She turned towards me, pausing the television, and causing me to still. I wasn’t nervous around her. But cautious? Yeah, I was fucking cautious as hell. I walked a thin line as it was.
“My brother doesn’t want me here, does he?” She asked suddenly. I opened my mouth and she squeezed my hand changing her mind. “No. It’s okay. I can tell he doesn’t.”
I frowned and moved closer to her, seeing a vulnerability in her face she didn’t normally show. My hands came up to her face as I spoke. “Sweetheart, your brother loves you. You know that. He’s just acting like a dick because he feels like he won’t be as cool living with his little sister, which is stupid as fuck.”
She nibbled her lip and nodded. I know she suffered from the emotional fucking abuse shit her stepmother put her through, even if she’d never admitted to it. I took a chance. “You know I always want you here, don’t you Robyn? No matter what your family does, you’re always welcome here.”
I knew what it felt like to not feel wanted by your own family. It was one of the fucking reasons I was always hanging with Sheriff and her. Robyn flashed me a semi-shy look, well as fucking shy as she got before curling against me. I let out an exhale and buried my nose in her hair, hoping she wouldn’t think anything of it if she didn’t feel the same.
I never found out how she felt about it because she was out within minutes. I had turned off the TV and carried her upstairs, placing her in my bed before trying to detach.
“Don’t leave,” she murmured gently.
I didn’t ask twice. I crawled into bed and realized just how fucked I was when it came to this girl.
Two years later and I was more enamored and more in love with her, if possible. I think Sheriff may have clued into it and if not, I’d probably get a beat down upon rescuing him. It would be worth it though. I’ve never felt so much fucking peace and rightness than when I was buried balls deep inside of her. She has been so fucking sweet calling me ‘Sir’ like a good girl.
I’m a God damn lucky bastard. Which is exactly why we’re getting our fucking girl back.
Chapter Seventeen
Robyn
Day 1
When I wake, my head is throbbing and my throat is dry as fuck. Like I've been lying in a tanning bed so long all the water in my body has dried up. Sitting up, my fuzzy vision finally clears and I take a look around. I’m glad to see the dead bodies have been cleared away, but I’m not ecstatic about my new surroundings. In fact, I don’t know what’s worse. He’s moved me to another location. An extremely warm location. It’s hotter than Hell in here, wherever the fuck he has me.
If I thought the whole dollhouse kitchen was fucked up, apparently Senator Reynolds has proven his insanity has no limits. Now he’s brought the whole damn house. I’m lying in a full size pink plastic sleigh bed. You know, the kind toddlers sleep in when they move up from the crib, but adult size. To my left is a white plastic dresser with a plastic book on top that says ‘Holy Bible’ on the cover. To my right is a white armoire left open, filled with 50’s style dresses and skirts hanging inside. The walls in the room I’m in are also made out of plastic, as well as the brown fake wood floor. An open window with sheer fluttering curtains (the only thing not plastic) in this hellhole calls my name, and I run over to it like it’s a life line until I see how dire my situation really is.
FYI, I’m fucked.
I don’t see anything but green. Trees, trees, and more trees, for as far as the eye can see greets me. I can hear the loud sounds of the jungle surrounding me, and more than once I wonder where the fuck am I. This is too unreal, like Reynolds took a dollhouse, made it adult size, and perched it on top of the tallest tree in his backyard. A fucking plastic tree house. I can’t even make this shit up folks.
I may be small and agile, but even I can’t fit through this tiny ass window, no matter how I contort my body. It’s like it's placed here to taunt me.
“Fuck,” I scream. Just to make myself feel better.
Stepping away from the window, I walk through the open doorway to the bathroom. Yes, my freaking plastic prison has a bathroom with a real plastic toilet that empties out to a bucket, and a yellow plastic standing sink. Flush to the wall is one of those pretty clawfoot tubs, but this one is plastic with yellow duck feet. In fact, the whole bathroom is decorated in the whole rubber ducky motif. Understandably creeped out, I leave the weird bathroom. Besides a small powder blue plastic round table with matching white chairs, thankfully body free, there's nothing else in here. Nothing I can use to escape. FML.
“Ahh, I see you’re awake, poppet,” Reynolds says, stepping through the bright blue plastic door. “Do you like your new home?” He asks like he’s talking about the weather and didn’t just kidnap me and put me in Barbie’s house of horrors.
“Where are we?” I answer instead.
“I already told you. Your new home, well as long as you please me that is.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I yell.
The pain is immediate as he slaps clear across the face, and in my weakened state I fall to the floor. He slapped me just like Jack-Jack slapped the raccoon in his yard. Don’t front like you’ve never seen Incredibles 2.
“Bad girl, poppet. I see we need to wash your mouth out with soap,” crazy pants says before grabbing me by the hair and dragging me, screaming, to the rubber ducky bathroom.
Pulling me to my feet by my hair, he turns on the facet, which to my surprise really works, and grabs the bar of soap, lathering it up. Using his other hand, he grabs my chin in a bruising grip and shoves the wet bar of soap in my mouth. I choke on the disgusting bitter bar as he continues to push it in my mouth for I don’t know how long. When he thinks I’ve had enough, he pulls the bar out and places it back on the sink, and I bend over dry heaving, spitting the suds out my mouth.
“Much better. Next time you will think before you speak. Now take off your clothes,” he orders, giving me whiplash with his emotions.
“What?” I cry with a hoarse voice.
“Take off your clothes. You’re dirty. Cleanliness is next to godliness,” he says in a weird trance like voice, like he had back at the tombs.
I'd rather feed a tank of sharks on my period than do what he orders, but my self preservation skills kick in, and with trembling fingers, I remove my shirt, pulling it over my head. With each article of clothing I lose, the lust in his blazing blue eyes grow. It’s a shame that someone who looks like him is so fucking looney. His blonde strands are lush and thick with golden highlights, which remind me of an angel. Like when God created him, he was carved from marble, his chiseled bone structure fits perfectly with his toned body. His ice blue eyes are beautiful, and glitter like chips of ice. I remember this man being one of Times Sexiest Men Alive for fuck sakes.
When I’m completely naked, he moves forward and runs his hands over my body, Caressing my breasts and pinching my nipples. Motherfucker. I’m going to chop off his fucking dick.
“So soft,” he murmur
s. “Your skin is creamy and perfect. Far better than the others. When you’re ready, I’m going to lay you out on the bed, and take my time fucking you. I know you’re a bad girl. I know all about you fucking the three men I saw you with. You need to be trained, and then cleansed before my dick goes anywhere near you. I can’t wait to have you on your knees with your pretty red painted lips wrapped around my cock. I’ll drill my dick so far down your throat my balls will disappear in your mouth, and when you can no longer breathe, I’ll cum down your throat cleansing your insides with my seed, and you’ll be reborn.”
His eyes glaze over again as he rambles his perverted thoughts. It’s like he’s lost in a memory, but just as quickly as it starts, he snaps back to normal, and turns to run the water in the tub.
“Get in,” he orders, and I do.
I was hoping he'd leave, but instead he takes the same bar of soap he just shoved down my throat and lathers a rag. With gentle hands, he washes and cleans my body. When the rag runs over a bruise or sore spot from his mistreatment, I try to restrain my cry but it still seeps out and he smiles, amused by my pain. Moving the rag between my legs, he brushes his rough, awful hands against my center as he hums in appreciation. I try to forget whose hands are touching me, instead imagining it’s one of my men. Apparently, I let my imagination run away with itself and a small moan escapes my lips, making Reynolds chuckle. Okay. No more imagining it’s my boys. Clearly despite my situation, I'm ready to go for them.
“So responsive,” he whispers, snapping me back to my fucked up reality. His fingers are deep in my pussy now, fingering me in an unrestrained movement. Making use of his other hand, he rubs and pinches my nipple in time to his rough treatment of his fingers in my cunt. The longer I don’t cum, the quicker his anger takes over, until he’s scraping the sensitive skin of my pussy lips. Even when the water starts to turn a faint pink from blood, he continues with his rough assault. Fed up with this shit, I let out a loud moan followed by a scream, faking my orgasm. Satisfied, he releases me and lets the water out.
“Stand,” he commands, and I do, following his every movement.
Everything fucking hurts, and not in the good way. My head, my body, and the skin right between my legs feel fucking awful. Not just my pussy even. You know the feeling where you are wearing wet jeans or pants and they rub against your skin and chafe? I felt like that, but all over. Wrapping me in a fluffy white towel with rubber duckies, he pulls me out of the bathroom and has me stand in the bedroom. Walking over to the armoire, he hands me one of those awful dresses. A red polka dot one that ends right before my knees, and a red silky bra from the dresser drawer. Like I’m an overgrown Barbie, he dresses me, slowly and meticulously. Moving us to another doorway I didn’t even notice because it’s hidden, flushed with the wall, he has me sit down at the plastic pink vanity and slowly brushes my hair.
“A hundred strokes makes it silky and smooth,” he sings in that insane trance like voice. Next, he does my makeup like a professional. Seriously, people would pay him serious money for work like this. Lastly, he paints my lips a deep red. When he’s done, I look just like a pinup doll from the 50’s.
“Perfect,” he mutters.
With his eyes glossed over, he stands right in front of me and undoes his pants. When his slacks slide down his legs, a big uncircumcised cock slides out. I’d be impressed if he wasn’t just fucking flopping it around in front of me. With a growl, he lifts me from the plastic stool and pushes me on my knees until I’m kneeling before him. If he thinks I’m going to suck him off, he better be prepared to get bitten, but he doesn’t make a move to get closer. Instead, he takes a seat in the stool and grabs my hand wrapping it around his cock.
“Be a good boy and sit still for mommy,” he murmurs, guiding my hand up and down his cock. “That’s it, get it nice and hard for mommy. You’re such a good boy, mommys' big strong boy,” he cooed.
What the actual fuck? I pegged him for having mommy issues, but shit. This is fucking insane.
“You like that big boy? You like the way mommy makes you feel don’t you?” His insane chatter goes on. His hard length is already swelling, and soon he goes off like a volcano right on my hand. “Good boy. That’s a good boy.”
After that insane display he leaves, but comes back minutes later with a plastic plate filled with food. The rest of the day he leaves me alone, only coming into the plastic hell house to feed me. When night settles in, he enters with nothing but a pair of sweatpants low on his hips. Of course he has a muscled chest, abs, and a V, but I pay no mind to any of that. The rumors of not trusting the clean and squeaky are true. Well, Reynolds was one of the squeakiest in public. Unheard of in politics. He won mostly because of his clean campaign. Clearly, it was all a fucking act if this is what he’s been hiding under his handsome and charismatic demeanor. He has no sense of church and state separation and it’s rumored he isn’t even a Christian as he claimed, but something far more… Oh, what's the word? Cult-ish? Yes, well I’m positive everyone would love to hear all about this.
It’s his eyes that catch my attention. Those glittering chips of ice glazed over. Dragging me off the bed by my hair, he throws me on the ground and straddles my body. Ripping the ugly dress open, he exposes me and tears the bra from my body. Reaching in his pocket, he pulls out a permanent marker and draws a ‘W’ on my stomach before standing up like a robot and leaves.
I hope my men find me soon, because I don’t know how long I can deal with this shit. A person is strong for only so long. For the rest of the night, I think back on how I didn’t tell Richard or Archie that I loved them. I don’t want to die without them knowing. Please find me, save me. Dragging my broken body off the floor, shaking, I collapse onto the bed and fall into a nightmare plagued sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
John
Fury rolls through me, but I’m somehow keeping it together. I have to keep it together because if I don’t, I’m not positive what I’ll do. My hands are clasped together in front of me as I breath in through my nose and run a hand through my hair. We’re waiting for the jet to land, the slow descent causing my ears to pop. Germany. God, I fucking hope she’s in Germany. I’ll drink motherfucking German beer for the rest of our lives.
The rest of our lives.
The thought permeates everything else because I knew that was where this was going. I breathed in the concept, trying to keep my head on because I fucking know if I think about what she’s going through, I’ll loose it. I look at the other men around me and decide to take a chance.
“When we bring her home… it should be to a home.”
Richard’s head snaps over as if I’ve just said something he’s been thinking about forever. Archie tilts his head in consideration. “As in we should buy her a home?”
Bastard fucking knows I don’t mean that.
“I’m not letting her go and I’m not even asking Richard that question, so what about you Archie? Are you going to play house with us?” I ask gruffly. Except it wouldn’t be fucking playing. It would be for real for the rest of our lives. That didn’t freak me out nearly as much as it should.
Archie inhales and looks at the two of us, “you’re serious. You want to just all move the fuck in together?”
Richard shrugs, “planned to lock her in my house anyway. She might as well be happy.”
I scowl at him as he chuckles. I can’t lie, this was making me feel better. Planning for the future and not thinking about the possibility of not having one. I’d decided that losing her wasn’t even in the realm of possibility. I couldn’t imagine a life without my little bird, so I just fucking won’t. I wanted her back, so I’d get her back. She was mine.
“Well, I hate to tell you, but unless we plan to buy a house in the next hour, we won’t be able to,” Archie says quietly. Why does he always have to be such a killjoy? I suppose we do need someone with common sense, but really?
Richard looks at him, “doable.”
“I have no idea where she�
�d want to live,” I groan, wishing I thought of this sooner.
Archie flashes a smile and opens his phone, handing over a listing.
“She’s been watching this place just to ‘see’ if anyone bought it. It's been on the market for maybe two weeks.”
As with all things with Robyn, it’s tasteful and bold. The dark stone of the building nestled along the tree lined city streets created the illusion of coziness over the massive, nearly 20 thousand square foot estate. The pathway is paved and the porch is custom woodwork and painted a dark shade. I actually really liked it.
“How much?” I ask as the descent bumps me slightly.
“Only 10 mil, but that's not the point-”
“I don’t care about your point,” I state cooly, “Robyn is coming home, to that fucking house because Richard just purchased it. Dude, we could have at least talked about it.”
Richard flashes a grin and shrugs, “we were going to buy it anyway.”
Archie grunts, “so what, the three of us just live together with her?”
“I really don’t know how else to explain this.” I frown as Archie’s jaw clicks.
“I hate sharing,” Richard drawls, “but I hate the idea of losing her far more, and Red won’t choose. I don’t really mind either of you. You’re tolerable, so the idea of moving in together doesn’t bother me. Just don’t touch my shit and we should be fine.”
That’s a declaration of friendship if anyone is wondering.
Archie finally breaks a smile, “you know Richard, I’m trying to not like you because of the shit you say, but somehow, it makes me like you more.”
I grunt and lean back into my chair. “So we are all in agreeance.”
Their responses are cut off from the suction from the plane opening and the pilot motions us off. A black Cadillac waits out front to pick us up, so we all slide into the back cleared out to function more as a limo, as the driver shield goes up.
Stolen Hood Page 11
