by Nolon King
Gasping for air, Paul nodded as best he could with the man’s vice-like grip.
“Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m going to ease up, just enough for you to talk, okay?”
Paul nodded.
“And then you’re gonna tell me a story. Tell me what it was like fucking one of those girls. And I want details.”
Paul was confused. “What?”
“Fucking tell me a story. And make it hot.”
Nazi Fuck slipped out of his overalls, dropping them to the ground, stroking his already hard cock.
What the fuck is happening?
Before Paul could process anything more, the Nazi barked, “Talk!”
Paul began to talk about one of the girls.
“Describe what she was wearing.”
Paul did.
As he spilled details one of the girls, a girl named Rebecca, the Nazi stroked harder and faster, closing his eyes. “Did she have hair?”
What the hell was his thing about pubic hair?
“No.”
“Ohhh,” said the Nazi.
Paul hoped the fucker would leave once he came.
“Tell me how tight she was.”
As disgusted as Paul was at what was happening, his arousal could not be ignored. He wasn’t sure if it was from this naked man jerking it next to him, or if he was turned on by thoughts of Rebecca. Either way, a part of Paul hoped the man might go down on him. Or ask him to.
“She was real tight.” Paul watched the man’s face redden as he stroked his dick faster.
He thought of Wes, the man who had groomed him and his sister.
The only man that Paul had ever thought of sexually, until now.
Getting sucked off by a skinhead wasn’t the type of sex he wanted, but in prison, any contact was something.
The Nazi’s eyes were still closed as he reached down and grabbed Paul’s cock, and began to stroke him, never letting go of himself.
Paul came immediately.
And once he was done, the Nazi opened his eyes. That smile returned to his face.
“How tight was she?”
He had to continue the story, though Paul was no longer aroused. “Real tight.”
“No, I want you to show me.”
“What?”
Paul never saw the fist coming until he his jaw exploded, and his teeth chattered on the ground.
He followed them to the floor.
“What the fuck?” Paul cried out, though his throbbing mouth warped every word.
And the Nazi was on top of him, straddling him, his weight like a mountain.
Hands around Paul’s neck, squeezing tight, pushing his face into the ground, harder.
Oh God, no!
“Was she this tight?” He thrust himself into Paul.
Paul screamed.
Wednesday, August 28
Chapter 8 - Mallory Black
Mal woke up with a five-alarm hangover.
You weren’t supposed to drink while taking the good syrup, and she had. Her tax was a headache that echoed in her bones.
But at least her throat wasn’t screaming And she didn’t wake up coughing her guts out.
Maybe she was finally improving.
After spending most of the past five days living on room service, she’d have to finally venture outdoors and face the media that was wanting some response in the wake of her being put on leave. Her phone had blown up, so she stopped answering calls. Mike and her ex-husband, Ray, had her private number if they wanted to talk. Everyone else could fuck off.
She crawled out of bed and grabbed both of her phones on the way to the bathroom. She hadn’t showered in two, maybe three, days.
She drew a hot bath, got inside, and started checking messages, work phone first. Seventy-three unanswered calls.
She laughed and put the phone down.
Then she went to her personal phone, surprised to find three messages. Two from Mike and one from a number she didn’t recognize.
“Hey, it’s Mike. Jessi Price has been taken. And the deputy we put on her is dead. Sheriff needs you to call her.”
Mal froze.
Oh, my God. Jessi is gone?
Her fingers trembled, but she pressed Play on the second message anyway.
Mike again. “Where are you, Mal? If you’re not gonna call her, then at least get back to me. I need to know if you have anything. Also, Jessi’s mom has been calling your work number. But you should talk to Gloria first.”
Mal got out of the bath, did a half-assed job of drying off, then walked into the living room and flipped on the news while dialing Gloria.
She picked up immediately. “Where the hell are you?”
“Um, you put me on leave, remember?”
“What did Paul Dodd say to you?”
“What?”
“When you went to meet him in jail. What did he say that made you request a detail?”
“It wasn’t what he said. It was that he had someone working with him, to deliver videos to me and to Colleen Price. I already told you all this. Do you think his accomplice did this?”
“I don’t know. If so, he had more than one. An armed man in a ski mask driving a van got in front of her school bus, boarded, then shot and killed the driver. He threw Jessi in a van and took off. Deputy Siegel moved in to intercept but was shot and killed by another suspect. Reports of at least three men, all wearing ski masks and dressed in black.”
“Is Dodd still in jail?”
“Yes, verified. In fact, he was brutally assaulted yesterday and is in the medical ward now.”
“Brutalized? Beaten, or?”
“Beaten and raped by some Nazi. We’re trying to get to the bottom of this, see if there’s any connection. We’re also talking to everyone who’s been in contact with Dodd since his lockup.”
“There’s gotta be a connection. He and Jessi are attacked at around the same time …”
She thought about Jasper’s warnings — that Dodd would escape and get Jessi again. She thought about telling Gloria, but what good would that do? If she hadn’t managed to locate Jasper, neither would anyone else. And right now, he was the only one who seemed to have any helpful information. If Mal told Gloria about the warnings, she would tell the Feds. Jasper would vanish, and she might never find Jessi again.
“Bring me back, Sheriff. I can help find her.”
“Sorry, Mal. You know I can’t do that. Plus, the Feds are involved, so everything’s got to be above board. But if you can think of anything, or if anyone reaches out to you, please call me immediately.”
“Anything I need to know before I call Colleen?”
“No. I think she just needs some reassurance that her girl will be okay. That we’ll find her.”
“Got it.”
Gloria said goodbye, then hung up.
Mal stared at the phone trying to decide if she should return Mike’s call or listen to her voicemails.
Her work phone rang.
PRIVATE NUMBER.
She picked up.
“You should’ve listened to me,” Jasper said.
“I did listen to you. We already had a detail on her. And Paul is in jail. This wasn’t him.”
“It wasn’t?” Pure surprise thickened his voice.
“No. He is still in jail. Got beat up pretty bad, from what I hear. This was men in ski masks, at least three.”
“Three? I didn’t see that on the news. They said one man. Ah, of course, they’re keeping that part private to weed the tipsters from the cranks.”
“You were a cop, you know how it goes. Listen, we need to talk, in person.”
“I’m not coming in.”
“Please, just to clear some things.”
“Yeah, right. And then you’re asking me about Wes and Calum. No thanks, Detective.”
“I’m not looking to hook you for those things. I just want Jessi back.”
“I don’t see how us talking in person will help you. I’d suggest you do as I said a
nd have someone take care of Dodd, before he’s gone.”
“He’s not going anywhere.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Then Jasper hung up.
“Fuck!” Mal dropped her phone on the sofa, went back to the bathroom, finished washing up, then got dressed.
She needed to be working this case. Living on the front lines. If anyone could find Jessi again, it would be her.
She wished Cameron Ford was in the bar downstairs. It was his fault she was on leave. Him and his stupid gotcha videos. She wondered how long he’d been holding onto them. Probably months. Was likely waiting to hit the sheriff closer to election.
Part of her wished she could run into him now, while on leave. She imagined walking up to him, punching him in the face, then kicking him in the balls.
Get that on film, you fuck!
Yes, she’d never work again. And he would probably sue her, but every dime would be worth it — at least for the few minutes she’d be watching him bleed.
Mal braced herself for the next call, to Colleen. She wanted a pill to ease the tightening vice on her skull. But she needed a clear head. Mal might not be on the job, but she would do everything she could as a private citizen, and Colleen might be the best way to stay in the game. Mal could offer her services, pro bono, as a consultant. That would keep her close to the case, maybe allow her to get some vital piece of information.
She dialed, her mind flashing back to the night when Dodd had tried to rape Jessi right in front of her. The girl’s terrified eyes, how she looked to her for help. But Mal had been helpless, restrained on the bed, and forced to watch. They would have both died that night if not for Jasper Parish.
Could he be counted on to come through again?
Mal couldn’t be certain, and so it wasn’t worth the chance.
For now, she had only herself and the will to save Jessi.
Somehow. Some way.
Chapter 9 - Paul Dodd
Paul lay in the medical ward wishing he were dead.
The Nazi had raped, beat, and nearly killed him before a guard had finally come and pulled the behemoth away.
There wasn’t a part of him not in pain. The doc said they’d given him painkillers while he was out, probably only the minimum dosage. He was a monster, after all. A rapist and murderer of children. Why not give him a taste of the pain he surely deserved?
Paul vaguely remembered being brought into the medical ward. After that, he blacked out until this morning.
He also half-recalled his conversation with Dr. Blanc, a short old Jewish man who looked like he last practiced in the Old West. The doc informed him he was lucky he didn’t suffer anal tearing. That would’ve required stitching and left him in even more pain. Apparently, the Nazi wasn’t particularly well-endowed, or had gone easy on Paul — thank God for small miracles.
But his face, ribs, and back felt pummeled by batons. In time, that pain would fade. But the psychological effects of his assault would linger much longer. Fortunately, the doc said, they had a great psychologist on staff who would start therapy with Paul in the morning to help him deal with the trauma.
Fuck the psychologist, I want more meds.
As Paul stared at the glass door of his medical wing cell, he wondered how many of the guards in the control booth just outside his door were in on what happened to him.
Vic, the guard who had left him in the shower alone, had obviously known the Nazi was going to rape him. It was surely arranged ahead of time. But how deep did the plan run, and would anyone hold the guard accountable? Probably not. Guards and prison authorities protected their own.
Another question bubbled to the surface. Did Mallory give the order?
He’d heard stories of corrupt cops reaching out and striking at prisoners they felt had somehow escaped a harsh enough sentence. And who better to use as an instrument than a giant Nazi rapist fuck?
He flashed back to Mal blowing up at him during her visit. From the other side of the Plexiglas, she said, “If you ever fuck with the Price family again — so much as wave in their general direction or send one of your buddies to deliver a message —it will become my mission to find new and inventive ways to make you wish I’d let you die.”
Was this what she’d meant?
Had his delivery person sent another video to Jessi ahead of schedule or reached out to the girl?
And was this her revenge? To order him beaten and raped?
Paul wished he’d killed Mal when he’d had the chance. Hell, he’d had two — once when he watched over her as she slept, and another when he’d taken her.
Should’ve left well enough alone. Should’ve just left with Jessi. Why did he have to bring Mal back to her house? What the hell had he been thinking?
He couldn’t understand his fascination with Mallory. Her daughter, Ashley, hadn’t even been his favorite girl. But as time passed, something about her stayed with him.
His regret was killing her when he did. Not keeping her around. He wouldn’t be in this predicament if he had.
Sure, she would’ve gotten older, developed breasts, and grown unattractive, turning into a despicable shrew like all little girls eventually did. But maybe he could’ve learned to love her, to be aroused by an adolescent. Perhaps he could’ve short-circuited that bitchy teenage period and taught her to stay young and sweet forever.
As if time could be stopped.
But it wasn’t just about her appearance, as beautiful as she was. No, there was also an extra element of excitement in Ashley being a detective’s daughter. It his first truly valuable target.
Most of the kids had been nothings, practically discarded by society.
But not Ashley. Her mother was part of an untouchable class.
And he found that excitement again when he took Jessi, especially after Mal got involved.
Fucking with Mal brought him immeasurable pleasure, though he’d spent many nights trying to understand why.
Was he reliving his time with Ashley through her? Maybe in part, but there was something else, too. Something he couldn’t quite figure out, an anger he felt when considering what a shitty mother she was — a drunk who’d become a drug addict, divorced, and too busy with her job to properly care for her kid.
She was pathetic. And after the news of her daughter’s death came out, she was all over the news, crying and whining, like she actually cared about Ashley.
Had she been a good mother, Ashley would have never appeared on Paul’s radar.
She invited this upon herself. And then, because apparently shitty mothers always wound up on top, she won the fucking lottery a year later.
That really pissed him off.
So taking Jessi, a girl that could’ve passed for Ashley’s sister, had excited him, almost as much as Ashley herself.
And while Jessi had quickly proved to be a little bitch, Paul still wished they could’ve spent more time together.
Under different circumstances, she might have learned to have loved him.
But no. He’d been stupid, pursuing that cunt Mallory Black instead of appreciating what he had.
And now he was suffering.
He wondered if this was only the beginning. If the guards would make this routine, accidentally leaving him alone with a rapist. If so, how many times would it happen before they finally decided to kill him?
Paul wished Mallory had killed him. She’d had the chance. But the detective was twisted by a need to hurt him.
It was kind of funny, in a dark way — two people braided by a desire to hurt one another.
The guards were moving around outside his door. Paul wondered if they were coming to usher him back to his regular cell. God, he hoped not. He wasn’t ready to be away from the meds.
The door opened to a tall man with slicked back hair, an expensive suit, and wireframe glasses. He looked like a doctor, or—
“Hello, Mr. Dodd, my name is Lawrence Kampf.” He held out his hand. “I’m your new attorney.”
“Ne
w attorney?” Paul repeated, confused, shaking the man’s hand.
“I’ll be taking over your case.” He turned to the guards. “Can my client and I have some privacy, please?”
The two guards traded a look, then left.
“What happened? Did the other guy give up on me?” Death row was like breath on his neck.
Kampf smiled. “Give up on you?” The lawyer laughed as if Paul was missing something obvious. After a moment of waiting for him to get it, he said, “I’m not a public defender, Mr. Dodd. I’m with Wallace, Kampf, and Goldman. We’re the best representation you could ever hope to get.”
“Best? Who’s paying for this?”
“I’m glad you asked. Your friend, Wes Richardson? He left you a sizable estate.”
“Define sizable.”
“Fifteen million and change.”
Paul gasped, then launched into a coughing fit that felt like blades slicing into his ribs.
Spittle of blood coated his lips.
“We’re going to get you transferred to a facility that will actually protect you, then I’m launching a suit against the sheriff’s office and the jail for allowing this to happen. You can expect that fortune to increase.”
Paul stared in disbelief, tears welling up in his eyes. He had so many questions, chief among them was why Wes left him a fortune. Also, now that he had money, could his victims attack the assets?
“Thank you,” Paul said.
Kampf pulled out his cell phone and aimed the camera. “Now look miserable. Like you’re dying, in as much pain as possible. These photos will play well at trial.”
Paul didn’t have to try. He stared into the camera and wondered if things might finally turn around.
Could this man actually get him off?
Chapter 10 - Mallory Black
Mal pulled up to the Holiday Inn where Colleen was placed after Jessi’s abduction — just in case Dodd, someone working with him, or a copycat, had designs to murder her mom like Paul had done to her father.
She spoke briefly with the deputy standing outside Colleen’s room, then was ushered in.
