When the men returned much later, they had two more captured women who were similarly bound and gagged. The captive foursome was told that they would remain there until their abductors decided what to do with them. They also implied that when they tired of the women, they would be sold to some Russians who traded in girls much like some people traded stamps and coins. The picture as the bound women saw it was both frightening and bleak. No one would find them and none of the women had left anything to indicate what had happened to them.
The weekend passed with each of the girls being systematically cut down, tormented with cigarettes, canes and various whips. Beaten into stunned submission, they were then raped repeatedly, sodomized and finally hung back up with the others who were being entertained by the skillful manipulation of a braided, eight-foot horsewhip. Each girl was raped and whipped while the others watched.
When her turn came, Bibi was instructed to perform a blowjob on one guy and so her gag was removed. Appearing to be unstable from being tied up and whipped, she kept falling over when they placed her on her knees. She said she hurt so badly from the whipping that she needed her hands if she was going to perform to their satisfaction. The man responded by freeing her bound wrists and ankles. Kneeling in the middle of the candlelit room, Bibi began her task.
Bored with watching his partner try to get it up enough to stick his prick into Bibi’s mouth, the other man went to the kitchen seeking another beer. He settled there while his partner lectured Bibi on her lack of BJ talent. Giving up on this endeavor, he pushed Bibi over onto her back and set about raping her once again, handicapped by his own recent sexual attempts, the man again had trouble getting it up and sat back on his haunches for a minute to light a cigarette. With the man kneeling between her legs, Bibi brought up her right foot and kicked him viciously in the jaw with such force that he toppled over, unconscious. Still making the appropriate sounds so that the man in the next room would suspect nothing, Bibi freed herself and the other three girls. She helped them arm themselves with empty wine bottles and a hammer, then charged through the door and beat the other man nearly to death. They mercilessly bound both of their captors, tying them in a painful hogtie with their feet connected by rope to their necks and their balls and pricks tightly roped and pulled back through their legs and attached to their roped hands. They stuffed the men’s under shorts into their mouths and held them there with their own belts. Their undershirts were torn into strips and fashioned into effective blindfolds. To complete the bondage, the two kidnappers were tied together head to foot.
The girls recovered their own clothes and threw the men into the back of the SUV. Following the less than informative road signs for miles, they eventually got back into the city. They discussed somewhat heatedly what to do next; the arguments centering on a general presumption that going to the police and charging these two men with their crimes would be a slow and embarrassing process that might not have an outcome the women found satisfactory. There was also the possibility that the police might not be on the women’s side and might either not believe their story or decide that they had asked for it. The unanimous decision was to dump these animals somewhere where they would eventually be found, leaving a note around their necks saying that they were criminals, rapists and kidnappers. The women also decided that if, by no fault of theirs, the men should end up more or less as mindless vegetables, no one would mourn the loss. So, before kicking them unceremoniously out the tailgate of the SUV, each woman delivered a series of crippling kicks and punches, most aimed at the already battered genitals of the two. By this time they were driving through a really seedy part of the city and both men were unconscious and bleeding from all body apertures.
That four young women who never met until a few days before were in such strong agreement over what to do with their tormentors was perhaps the most valid evidence of how badly they had been treated by the kidnappers. The group decision to beat the two men within an inch of their lives and dump them in the alley behind a gay nightclub was something none of them regretted.
Still bound in the steel box, Bibi considered that since this was the second time she had been taken and abused by men, (and a woman in this case), she was in no mood to treat them well or fairly when and if she was able to escape. She heard people coming down the rickety stairs. A few seconds later, two men entered the cold stone cellar where she knelt in the steel box.
“Get her out of there,” Mickeal said, staring at the box with Bibi’s fettered head and impaled ass sticking out. The Third Man began the task of getting Bibi out of the crate. In a few minutes, she was free. She stood shivering and showing her many scars without shame or modesty in the middle of the cold stone room with nothing on but a crooked smile and the eagle tattoo on her left breast.
Mickeal pointed his Glock at the box and then to the Third Man. “In,” he said.
The bewildered man shook his head and mumbled, staring at the metal box with the two holes in it, incredulous that Mickeal would even suggest that he get inside.
“Okay,” said Mickeal and he fired a shot so close to the man’s left foot that the guy jumped and danced for a moment, reminding Bibi of what they had done to her recently. The bullet whined and ricocheted around the room, No one ducked.
“Make him dance,” Bibi said quietly. “I gather that you are on our side?” she questioned, looking at Mickeal and then scanning the room, searching for any of her clothes.
“Yeah, Bibi. I’m wid youse,” Mickeal said, with a sudden Bronx New York accent. “Can you get dressed?”
“Ah, yeah, sure. I just need to get my clothes back,” she said. “What’s with the New York accent?”
“I just finished reading an old Mickey Spillane mystery novel and the accent sort of slipped out. Sorry.”
“No worries,” Bibi said. “As my rescuer, you can talk any way you want. You work for Jean?”
“Yeah. For Jean. And you, cutie, youse must be Bebe. Right?”
“Bibi,” she said, laughing at his weird Americanized speech.
“Where are her clothes?” Mickeal asked the still stunned man who had been busy trying unsuccessfully to get his much larger frame into the box.
“Air,” the man said through his wired jaw. “Alll derr,” he repeated, pointing towards the cluttered space under the stairs. Bibi went to search for her clothes. The Third Man stayed against the wall, shaking his head and mumbling.
“You iz goin’ to help us, buddy,” Mickeal said without a smile. “Put the cuffs on your wrists for now.” The man locked one cuff on his left wrist and then started to put the other on his right hand.
“Behind you, you dumb fuck, behind you.”
The man complied, snapping the cuffs that he had just removed from Bibi’s wrists onto his own. Then he stood, waiting, nervously shuffling his feet, watching Mickeal’s gun, while Bibi went out into the hall and retrieved her sweater, boots and mini skirt, which she quickly put on. The bra and panties that she had removed in the strip video session were not there, but she didn’t seem concerned.
“Take your time, Bibi,” Mickeal said, as he poked the Third Man in the ribs with his gun, placed him ahead of him and started back up the stairs. They were half way up the long staircase and he stopped and spoke to Bibi over his shoulder: “Come up when you’re ready. This bunch and I are going to have some more conversation.”
“But wait just a minute, okay?” Bibi said.
“Sure,” said Mickeal. He stopped again. “What?”
“This,” Bibi said as she reached up to the stair level the man was standing on, seized his ankle and yanked him off balance. He pitched backwards, falling past a dodging Mickeal, down the seven or eight steps to the stone floor.
“You and I have a few things to settle,” she said as she delivered a full force drop kick with her heel into the man’s groin. He screamed and doubled up, gasping for breath and pulling his knees up to his chest. Bibi kicked him again, this time with a well-aimed heel to the head, stomping him bet
ween her foot and the floor. “You son of a bitch,” Bibi yelled, kicking him again and again as he rolled on the floor trying to protect his already ruined jaw, his balls, his head, and his kidneys from the crushing, ballistic, heel of the infuriated woman.
“Get your ass in there,” Bibi said, pointing and giving him another encouraging kick towards the steel box. “If you don’t fit, I’ll cut off a few parts until you do.” The man stumbled to the box, bent over and squeezed himself into the same crouched position Bibi had endured. He put his battered head into the front hole and his ass naturally stuck out the back. Bibi slammed and locked the side door, literally tore his pants off his exposed butt and jammed one of the previously used butt plugs into his helpless ass. “See how you like it,” she shouted. “Okay, we can leave now. I assume the others up stairs are under control,” she said to Mickeal, who had watched her vengeful performance with no effort to intervene.
“Yes. One has a bullet in his leg and one is cuffed to the pipes. Suit yourself. Do whatever you want. I sure as shit don’t care about this trash, but I would like to get some information from them.”
“Okay, but I already beat the hell out of them,” said Bibi, starting up the stairs behind him. Mickeal laughed, realizing that the wounds under the bandages and broken jaw were, of course, Bibi’s work.
“By the way,” Bibi added. “You probably already figured this out, but they kidnapped Lucy. There’s a woman and another guy as well. They’ll most likely be back later tonight, I expect,” she offered, pulling on her sweater and adjusting the swelling breasts under it.
They went up the stairs and found the two men where Mickeal had left them. The one with the bullet wound had made a bandage and temporary tourniquet and was sitting on the floor, looking like he might go into shock. The other, The Blond, was also sitting on the floor, his right hand still cuffed to the pipe.
“You gotta get him to the hospital,” The Blond said. “You hurt him bad.”
“Not as bad as I’m going to hurt you unless you tell me where Lucy is,” said Mickeal. Behind him, Bibi stood and surveyed the room. She went to the desk and started pulling out papers and everything else, looking for any clues that might help them locate the missing heiress.
“I don’t know. Fabian has her. The last I heard was that she was taken to a silver mine in the mountains. That’s all I know.”
“Where in the mountains?” Mickeal pressed, kneeling and looking at the Dark Man’s wound. He pressed his hand lightly on the bloody bandage and the Dark Man howled. “Where in the mountains? What country?” Mickeal pressed.
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I need a doctor,” the Dark Man yelled.
“Okay,” said Mickeal, standing up. “Since you don’t know, you are no use to us and we certainly aren’t going to haul you around while we head for the mountains, so I guess this is the end of the road for you two. Too bad your buddies decided to execute you, but that’s what the police will decide when they find you. Any last words?’ He aimed the Glock at the man’s head.
“No, please. Wait,” screamed the Dark Man. “Fabian has a place where he might have taken her. He has lots of places, but this one is where he keeps his special stock. The Greenhouse.”
“Where?”
“The Greenhouse. It’s in Prague. Near the Charles Bridge. I’ve only been there twice, but you can find it.”
“An address,” Mickeal insisted.
“I don’t know. It’s in the log book in the desk.”
Bibi sifted through the pile of paper and books and came up with a red covered book. She waved it at the Dark Man and he nodded. “That’s it,” he said. “In the front. For shipping purposes, there’s a list of places Fabian owns. The mine may also be there. I don’t know. Please, I need a doctor.”
“Lots of addresses here,” Bibi said. “Why don’t we just take it with us?”
“I agree,” said Mickeal. “Anything you want to do with these three, Bibi?”
“Leave ‘em here. Sooner or later the rest of the crew is coming back.”
“No, please,” the now whimpering Dark Man cried. “If they find out you escaped, they’ll kill us. Get me to the hospital.”
“Too bad,” said Bibi. “Care to see the marks you left on my ass?”
“I’m sorry. We were just following orders,” said The Blond.
“Yeah, like I haven’t heard that one before,” said Mickeal sarcastically.
“You’ll live,” Bibi said, looking again at the Dark Man’s leg and noting that it was no longer bleeding. “But we’ll put you with him on the pipe. Get other there.”
“No, please, I need a doctor,” Dark Man whined.
“If you don’t get over to the pipe with your comrade right now, you won’t need a doctor. You’ll be dead,” said Mickeal, annoyed at the delay these two were causing. The Dark Man stood up and dragging his injured leg, moved towards his pal still cuffed to the heating pipe. Mickeal knew he was up to something and started to turn with his gun leveled in that direction. Suddenly, the window exploded and the Dark Man fell to the floor, his head spouting a stream of dark blood. He wasn’t whining any more. He was instantly dead.
“Down,” Mickeal shouted unnecessarily. But Bibi was already on the floor and The Blond, who was supposed to be cuffed to the pipe, was half way out the front door, running low. Mickeal fired a double tap at him. One of the bullets hit the door jam a few inches from the man’s retreating back as he vanished out the door, but Mickeal was pretty sure that the second one hit its target.
“Who the hell was that?” Mickeal asked no one in particular, still crouched against the wall. Outside they heard a shout and then a car starting up.
“Damn, he’s got my car,” Mickeal muttered.
“Who shot this guy?” Bibi whispered from under the desk.
“Shit, I don’t know,” hissed Mickeal. “But this is getting complicated.”
Chapter Thirteen
Hang 10
“Well, here we are,” said Fabian. “I just know you’re going to love this place. It’s much cleaner and warmer than where you recently spent your training time and certainly more hospitable than that grubby horse farm in The States.”
Lucy listened to Fabian, wishing that she could see what he was talking about and that she could get out of this grossly uncomfortable tree device that she was still bound to. All parts of her body hurt: her captive wrists, neck and ankles all throbbed from the metal cuffs. After more than a day in the travel case, she was again bound to the metal tree. Her poor stuffed mouth ached from the distortion of the gag and other areas were still hurting from the cart pulling and torture regimen of the mine. Those thoughts reminded her that things could and most likely would get worse.
Loading her onto a two-wheeled handcart, Fabian rolled Lucy along a smooth floor into what sounded, by the echoes, like a very large room. Maybe, Lucy thought, an airplane hangar. She heard fans or blowers of some sort, which seemed to be spreading warm, extremely humid air. She heard what sounded like gentle rain somewhere far off in the building. She smelled plants and dirt. She waited.
Fabian set her down on the floor with her back on a cool, smooth surface and began to unfasten her bindings from the tree. He took her wrists from the cuffs and pulled them behind her back, tied them with a leather thong, then removed her feet from the tree and bound her ankles side by side as well, pulling her hands and ankles together for a stringent hogtie. Lucy moaned. She was, she thought, just going from one enforced restraint to another. Was there no break in this painful and tedious routine, she wondered? What was Fabian up to now?
When Fabian finally removed the blindfold, she blinked in the bright, sun-like light, trying to focus her eyes. Between the mine and the blindfold, her eyes were unaccustomed to the bright light and it took a few minutes for Lucy to regain her sight. What she saw, even after all that she had already endured since her initial capture on the train months before, astonished her.
Fabian stood a few feet away from her hog-t
ied form, his arms outstretched above him, calling her attention to some display that had yet to appear. The building was, as she had expected, huge, like an enormous greenhouse. Indeed, it was populated by thousands of green plants, large and small. Trees blossomed, flowers bloomed and she even heard birds chirping in this lush inside space. The beauty and the incongruence of the scene stunned her.
Fabian pushed a button on a small remote device in his hand and above the background noise of blowers and birds and plants growing and leaves blowing in the breeze, a slight mechanical whine reached Lucy’s alert ears. Fabian pivoted his body slightly and again spread his arms, pointing proudly to a moving line of figures that emerged from the deep and heavy bushes behind him. Moving slowly along a track suspended and almost hidden by the watering hoses and sprayers and other botanical garden equipment in the overhead, was a line of human bodies. They were all, from what Lucy could see, young women and they were, at no real surprise to Lucy, as naked as she was. They were fastened in a most elaborate way to a sort of metal frame that held them upright, hanging from a sort of trolley, which moved along the hidden track. The bodies swayed with the forward motion of the track and Lucy could see a few well-manicured fingers flutter a bit as the forms moved towards her, but there was little other motion in the bodies. They were obviously very much alive, but the nature of their hanging confinement was such that almost no movement was possible.
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