by Diana Layne
“Don’t do it.”
She gave him her full attention. His nod indicated she should drop her gun. With the hope there would be a chance to fight again later, and a brief sorrowful thought of Angel, MJ moved her grip to the barrel and reluctantly lowered her gun to the carpet.
“Stand up and back away,” he ordered, not attempting to get her weapon until she was out of range where she could kick him.
“I’ve got them covered, Mac,” wannabe rock star said once he had MJ’s gun in his hand.
The under the bed guy, called Mac, who eerily resembled a short squat dark-haired Mack truck in build and features, pulled Tasha to her feet.
“Bitch poisoned me,” the senator gasped, reminding them he was still there. With one hand holding onto Tasha, Mac tucked the knife into his jacket pocket and took the syringe. It was empty.
“What do we do?” he demanded from Tasha.
Tasha shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not a nurse.”
With the syringe in his hand, Mac backhanded Tasha barely missing impaling her eye with the needle.
Holding herself in check, MJ mentally filed the red spot blooming on Tasha’s cheek as something to be taken care of later. If they got out of this . . . . The mental picture of Angelina reaching up with her pudgy fingers caused MJ’s fighting spirit to be renewed. She would get out of this, both of them would. Alive.
Mac turned to his partner. “Joe?”
Joe, aka rockstar shirt man, answered, “I’ll call for help.”
Terrific. Med techs, then cops, would soon swarm the place.
“Call for his caretaker. She’ll probably be faster than 911,” MJ said, hoping to find some way out of there before officials arrived. Come to think of it, had someone heard the gunshots and already called the cops?
“I’m not calling 911.”
Relief warred with shock. What sort of body guards wouldn’t call for help?
“Frisk them and tie them up while I make the calls.”
“Already got her knife,” Mac said. “Let’s see what else you got.” He eased his hands across Tasha’s breasts, taking ample time with her curves. Probably spent more time with Tasha than he ever spent on foreplay, MJ thought.
He found a gun in Tasha’s back holster, stuffed it into his pocket with the knife. Like a magician with a rabbit, he produced a pair of old-fashioned hand cuffs from somewhere behind him. Likely his back pocket. He pulled Tasha’s hands behind her. Tasha seemed inordinately quiet; a green tinge lit her face. That must’ve been one hard blow on her head.
Joe, even while on the phone, hadn’t lowered his gun or lost his watchfulness. After he apprised whoever was on the other end of the situation, Joe mostly said “okay,” and “yeah, okay,” listening intently to instructions, while keeping his focus on the women.
The senator slumped in the wheelchair. Dead? No one seemed overly alarmed. What sort of hired bodyguards were these men? Obviously the senator hadn’t done the hiring. Someone else was orchestrating the moves.
It was her turn to be searched. She gritted her teeth while Mac’s tire-sized hands rubbed over her body. At least she didn’t have as many curves to tempt his hands to linger.
In the pocket of her nurse’s jacket were papers with the phony instructions on it for the senator. Mac pulled them out and laid them on the dresser beside her. The shiny silver paper clip holding the sheets together caught her eye. Just as with Tasha, after he’d found her knife and extra gun, he pulled her hands behind her and cuffed them with another set of handcuffs Joe had tossed to him. Thank goodness it wasn’t a cable tie cuff.
“What are we supposed to do?” Mac asked when Joe disconnected his call.
Joe moved to the senator, searched for a pulse. “He’s dead, or will be soon. Put him in bed, it’ll look like he’s sleeping.”
Had the idea of getting help for the old guy been changed in favor of...what? Letting him die? The thought didn’t really bother her. Training reinforced bad guys deserved to die. Even though sometimes it was hard to tell the good guys from the bad, at least this time the distinction was clear. The senator and his buddies were on the “definitely deserve to die” list.
While her parents had been on the other list, the “do not deserve to die list”, and yet they’d been killed anyway thanks to this slimebucket and his cronies. MJ remembered the funeral. Her parents looked so unnatural in their caskets, almost like those wax statues she’d seen on vacation once. So still in death, so unreal. . . and so unfair to take her family and leave her all alone.
“Old fart’s heavier than he looks,” Mac complained.
MJ stuffed her bad memories back into the closet of her mind, the one with the “danger, too much baggage” sign on the door. She opened the door to her working brain and with Mac and Joe’s attention turned to the senator, MJ palmed the paperclip off the papers Mac laid on the dresser. She had the feeling that whatever was planned for her and Tasha wasn’t good. And she wanted a way to get out of these cuffs when the time was right. Fortunately since they were the old-fashioned metal kind of cuffs, the paperclip would work.
“What next?” Mac asked.
“We have to take them and get out of here,” Joe began.
“You’re going to just leave him there in bed alone?” MJ interrupted, pretending concern. She figured if she kept them talking, she might learn something useful.
“When his caretaker comes back, she’ll just think he’s sleeping. Or not. She can handle it,” Joe answered.
MJ was glad these men weren’t her bodyguards.
“Speaking of the caretaker, shouldn’t someone have come running by now from the sound of gunshots?” MJ questioned.
“This room’s sound proof.”
Sound proof? What the hell for?
She couldn’t wipe away the look of shock before Joe saw it. He added as an explanation, “He was a kinky old senator.”
And she didn’t want to go there because it wasn’t such a far stretch the way he’d been drooling over Tasha.
“Into the closet you two.” Joe waved his gun.
“The closet?” Mac asked.
“Gotta look for the lever behind the tie rack, boss said. “There’s a secret panel in here.”
Secret panel? Lever? As in to open the secret panel. How medieval. And where did that secret panel lead to?
“Is that the way to the Basement?” Mac asked.
“Apparently so,” Joe answered.
“So it really exists?”
Joe nodded, and the way Mac had said “basement” led MJ to believe they’d find more than a laundry room downstairs.
MJ shot Tasha a look while Joe pulled out the tie rack in the built-in cedar wardrobe. By Tasha’s facial expression she knew what they were talking about, but a little shake of her head warned MJ to keep silent.
The panel slid open.
“In you two.”
MJ was very certain she didn’t want to take a step that led down to the basement.
Tasha looked just as reluctant.
Chapter 20
“It’s dark, I can’t see,” MJ said.
“This is probably the light.” Joe flipped a switch on the wall. “After you, ladies.”
A dim glow illuminated the narrow stairway. With no other choices presenting themselves, MJ sent a look at Tasha, and took the first step.
“Wow, would you look at this place,” Mac said when they reached the bottom.
The phrase, “a slight understatement” came to mind. The basement with blood red painted walls looked like some sort of kinky sex club. A sex club with a bent toward torture. Bronze manacles were bolted to one wall. Something that resembled a medieval rack dominated the middle of the room. And a slanted board fashioned over a drain in the floor stood in a corner to the front and right. She shuddered. Improvised water boarding where the washing machine should be? So much for claims that senators had no knowledge of water boarding. Ha. Ha.
In the back left corner was the most innocuous looking
prop in the whole room, a pole like strippers might use, set up in front of a plump comfy looking couch. No matter how comfortable it looked, MJ wasn’t touching it. Given this room, no telling what sort of nasties were on that couch.
Stepping further into the room, she saw over in the right corner, across from the water board set up was a wet bar. And further around on the left side, right next to the stairway, was a big brass bed. With fur lined cuffs hanging on the posts. Terrific.
“How long are we going to be here?” Mac asked with an anticipatory gleam in his eyes that set MJ’s nerves on edge. He plainly hoped to use this kinky stuff. On them.
MJ and Tasha exchanged another look. MJ, wishing she’d walked away and left Tasha to her senator killing, and no doubt Tasha thinking that bringing MJ in had ruined her good luck streak. Well, to each operative came a time of being captured. And obviously they were dealing with a competent opponent. But MJ had, and she was sure Tasha had, gotten out of tight situations before.
“I’ll keep watch on them, you go move their car,” Joe ordered. “The place will be crawling with people soon if the old guy died.”
“Where’s the keys?”
“Look in the medical bag upstairs.”
Mac left again.
“So, ladies, what to do with you?” Joe looked around. “Yes, sir, this gives me lots of ideas.”
MJ had the same sort of thought, but no doubt in a direction different from his.
“Don’t want you too comfortable, so why don’t you climb on top of those bar stools.” Now that was going to be tricky with their hands cuffed behind them.
Balanced on the stool, the man took a seat on the rack looking piece of equipment, keeping the Beretta pointed on them. “This is something creepy isn’t it? Think it’s real, or just a replica?
* * *
Cindy, the senator’s caretaker, trudged up the steps, knowing she’d most likely find the old man dead, given the report from the man called Mac. One of the hazards of the job, but this time the job had an added benefit for her if the old guy was dead, or near death.
It was the first time anyone approached her and offered a lot of money for her to wait a few minutes to call for help. She didn’t know how that man had known what would happen, or even how he knew the two phony nurses would show up, nor did Cindy know exactly was going on, but her checking account certainly appreciated the hefty deposit he’d made. And when those two men showed up this morning with guns, she’d known it would soon be over. As long as the death looked natural and she didn’t have to cover up for a bullet wound or something.
As she slowly pushed open the heavy oak door, she wondered what she’d find. The senator was no longer in his wheelchair but lying in bed. For all the world, he looked as if he were resting. She walked over and felt for a pulse.
With a nod, she pulled out her cell phone, dialed the number she’d memorized. When the man answered, she said, “He’s dead.”
“Make the necessary calls, get his body out of there, and call me when all is clear.”
Cindy figured she’d take a week or two vacation before she started job hunting again.
* * *
Mac hurried back down the stairs with the medical bag and car keys. He tossed them on the floor at the bottom of the steps. “You didn’t start the fun without me?”
“Just been sitting here chatting like old friends,” Joe said. “So what’s happening?”
“Old guy’s dead, coroner’s been called. Should be a while before all’s clear. So let’s have some fun.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me.”
MJ didn’t have to look at Tasha to know it didn’t sound fun to either of them. But she did look, and saw a promise reflected in her own eyes, that they would get out of this any way it took.
MJ gave a mental nod.
“What first?” Mac looked around.
“Cuff them to the pole while we decide.”
“Better not put them together.”
MJ mentally slapped Mac for his warning. He had more brains than his appearance indicated.
“You’re right,” Joe agreed. “One in the manacles then.”
MJ stiffened, realizing immediately she was going to have a problem. She still had the paper clip in her hand. Once they released her cuffs they would find it. If they put her in the manacles there would be no chance to use it. She needed to find a way to pass it to Tasha then. Whoever was cuffed to the pole would be able to use it, if one of them managed to keep it.
“Let’s put her in the manacles.” Mac pointed to Tasha. “I’d like to see those tits stretched out tight. Give me all sorts of ideas.”
Thank God for small boobs? MJ resisted feeling any sympathy for Tasha. Not because the woman had gotten MJ into this mess, but sympathy was an emotion that hindered doing what had to be done. Emotions had to be clamped down to function effectively. Over the years, MJ learned, as any successful operative, to file those emotions away in a different compartment. Perhaps to be brought out later, most usually to stay locked up. Easier that way.
She’d made a mistake earlier thinking about Angel.
“Who are you working for, Mac?” MJ asked. “Maybe we can work a better deal.”
Mac and Joe both snorted.
“Not damn likely,” Mac said. “Okay, get over there,” he said to Tasha.
With an eye roll tossed to MJ, Tasha sauntered toward the wall.
“Take off her top,” Joe said, “So we can see them stretched nice and tight.”
Mac ripped at the buttons on the top. He stopped when he got to the cuffs. He fumbled for the key, unhooked the cuffs, pulled the top off. “Arms up.” He hooked her onto the manacles. True enough, the sleeveless fitted sweater emphasized the shape of her breasts with her arms stretched wide. MJ could practically sense the men’s dicks coming to attention. Shit, this was turning into a long day.
She hid a shudder as male lust filled the room. With no time to waste, she had to get the paperclip to a place where she could reach it once they chained her to the pole. She brought her cuffed hands around to the right as much as she could reach, and slid the paper clip into the waistband of her panties, hoping when she walked it wouldn’t fall straight through.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Joe asked.
“Had an itch, d’you mind?”
“Get over to the pole.”
As Mac was busy fondling Tasha’s breasts, Joe led MJ to the pole. She walked slowly, used her stomach muscles to keep the paperclip held firm in the waist band.
Joe unhooked her cuffs. “Hands in front.” He pulled her tight against the pole and refastened the cuffs. “Hey, what are you doing?” Joe asked Mac who was in the process of unfastening Tasha’s pants.
“She wants it, man.” Mac squeezed Tasha’s breast again, and amazingly the woman leaned into it, a look of lust on her face.
MJ could only stare. Surely it was an act.
Then Tasha opened her eyes and met MJ’s gaze for a nanosecond, and again with that brief look, MJ knew. Tasha was using herself as bait.
MJ had never experienced such a psychic connection with a partner as she had with Tasha today, but what the hell. She wasn’t going to question.
“Hang on, I saw an old camcorder on a shelf behind the wet bar,” Joe said. “Let me check the battery.”
“We gonna tape them?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Kinky,” Mac said.
“You’re kidding right?” MJ said as Joe walked behind the bar. “Having a sex party with us is part of your job description?” No need to be subtle or stupid.
“Yeah, hell of a job isn’t it?” Joe grinned like a boy with a hot new video game.
MJ was tempted to mentally shrink away. But she knew she couldn’t pretend to deny what was happening even though this was a kink—in more ways in one—that she certainly hadn’t expected. By now Mac had Tasha’s shoes and slacks off, leaving her in green and black lace bikini panties and her sweater. Mac was on his knees, la
pping at the top of Tasha’s panties.
“Hang on, dude,” Joe protested. “Slow down.”
Mac surfaced for air. “Is the battery charged?”
“Yeah,” Joe said. “Let me turn it on and focus.”
“How long do you figure we have?”
“A couple of hours at least. Finish undressing her.”
“That’s more like it.” With a quick movement Mac stripped off Tasha’s green and black lace panties. “Hello, mama. Come to daddy.” Mac ground his mouth against Tasha’s golden pubic hairs, slid his fingers between her legs.
MJ looked away. She admired Tasha’s restraint from kicking the guy in the face, knowing that would only bring the pain of retaliation, but MJ couldn’t watch.
“Give me a condom.” MJ heard the sound of his pants zipper.
“No, wait,” Joe said. “Get her shirt off.”
“Where’s the key?”
“Don’t let her go, just cut off her shirt.”
As all signs were pointing toward her losing her clothes as well, MJ realized she had to do something with the paperclip.
Thinking fast, with one eye on them she twisted until she could reach the paperclip in her waistband. Next, she slid down the pole until she could drop it into her shoe.
Figuring they’d make her take off her shoes anyway, she toed them off, pushing each one away with her feet, just within reach, but enough out of the way so whoever stripped her wouldn’t stumble over them.
When she turned her attention back to Tasha, Mac was cutting away the last of her shirt. He’d sliced down the middle, and was now cutting through the arm holes. Next, her front-hook bra, green and black lace matching her panties. He took his time unhooking it, playing with Tasha’s breasts, kneading them, then licking and suckling each one obviously enjoying every moment.
MJ’s body recoiled in sympathy. Man, this was the shittiest job she’d ever been on, and she wasn’t even on the damn payroll.
Mac sliced the two bra straps. Tasha didn’t flinch or make a move that any of the man’s groping was bothering her. In fact, it was just the opposite; she seemed to be encouraging the guy. MJ had to admire Tasha’s acting ability. No way she could really be enjoying that. Could she?
