CAPTIVE COUPLE
By
Laran Mithras
Cover Photo by www.Shutterstock.com
Captive Couple is a work of fiction. Names, locations and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2016 - All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Captive Couple (Iron Crows Motorcycle Club, #1)
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
EPILOGUE
For, brethren, ye have been called unto liberty; only use not liberty for an occasion to the flesh, but by love serve one another. ~ Galatians 5:13
CHAPTER 1
A loud, vibrating roar interrupted my reverie as my new wife and I got into our Suburban. I had just married the only woman I had ever loved, Kristy Donaldson – now Kristy Butcher.
Motorcycles swarmed from behind on the street, closing in and stopping all around.
I looked, perplexed, feeling a spike of panic. What's this?
Kristy, in her white wedding dress, began looking worried. We had traveled out to Keystone, just over the county line to get married at the first marriage chapel we found. Our city didn't offer the type of quick services we wanted. Not fast enough. I looked at her with a fast glance; we fit each other as oddballs fit together. Loving each other because no one else could or did, we survived together and had for three years.
But the growling roar around us drew our attention away from each other. It demanded our attention.
Men in black jeans and vests were running. A van had stopped two car spaces ahead of us and three bikers were lifting out a long rug, suspiciously thick, as if containing a body.
Kristy reached over and grabbed my arm. Her voice was frail, echoing the panic I felt. "Jim, get us out of here!"
Heart beginning to thump loud in my chest, I shifted the lever into reverse and hit the gas. All of my nerves were on end. I turned the wheel over and the front of our Suburban swung out wide. There was a solid crunch and rocking of the Chevy as we struck something.
Kristy screamed, "Jim!"
I didn't know where to look to see her warning. My door was yanked open by a frantic-faced biker as burly as I was, if not more. I had put on a few pounds. At six foot, I weighed in at two hundred and forty-one pounds. Yeah, I needed to drop some.
Things were happening too fast. I reached for my gun – a Beretta 9mm Nano – and whipped it towards the face of the biker in my door. I heard Kristy's door open and her scream.
The biker was lean, mean, full of muscle and speed. His hair was buzzed down but showed flecks of gray throughout. His hand grabbed my gun hand and pulled, hard. I heard a gunshot just before my finger pulled on the trigger and my own gun went off. But buzzed biker had control.
I cursed fate for the situation as the Suburban started to roll backwards. It was still in reverse and biker-guy had a death grip on my arm. Another biker joined him, latching onto my arm and slapping away my gun. I was dragged out of our SUV. The Suburban bumped up against something and stopped.
I twisted, trying to get to my feet. A boot to my gut lifted me a foot off the ground. But it also served to infuse me with adrenaline. My life is in danger! Kristy! I rolled away and got to my feet. Buzzed biker was launching a fist at my face. I reacted as I had been trained in karate school several years before: I blocked and launched my own attack. A quick punch to the face of the man sent him back staggering.
I heard Kristy crying out and glanced to where she was. Her struggling form, still in her white wedding dress, was held by two bikers. Her face showed a look of terror. That was the last thing I remember seeing. Something hard, solid, and metal hit the back of my head. Darkness covered my vision like a heavy, black blanket. I felt nothing then of my normal awareness. No aches, no pains, no irritations – only peace. Dimly, I felt my body hit the pavement.
~ ~ ~
Pain pulsed down my neck from my head. Now I knew what a splitting headache felt like. I wanted to rub my head but my wrists were bound out to my sides. So were my feet. Those two things were the first sensations that made any sense. Then I had the stunning conclusion form in my aching head that I was alive. Oh joy of painful joys. I tried to move my head, but the room swirled around me. I groaned.
I'm in a room? Blinding light kept my eyes closed. Light? Some sense of rational thought intruded. Where is Kristy?
A voice grated down over me as something blocked out the light. "Ready to talk, fed?"
I groaned again to let whoever it was know that my head really hurt. I jerked on the bindings and felt the burn against my wrists. I tried to lift my legs and realized the sudden sensation of my feet fastened into place; they weren't going anywhere. That's right, I'm tied down. I had a burst of panic at not being able to move and struggled feebly, despite my strength.
Another voice said, "Fat boy's trying to get away."
I'm not fat! I'm... I'm...big. Where is Kristy? Where am I? I groaned, trying to form the words.
I heard, "Stick him and be done with it."
The growly voice said, "In due time."
My life floated precariously on growly-voice's whim.
I whimpered, wondering where we had gone wrong. I just wanted to get married. I heard something near, sort of. A feminine noise that sounded like my girlfriend of three years. No – my new wife. I lifted my head, trying to blink away the blinding brightness. I made a noise not even I could make out.
Buzz-cut biker was standing there, arms folded. Other than the light, he was the first thing I saw that made any sense. He was scowling at someone else. "Watch him while I go question his partner."
I heard a grunt, but nothing else. My eyes swam as cloudiness swept across my vision and senses.
A sound, familiar and forlorn, fought through my fugue. I lifted my head at the sound of my Kristy making a mewling noise. I heard a question, maybe from buzz-biker. I heard her whimper. More questions.
I opened my mouth, fighting the dryness that was suddenly there. "Kristy?" I croaked.
An enormous man with shoulders like boulders and arms like logs leaned over me. "Shut up."
I heard ripping and a sudden whimpering that I knew was Kristy. I opened my mouth, forcing the word out. "Kristy?"
I heard more ripping and her sudden frantic call: "Jimmy!"
I struggled against the bindings only to be greeted with big guy's chuckle.
My wife was panting, I could barely hear it. Her dress had been ripped. She groaned suddenly and said with a fountain full of frustration, "No!" Then all went quiet.
I gasped, "Kristy?"
Big guy leaned over me again. His huge hand grabbed my cheeks and squeezed. "Shut up, fed. Your partner's getting what she deserves."
I managed to mumble, "What?"
Big guy laughed. I focused on him for a brief second. My vision seemed clear enough to make out details. He wore a black denim vest with patches on its front. One of them read: "Gripper."
Then I heard my wife - my Kristy. Her plaintive wail was filled with regret. I also heard the audible panting of someone else, followed by a long sigh. "She's fucking tight."
A couple of chuckles greeted that. Someone said, "Fuck her good, brother."
I heard more panting, quickening, followed by the introduction of whimpering that I knew to be my new bride. I raised my head. "Kristy? Kristy!"
Something impacted the side of my face, hard. My head flopped.
There was some cheering.
I strained against my bonds, wanting to break free like some crazed super-hero and destroy them all with my obvious superior strength. But my bindings prevented me. I shifted my focus, trying to reach for my gun. But it had been slapped out of my hand back in our Suburban, and I was still bound anyway. I growled in frustration.
The pain of hearing what sounded like my bride being raped seethed deep within me with outrage and offense.
CHAPTER 2
I lifted my head. "Water..." My bindings chafed beyond pain. They were a constant reminder of a situation far beyond my control. I wondered where my gun was. I felt slightly cold, but could tell there was heat nearby.
A worn female face leaned over me and lifted my head. A cold steel cup was pressed to my lips. I took it, eagerly. Her voice was dry and weary. "It's about time you drank something." She was good-looking for an old bag, face filled with wrinkles and worry.
I sipped the cool water, savoring the soft silvery feel against my tongue and the back of my throat. I coughed after swallowing, but pursed my lips for more. All of my limbs ached. I groaned, still sipping more water. I realized I needed to go to the bathroom and groaned louder.
The woman's wizened face was over me. "You awake enough to move around?"
I made another garbled groan in response.
She looked away. "Twenty! He's ready."
A biker came into my view as I tried to focus. His black denim vest had a patch near his left breast that said: "Twenty." He sneered down at me. "Time to use the toilet?"
I nodded, for lack of any meaningful response. I felt completely helpless, and at the same time, urgent with needed relief.
My bindings were undone.
I briefly considered fight and flight: I was strong. I was beefcake. But the necessity of needing to pee overwhelmed me with tension and an inability to move right. Sitting up was a monumental task of effort not to wet myself. That's when I realized there was something around my neck, weighing me down with depression. I was wearing a collar with a heavy chain attached. I instinctively grabbed at my throat and found the collar, pulling at it.
Hands gripped me roughly and moved me. My feet hit the floor, totally numb and not wanting to work. Where are my shoes? It is amazing what silly things enter your mind when you lack control. I was having a seriously bad time trying to get my mental bearings.
I was pushed towards a bathroom door. I noticed the room, then: a featureless room with one window that showed a steel-grated cover. My mind instantly registered there would be no escape through the room's only window. I was guided into a small bathroom with a shower. The chain weighed heavily on my neck and I was constantly bent sideways, trying to compensate for the weight.
All I had ever wanted in life was to be someone - to be successful. In my Kenpo classes, I had yearned for inclusion. I had been taught to fight, but not how to fit in. I had struggled through school, outcast by the sports guys and shunned by the nerds. Girls had looked me up and down and shaken their heads.
It was only on a call from a bookkeeping agency that I had met Kristy. Her computer had fried due to the CPU fan dying and I had responded to fix it. Of course, it was unfixable, but they didn't know that when they had called. Kristy's look had spoken of a yearning that matched my own. Both of us felt it: an instant desire to be together, near, and sharing our fate as loners. That had been three years ago in forming that fateful relationship.
I sat on the ice-cold toilet seat, not trusting my legs to stand, and let out an insistent and demanding stream of water.
My mind cleared. Where is my girlfriend? I mean, my wife? Where is Kristy? As my mind continued to sharpen, I noted the man watching me without looking at my eyes. He was smaller than me, crazy-eyed, and suspicious-looking. The woman behind him had her arms folded, looking bored. She was wearing a denim vest with labels on it that I couldn't see at this distance. I looked at Twenty. He was in black denim and vest, just like the others I had seen.
Due to the position of "Twenty" over his left breast, I resolved to understand that particular spot as a nametag. My mind filed that away with little difficulty. I gasped, "Where is Kristy?"
I was almost done peeing.
Twenty glanced over his shoulder at the door. "In the other room. You ready to talk, fed?"
I used tissue to wipe off the end of my dick. "Yes."
He didn't appear impressed. But his voice rose. "Dealer!"
Cold washed down my back at the name as the realization hit me. I was in the midst of a drug gang. What else could dealer mean? This biker gang dealt drugs. I began to get a very sick feeling in my gut. My sense of impending death increased. My life meant nothing to drug dealers and neither did Kristy's.
The buzzed-haired biker came in, rubbing his jaw and stifling a yawn. "He's alert?"
Twenty grunted.
Dealer regarded me with very critical eyes. "You don't look like a federal agent. Not FBI. Are you CIA? DEA?"
I was rising, feeling much relieved. But his question added a whole new set of suck to my appraisal. "What?"
Dealer, with his nametag affirming his moniker, stepped up close as if not fearing my size. "What agency are you with?"
I started to deny. "I don't know what—"
The fist to my gut stopped me real fast.
"Tell me."
I tried to draw in air from the unexpected punch. I groaned.
Dealer sneered, "Maybe I can get the story from your partner. You don't mind if I fuck her for it, do you? Of course not. You only care if I kill her." His evil smile moved away as he twisted around and left the room.
I wanted to say something, anything, as Dealer left the room. The woman was shaking her head. Twenty had a grin on his face that bespoke amusement.
I heard Dealer call, "Viking, come here."
A moment later, there was an audible grunt.
Dealer said, "Your turn."
Viking's low chuckle filled my ears as my mind suddenly went numb and buzzy.
I gasped out, "Wait..."
Twenty grabbed the chain near my neck and yanked hard. I fell to the floor. The chain was that heavy. I briefly looked along its length to where it was fastened. There was no way I was going to superman that sucker out of its fastening. Heavy bolts secured the plate and I immediately knew I would need tools. Heavy tools.
The wizened old woman in the room with me laughed. At the same time I heard Kristy gasp and cry out.
Whoever Viking was, he became vocal. "You're right, tight as a virgin." His gasps and grunts grew louder and were joined by feminine gasps that I knew to be Kristy's.
I raged, pulling against my collar and chain, "I'll kill you all!"
A fist met my face - very fast and sure. The next I knew, I was on my back looking at the ceiling. Twenty was over me. His voice was like grated concrete. "Fuck you." It sounded like he enjoyed saying it. He moved away and settled against the wall, crossing his arms.
But my senses were focused on the other room nearby. Viking, whoever he was, was grunting away. My bride made sounds of response. I didn't think they were faked. It surely sounded like she was being fucked. I had hoped they might be faking me out, but I didn't think they were. The hurt burned in my chest, bracing me for immediate action. I struggled to my feet and faced Twenty. "I'll kill you!"
His grin was instantaneous and relieved. He pushed off the wall from where he had been leaning and approached me. "Want a piece of me?"
I growled, ready for combat. I took the basic defensive karate stand: one foot forward, same arm up and ready to block, other arm lower and ready to counter attacks to the groin.
Twenty's eyes scanned me up and down. Then he was moving, fast and low.
I blocked a low attack at my groin with a downward thrust of my left forearm. At the same time, I launched a punch with my right at his face.
&n
bsp; Surprised, he was deflected in his attack and took my fist into his face with a satisfying impact. He staggered backwards.
I stood upright, showing him my height. It never failed to impress others.
He wasn't impressed.
What the fuck? I frowned at him in curiosity as he came at me – fearless – with intent in his eyes. Before I could block his punch, his fist connected with my jaw and gut. The air rushed out of me in a rush and I went down onto one knee. I looked up just as his fist came down onto my chin.
CHAPTER 3
I don't really know how many days passed. With zero relation to time, I might have guessed a week. Maybe it was only a day. Maybe only two days. I don't know. I became used to the routine. I was allowed freedom, as it were with my neck collared, to use the toilet and shower. But my clothes had been taken away from me and I existed chained, naked.
Sometimes, during those times, I heard what amounted to sounding like men having sex with my bride. I wasn't convinced it was real. They seemed to be suspicious of me for some reason. I also found that laying on the table where they had bound me that I was responding to what I was hearing. Are they really having sex with Kristy? My memory of her pussy was comforting and at the same time conflicting. Were they really fucking her? Anger rose in me, but also my ardor. My penis responded, firming and rising as I listened to obvious sounds of sex.
I anxiously called out during times of darkness. "Kristy?"
I never got an answer.
It was during one time of panting and gasping I thought was meant to break me down with thoughts of her being raped that someone said to me, "Looks like you're excited."
I was panting, my dick hard and standing up. Where is my wife?
A face leaned over me, though I was no longer tied down except for the collar and chain at my neck. It was Twenty.
He whispered to me, "Your partner likes it." He didn't seem to expect anything, but his following words were pregnant with meaning. "She's spilling all. Your story better match hers, fat-boy."
Captive Couple Page 1
