Deviant: Courtney & Dustin: A Captive Tale (The Billionaire Voyeur Book 2)

by Rowena

  I shudder. I can’t help it.

  “Yes, Daddy,” I say, tears flowing.

  He turns his back on me and goes to stare out the double doors into the backyard.

  My knees are weak and I can barely stand.

  I want to vomit, pass out, scream, and run all at the same time.

  Unable to decide on one, I stand frozen in place.

  My mouth moves—I should say something—but nothing comes out.

  Paulie comes to stand in front of me and then gently turns me around and pushes me out of my father’s office.

  Outside of it, he closes the door behind us and then leads me out the front door…

  I swallow down the bile, doing my best to remain calm.

  Calm is the key. A clear head can come up with a plan.

  Silence holds the van in its deadly grip.

  The sound of the tires whistling against the asphalt are the only assault on its reign. No radio, no humming, no conversation—just the steady hum.

  They have to stop for gas.

  One of them will take me to the bathroom while the other gasses up.

  Since it’s a public restroom, they can’t take me there with a bag on my head and in handcuffs, so they’ll have to remove them.

  That’s my chance. No bag, uncuffed, I can run for it.

  Maybe someone will call the cops.

  I’ll scream—that’s what I’ll do. I’ll scream and someone will catch footage on their cell.

  Even if the guys catch me, they can’t kill every witness.

  It’s not a great plan but it’s all I’ve got.

  My one great hope—scream and run.

  This sucks.

  The sound of the tires whistling slows and becomes a low drone.

  A blinker flashes, clicking with each flash as the brakes squeak in protest of their use.

  This is it. Breathe, breathe slow and steady. Keep the heart rate under control, push down the fear.

  The van slows to an almost stop, then I can feel it turning. It crunches onto gravel or whatever sounds like it.

  “Make it fast,” Jeff says. “We’re going to be late.”

  “I have to pee!” I cry out. “Really bad.”

  “Pee there,” Brett barks.

  “No! That’s disgusting. God.”

  Brett laughs. Sicko probably likes shit like that.

  “Please! Look, I’ll be good. What can I do anyway? I have no idea where we are, no money. I just have to pee.”

  “You could run, you could scream. You could make my life a hassle,” Jeff says.

  “I promise I won’t, I just… I have to pee,” I beg.

  “I’m not leaving you alone,” Jeff says.

  “Fine! Watch, you sicko, but I really have to pee,” I say angrily.

  The van comes to a stop and one door opens then another.

  I hear them shut and I wait.

  I pull my legs under me, preparing, planting my feet against the floor.

  I lean toward the side door, ready.

  It clicks, the latch letting go, then the rollers sound as the door slides to one side.

  “All ri—”

  I burst into motion, throwing myself toward the sound of his voice.

  My shoulder crashes into whichever one of them is at the door, and his body gives way under the force.

  It sounds like a rib may have snapped and the air is knocked out of him.

  I land on the ground in a heap but scrabble back to my feet.

  Over my own gasps, I hear the one I hit wheezing, trying to suck in air.

  On my feet, I run forward and stumble over something hard, falling forward.

  Moving my feet fast, I barely keep myself upright, bouncing off something metal—probably a gas pump.

  Brett, I think, cries out, but I don’t slow down.

  I can’t see—the bag over my head barely lets in light so I’m literally running blind.

  I’m too winded, air is too precious to scream so I focus on running.

  Then I hit something—no, someone.

  My head hits into his chest and I stumble backward, unable to keep my balance and land on my ass.

  CHAPTER THREE: DONNIE

  The numbers click to a stop on the gas pump and the nozzle pops as they stop.

  I pull it out and put it back on its hook then replace my gas cap.

  While closing the lid, something hits me from behind unexpectedly.

  I’m knocked into the car and, instinctively, I drop down, but whatever hit me slams into me again as I duck and I’m off my feet.

  I roll over onto my back, scrambling backward, looking for the source of the attack.

  Damn it, I shouldn’t have trusted Emilio—he’s double-crossed me already.

  A girl is struggling to her feet between my spread legs.

  There’s a sackcloth bag over her head and her hands are cuffed behind her.

  This isn’t something you see every day.

  I grab her by her shoulders and she fights, kicking at me.

  “Hey,” I say. “Stop. What’s going on?”

  “Help!” she gasps through the bag.

  While climbing to my feet, I help her up.

  She struggles, and as soon as her feet are under her, she tries to run again.

  I grab her shoulders and shake her.

  “What?” I ask her again.

  “I’ve been kidnapped; they’re going to kill me,” she gasps.

  That’s all I need to hear because behind her, two men are approaching. Thugs.

  I know their type well enough—greasy hair, dead eyes, ill-fitted suits they wear to try and give themselves an air of respectability that they don’t have.

  “Get behind me,” I order her and then push her where I want her. “Don’t move.”

  “You don’t… ”

  “Enough. Be quiet and wait,” I order.

  She falls silent and doesn’t run.

  Good.

  The two men stop a few feet away. The three of us stare at each other.

  One of them is blond with wavy hair, sharp features, and narrow shoulders. He seems to be the most relaxed of the two of them. The other has dark hair cut short, and broad features that make him look like a Neanderthal. The eyes make him look dumb as well.

  I focus my attention on the blond.

  “Gentlemen,” I say.

  “Just give us the girl,” the dark-haired one says.

  “Why would I do that?” I ask.

  Dark Hair smiles and shakes his head then turns and spits on the ground.

  Blond says nothing, but his right hand drifts toward his coat.

  I watch them both.

  “Because I fucking told you to,” Dark Hair says.

  “I see,” I say.

  “We need the girl, then we can all go on our way,” Blond says at last.

  “I’m afraid that’s going to be a sticking point,” I reply.

  “What the fuck does that even mean?” Dark Hair asks.

  “It means he doesn’t want to,” Blond answers for me.

  “Exactly,” I reply.

  “Well, that’s unfortunate,” Dark Hair says, reaching behind him and producing a nine millimeter.

  He points the gun at me sideways, making it clear he’s used to getting by on his bravado and not on actually using his weapon.

  I flick my eyes at him but keep my full attention on the blond.

  We stare at each other, two predators recognizing the other.

  “Give us the fucking girl or I’m going to shove this gun up your ass and pull the trigger,” Dark Hair barks.

  Blond reaches into his jacket slowly and pulls his own gun. When he aims it, his aim is true.

  As I already knew, he’s a killer. He’s done this before.

  I shake my head side to side and then smile.

  “I’ve already said that’s not going to happen. You see, I’m a man of my word,” I say.

  Behind me, I hear her heavy breathing.

  The g
irl is so close, with every inhale she takes, her breasts brush against me.

  I don’t know who she is or what I’m getting involved in, but I’m not going to stand by and let these two have their way with her.

  “So am I,” Blond says. “Give her over or I’ll kill you.”

  “You,” I say pointing toward him. “You, I believe. Who do you work for?”

  “I’m not a man who can be bought that easily,” he says.

  “Well, I have uses for men who have your apparent talents,” I say with a smile. “In the future.”

  “What the fuck is this?” Dark Hair asks. “Give us the fucking girl before I cap your ass for talking too damn much.”

  I sigh dramatically.

  “It would behoove you to increase your awareness of your surroundings,” I say.

  The click of metal on metal rings out clearly just as Francesca and Alex press their guns into the thugs’ backs.

  They both pale and slowly raise their hands into the air, holding their guns loosely by the trigger guards.

  “Shit,” Dark Hair says.

  “Yes, shit,” I say. “An appropriate response.”

  Alex and Fran take the goons’ guns then push them forward.

  They both stumble two steps ahead before they’re pushed onto their knees.

  “Hands behind your heads,” Alex orders.

  “Gentlemen,” I say, smiling. “There are lessons to be learned in life. A wise man is open to them every day.”

  “Fuck you,” Dark Hair mutters, and Francesca knocks him across the back of his head with the butt of his own gun.

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” he cries out, blood trickling from the wound.

  “The first lesson is how to speak in polite company,” I say. “Those words are inappropriate in front of a lady.”

  “Asshole,” Dark Hair barks and is socked again in response.

  “The second lesson is to know when you are defeated. There’s no dishonor in retreating. There’s no honor in death. The dead cannot exact revenge. The dead do not win in the end.”

  Blond watches closely as I talk, remaining silent.

  Dark Hair is apparently too woozy to run his mouth any longer.

  “The third lesson in this day for both of you is to always know your enemy. Fools underestimate and thereby lose. That concludes today’s lesson. I wish you both a good day,” I say, opening the rear door to my Cadillac.

  I grab the girl by her shoulder and help her into the backseat, taking care to make sure she doesn’t hit her head.

  I climb in next to her and shut the door.

  Alex walks to the driver’s side and climbs in, keeping his gun trained over his shoulder.

  Once he’s in and his door is shut, Francesca climbs in the front passenger side.

  I watch the two men in the side mirror as we pull away.

  They remain on their knees until we leave the parking lot.

  “Well, that was exciting,” Alex says.

  “What the hell was that, Donnie?” Francesca asks.

  “I’m not sure,” I reply and turn toward our new guest.

  “Can I get this bag off my head?” she asks, shifting around in the seat.

  “I don’t think so—not yet,” I say.

  “Then when?” she asks.

  “When we’re safe and I’ve figured out what to do with you.”

  “Just let me go. I don’t even know who you are. I won’t be any trouble—hell, you saved my life. I just want to get away.”

  “Sure,” I say. “And once I know we’re in the clear, I’ll make sure that happens. How about you tell me who you are?”

  She goes silent.

  “This is a bad idea, Donnie,” Francesca says.

  “Thank you, I’m sure it is,” I reply. “Be that as it may, here we are.”

  She shakes her head.

  Alex stares down the road, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

  “Well, Alex?” I ask.

  “Well, what?” he replies.

  “You have no brilliant insight into the current situation?”

  “Stupid,” he says.

  “Observant and blunt. Thank you, Alex,” I reply staring out the window.

  “Let’s get under cover; we’ll talk more then.”

  This is probably the stupidest thing I’ve done.

  It was rash and impulsive, but there was something about her—the sound of her voice maybe—I couldn’t turn my back.

  I’m involved now and there’s no changing that.

  However the cards fall, the decision is made, and now I have to play the hand I’ve dealt myself.

  All the pieces are in play. Everything is in motion.

  This girl is a minor thing; she won’t affect the final outcome, I’m sure of it…

  Grab the rest of the novel here at Amazon!

  Or check out Rowena’s author page for more hot stories.

  About the Author

  Rowena writes friends-to-lovers erotic romance and erotica with an element of reluctance. She likes a bit of darkness involved as long as no one really gets hurt—at least, only in good ways. ;) Forced proximity and kidnapping romances are her favorites.

  She enjoys making up circumstances in which two people are forced to confront their feelings—sexual and otherwise—to the object of their desire, feelings they have been hiding or running from because of a major barrier or conflict of interest. Usually, her characters have known each other for quite a while, so their first sexual encounter has been a long time…coming.

  Join Rowena’s mailing list for news about upcoming releases, sales, giveaways, etc. here!

  Contact:

  author.rowena

  https://authorrowena.wordpress.com

  author_rowena@yahoo.com

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