“Your father did a deal with me. One you can’t afford to escape from.” He shoves me onto my knees in front of him. I struggle to get to my feet, but a sharp slap to my face leaves me reeling. His hand fastens around my throat, and I’m startled by the strength of his grip.
Fuck!
“I’m…sorry!” I choke out with the tiny bit of breath I can squeeze past his grasp. Outright defiance isn’t going to work right now. I have to rethink this.
“That’s a good girl,” he says mockingly, though his hand is still clasped around my neck.
“I knew you’d see reason.” He finally releases me, his fingers winding into my hair.
“Now, let’s see if you can keep being a good girl. Suck it…” He has his stinking cock in his hand, inches above my face. I rest back on my heels, staring up at him wide-eyed. His face is twisted into an ugly grimace of lust as he works his shaft. I feel vomit rising, but I nod my head. His fingers stroke through my hair, almost gently now.
“You see?” he begins.
“This could work out for you…if you’ll cooperate.” I nod again, raising a hand towards his harden cock.
Chapter 4
Andy Carter
“Yeah…good girl…” His cock is almost fully erect now. Which suits me just fine because when I surge up with all the strength within me, the top of my head connects with his crotch with the force of a steam train. I can practically hear his balls crunch beneath my skull.
Mark is silent for a second. And then he drops like a stone, the wind knocked from him. I get a brief glimpse of tortured eyes as he writhes on the ground, clutching his groin. His mouth is open wide in a soundless scream.
I’m on my feet in a flash and bolting for the door.
“Hope it was good for you too, babe,” I snap over my shoulder as I yank it open. And then I pull it shut behind me.
I pause for a moment, looking around me outside the room. I’m in a huge passageway that seems to lead to a vast entrance hall. There’s nobody in sight, and I pray that the guards are far enough away that I can sneak out somehow.
I pause another moment, hearing a fainting choking sound from the room I just left. The small advantage I have is running out. I have to get out of here. Throwing caution to the winds, I shoot into the entrance hall. There’s a table near the doorway with a row of key fobs laid out in a neat row.
A car!
I’m going to need wheels.
Snatching one at random, I make for the door, then think better of it. Those goons are going to be out there. I’ve lived in houses like this before. There’ll be a garage for his vehicles, probably accessible through a door that leads from the kitchen. I suck in a breath as I push down my panic. I look around the space, getting my bearings. Instinct drives me to go left. There’s another corridor leading off the hallway, and I sprint toward it. Relief surges as I realize my instinct has guided me well. Or perhaps it was my nose because, in moments, I pick up the scent of food – no doubt the kitchen where our meal was prepared.
I charge through the door and run straight into the guy who’d been serving us food.
“You…!” he begins, but doesn’t get further because I aim a sharp punch at his throat. He goes down on one knee, clutching his windpipe.
Thank God for those self-defense classes!
Best investment I ever made. I almost feel sorry for the man. But it’s his own fault for working for a bastard like Mark Whitlock. It’ll be a minute or two before he can draw a proper breath. Hopefully, that’ll be enough time to get out of this damn place.
Two doorways are set in the far wall of the spacious kitchen, and I race over to them. I open one and feel my stomach plummet when I look into a pantry. I pull the other one open and almost sob with relief when I stare into a huge room filled with exotic cars.
“Come on! Come on!” I gasp out, frantically clicking the button on the fob. One of them has to match this fucking key!
A second later, I hear a sharp tweeting sound, and the lights on a gaudy yellow Ferrari SF 90 Spider flash on and off.
“Nice choice,” I mutter sarcastically, jogging toward the thing. I open the door, clamber in, and frantically try to orientate myself with the interior. I fiddle with the ignition and try to figure out the gears. I’ve never been behind the wheel of the latest Ferrari before.
“Oh, God!” I half sob.
What if I can’t even drive the fucking thing?
Long seconds later, the engine roars to life, and I’m dealing with my next obstacle. I’m facing a closed garage door. On instinct, I reach into the console and feel my fingers curl around a small remote. I press a button and watch in amazement as the door begins to roll smoothly open. It’s a small victory. Because the open space reveals several pairs of legs emerging.
