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Another grabbed his nose and held it shut so he’d open his mouth. Probably to look at his damn teeth.
He struck the hand away and his body began to swing like a flopping fish again.
One woman stopped his movement with two hands on his ass. And then she squeezed it like she was checking to see if the bread was fresh.
For fuck’s sake! “Just slice my fuckin’ throat and let me bleed out,” he said, on the verge of begging.
“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up? Gimme somethin’ to shut him up with, Pammy,” what sounded like the leader of the trio demanded. “Don’t need all his caterwaulin’ bringin’ the men up here wonderin’ what’s goin’ on... Let’s tie up his hands, too, so he don’t knock one of us silly.”
Oh, fuck no.
If they gagged him and tied his hands up, he was done. Completely fucking done. He’d have no way to get out of his situation.
None.
One woman grabbed his arm but before another could grab the other one, he swung at them both. His body spun on the rope uncontrollably and the tree branch creaked even louder, then cracked.
Good. Let it fall and kill him. If that was his only escape from this nightmare of being shared by three Shirley women, he’d welcome death.
In the end, once they handed him over to their leader, he’d be dead anyway. Most likely even tortured and not just by Shirley snatch.
He kept swinging his arms and kicking with his free leg until the handle of the Maglite smacked his arm like a hammer, then collided with his temple.
That made him see a few stars.
“Don’t knock his ass out! We need him conscious.”
No. No, they didn’t.
He swung helplessly at them again, hoping they’d knock his ass out.
Two of the women grabbed his arms, overpowering him enough to tie his wrists together while the third Shirley shoved a rag or something gross into his mouth. Before he could spit out whatever it was, another strip of cloth held it fast.
Done.
Toast.
Finished.
Fucked.
He closed his eyes, wishing himself elsewhere. Anywhere but there.
He ignored them poking at him again.
“He’s got good bones.”
“Looks purty strong.”
“Purty face, too.”
“You got smarts?” one of them asked him, leaning in close and putting her face right in front of his to the point he could smell her rotten breath.
No, he wasn’t smart. He was a dumb motherfucker for getting his ass caught. So goddamn dumb.
He had no idea how the fuck he was going to get out of this situation. They could keep him at their mercy for maybe a day before any of his brothers came looking for him. Those women could do a lot of damage in a day.
A lot of fucking damage.
He was not going to be a stud to make a bunch of Shirley spawn.
Christ, he hoped his swimmers were all belly-up and useless if they tried.
And if his brothers didn’t rescue him before the women were finished with him, then Vern Jr. and his uncle-brothers would finish him off.
The flashlight beam landed on his phone. And his knife. He still had no idea where his Beretta was. Probably launched deep into the woods.
“Won’t be needin’ this,” one of them said, moving his phone to a rock and using the Maglite to smash the shit out of it, each strike almost bringing a tear to his eye.
Destroying his cell phone made his damn location app useless, the one Judge had insisted he and Easy download so they could be located if shit went sideways.
Like now.
“Lookie here.” The one named Sally picked up his Buck knife. “Gonna keep that for myself.” She flung a hand up in the air. “Lower ‘im enough that we can tie his ankles together.”
Rook heard a rustling behind him and the paracord jerked abruptly, making his heart leap into his throat. Some female grunting ensued and he was slowly lowered inch by inch until they could reach his ankles. More cord was used to tie them together.
Once he was secured, the next command came. “Now cut ‘im down.”
Oh shit.
He dropped with an oof in the dirt. Even though he’d tucked his chin so he didn’t land on his noggin, it still hurt, especially since his temple had yet to stop throbbing from one of them clobbering him.
“Grab his feet. Pammy, grab one shoulder, I’ll grab the other.”
“Where we takin’ him, Sal?”
“Right to my bed.”
His opinion on that ended up being muffled behind the dirty cloth in his mouth.
The three Shirley women hauled his ass like a pig heading to the spit during one of the club’s parties. One got a hold of his legs, the other two his shoulders and they made their way through the dark woods.
He wished they would trip and crack their skulls open, or their men would come along and see what they were planning and put a quick end to it.
