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And they were off. Conversation flowed like it hadn’t since Shawna had been abducted. The relief they shared at setting the trauma aside for one day was as heady as the discussion of love and joy. Almost two hours had flown by as the two chatted about boys, which flowed into a discussion about the future and their dreams about the kinds of families they both wished for and the hopes they had for their children and the world those children lived in. Shawna wanted five—good grief—and she wanted to live in the city and raise her kids in a multicultural community. She intended to travel and take her kids to different countries, and she wanted to someday publish a book of photography from all the places she’d been.
Kimberly had to admit that she had stumbled into a dream that she hadn’t even known she wanted to live. Seaside with two FBI agents in a menage BDSM relationship. What more could a woman ask for? She was more than loved—she was worshipped and pampered. Not only did they find her witty and engaging outside of the bedroom, but she found the same in them. If that wasn’t a miracle, she didn’t know what was. And to find that miracle in not one but two men? Yeah, she was living the dream, all right. And ain’t no way in hell she was ever giving it up.
“Oh my God! Stop the car, Kimberly! Stop the car right now!” Shawna shouted in an unrecognizable screech.
Kimberly pulled over faster than was safe, but Shawna was already opening the door and she was afraid her friend was going to spill out and kill herself. Dust and gravel sprayed, and she thanked God no one else was on the road as the car skidded to a halt and Shawna flew from her seat.
“Wait! What’s going on!” Kimberly unfastened her belt and turned off the ignition as fast as she could, but the other woman was racing down the incline by the time she’d made it out of the car. “Hold up! What is going on? Shawna! You’re scaring me! What is going on?!”
Shawna was holding onto branches, trees, and rocks as she barreled down the hill, uncaring for her own safety. As Kimberly followed, the collar she never removed bounced reassuringly against her collarbone, and a swell of relief surged through her. If she couldn’t get Shawna back to the car, all she had to do was activate the homing beacon hidden within it, and Sam and Dean would be on their way. It was only part of the reason she never took her collar off. Now that thought was the only comfort she had as she raced after her desperate friend. Kimberly felt her heart clench as she heard the sobbing. “You’re scaring me, Shawna. Please, just stop for one second and tell me what’s going on!”
She didn’t stop, just sobbed louder and kept trudging down the hill. She fell and instead of getting up, Shawna started scooting, picking up speed. Now Kimberly heard her muttering curses. She called herself filthy names, told herself to hurry. Told herself she was a worthless cunt, and to get her ass moving.
Kimberly wept as she reached up to the collar and activated the homing beacon. Her men would come now. Wherever Shawna was leading them, they would want to see.
Sam and Casreached for their sidearms at the same time Grungy and the second police officer lunged. They were too late. Grungy tackled Cas to the floor, and the crunch of fist meeting bone in rapid-fire cracks assured the weapon wouldn’t clear its holster. The other officer slugged Sam in the jaw with a haymaker that sent him reeling into the wall and had tweeting birds circling his head like Roger Rabbit. He followed that up with a couple kidney shots that assured Sam would be pissing blood for a week and dropped him to his knees. A billy-club hit him in the back of his neck. His face met the floor next, and the fucker’s knee was on his back and his cuffs were on Sam’s wrists before he even got his breath back. Sam turned to look at Cas and Dean and saw they were cuffed too.
Well, fuck.
“What the hell’d you go and do that fer, Henry Ray?” demanded Grungy, obviously in a towering rage.
“The safe word is Bradshaw,” he said, dumbfounded, and pointed at the still-unconscious Dean. “He said Bradshaw.”
Grungy slapped him. “The safe word is Bradshaw whenIsay Bradshaw, you numbnuts!”
Henry Ray turned down his lips in a schoolboy frown and wiped the back of his hand over his cheek like he’d been spat on rather than slapped.
“Fine, sorry,” he said and shrugged as he looked anywhere but at the mess he’d made of the situation.
“Fuck your sorry, man!” Grungy shouted. “Do you know how much shit you just opened up here? They was gonna let you boys take me to the hospital. That was our ticket outta here! Now, we’s fucked, you fuckin’ idiot! This ain’t just three yahoos here. Those also just ain’t just any agents. Well, two of them fuckers are. But that one right there. He’s a big deal. You just blew not only my cover, but all ours. We all gotta bail now, Henry Ray. We cain’t waste that dude. Not him.” He stalked over and kicked Cas in the ribs as though it were his fault he was indispensable.
“Look,” Henry Ray said beseechingly, his hands outstretched, “I said I was sorry. Can we just go?”
He looked over his shoulder and Sam had a fleeting hope that help was about to burst through the door. No such luck.
“No, we cain’t go just yet,” Grungy snarled. “I have to think. Come up with a plan ta get us outta here that don’t get us all kilt. We gotta grab Rachel and git gone. Stupid bitch. Why you din’t make her be good and just wait fer me, huh? She had plenty to play with. She din’t need no more toys.”
“Wasn’t her fault.” This was from the cop who’d slugged Sam—the only one who looked the slightest bit remorseful. Only Sam couldn’t tell what exactly he felt remorseful about. “Master Lee wanted fresh meat. She was just following orders. She was all for waiting for you, sir.”
Grungy looked at him for a moment. If Sam hadn’t known better, he would’ve called it a thoughtful look, but the man didn’t have a thought in his ugly, empty, skull.
“Yeah, she a good girl. She always has been.” The way he said it made Sam’s skin crawl and something in his gut churn. Grungy must’ve sensed it because he turned his snake eyes on Sam and sneered at him.
“What?” he asked. “You judging me again? Well, take this in you stuck up, straitlaced piece of shit.” He licked his lips and bile roiled in Sam’s gut as he saw lust rise in the other man’s face. “Rachel’s my baby sis and I trained her up since she was in diapers. Ooooie! She was a sweet little thing too! It weren’t nothin to tell Ma I’d change the baby. Then I’d take her inta the back room, peel back that li’l white nappy, clean off her tiny white bottom and have all the fun I wanted. All ya gotta do is be gentle. Be nice and coo at the li’l buggers and they lap it all up. Hee hee, every drop if ya tell ‘em its candy! Sheesh, boys, by the time that li’l tyke was two she was climbin’ all o’er me! I could hardly keep ‘er offa me when others were ‘round. Shit, then by the time she was ten, she was bringin’ me all her li’l friends to play with, too.” He paused and let his vile words settle in the room like a miasma of filth on the skin.
“I fucked her the first time when she was twelve. Pussy was too small before that. I tried but it wouldn’t fit, pecker’s too big. Anyways, we been havin’ ourselves a gay ol’ time ever since. She brings me the sweetest—and always willing, mind ya—toys fer us to play with and we just go about our business. Everything was just fine. Till you jackass came along and ruined it, that is.”
Sam wanted to throw up. Holy shit, he was going to kill this man and everyone involved with him.
“You are fucking lucky we’re in cuffs, dude.” Dean was awake. And pissed.
“If you’re a pedophile, what the hell are you doing abducting grown women?” Cas wanted to know.
Grungy looked at him and it was clear he considered not answering. “There you prudes go again. Look, here’s sex one-oh-one fer ya. I’ll fuck anything.” His eyes cut to the two cops still standing over them. “Won’t I, boys? The thing with babies and kids is, them you don’t wanna beat, see? They’s so fresh and cute and sweet. Some like to beat on ‘em and hey, to each his own, right? Like I say. But me, I like grown ass women fer that. They can take a wallopin’. And the young’uns? Them don’t take any work and so you don’t have to snatch ‘em. They’re all o’er the place. I always got me four or five of them li’l cuties to choose from runnin’ ‘round under foot.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Cas asked, looking as revolted as Sam felt and ready to be done talking. “Whatever it is, get on with it so we don’t have to listen to your perversions anymore.”
“Maybe we should just kill ‘em, after all,” Grungy said to the ceiling.
