《For The Right Price》 Chapter 1 ¡°Here, food for you.¡± Spike says, slamming down a bowl of red death on the coffee table in front of me. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± I ask, uncrossing my legs and putting out my smoke in the near-overflowing ashtray. ¡°This, my dear friend, is the finest tomato soup you¡¯re gonna taste on this side of the continent. Added in a bit of the best herbs we can afford, as well. I think it turned out well.¡± He says, giving the ashtray a wary glance as the topmost butts starts to tip. I look over the bowl of red slushie again, seemingly the only person aware of the floating green chunks rising to the top. ¡°Uhh.. Spike, not to alarm you¡­ But that¡¯s not any herb I¡¯ve seen¡­ That¡¯s mold.¡± Spike sits down on the worn-out couch alongside mine, a puff of ash and dust welcoming him back to its embrace. ¡°Like I said, the best herbs we can afford.¡± He proceeds to grab a smoke from the pack, lifting it up to his mouth with practiced ease. ¡°Jack, we needa talk about the budget.¡± Ahhh, this again¡­ ¡°What about the budget?¡± I ask, grabbing another smoke from the pack. ¡°Oh, nothing. Just the fact that I found a receipt this morning. From your night out.¡± The lighter clicks as he snaps it open. He lights his smoke, taking a deep breath, and lets out his own cloud to join the rest. ¡°For half of our fucking monthly budget.¡± Ahh, crap. I¡¯m in deep now. Half of that night¡¯s a blur, but I can definitely remember swiping Spike¡¯s company card before it started¡­ Guess that sin-revealing slip followed me home.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Spike looks at me from over the tip of his smoke. He looks as calm as can be, leaning back on the couch, smoke in hand. His leg crossed over the other. Arm slung over the headrest. But I can see it in his eyes. I fucked up big time. ¡°Can¡¯t you requisition some more?¡± I ask, trying to keep the guilt out my voice. ¡°The Feds shouldn¡¯t mind giving us a few extra credits.¡± ¡°Jack, every time we ask for more, they do an investigation on why we need more. They don¡¯t mind us spending a bit on pampering ourselves, in fact they encourage it to keep our sanity, if it helps us do our jobs. Now, by this point, you have a reputation. That¡¯s why they limited your card.¡± He takes another deep drag from his smoke. His massive chest rising, then falling as he lets out another cloud. ¡°Thing is, this time, when they do the investigation, they¡¯ll find that both of us went over budget. Because you swiped my card.¡± Oh boy. Here it comes. ¡°So now, if I ask for more, we¡¯ll both look like a bunch of pricks. And I won¡¯t let your mistakes cost me my reputation. So, here¡¯s what we¡¯re going to do.¡± Spike says, gesturing towards the bowl of red goop, it slowly congealing as it cools down. ¡°I¡¯ve brought us a surplus box of soup from the discount bin. We¡¯re gonna be eating these until our next pay. I dunno how old they are, or how long they¡¯ve been sitting there, but they cost a hundred credits so as far as I¡¯m concerned they¡¯re the best damn soup in this country. The cards, both of them, will be staying with me. If it has nothing to do with the mission, it doesn¡¯t go off the cards. Understand?¡± I look at the menacingly red semi-solid again. I think back to last night, of all the girls, all the booze. All the strobe lights and nightlife. Was it really worth it? Looking at my current fate, I would dare say no, it wasn¡¯t. ¡°But wait, wait, wait¡­ Spike¡­ It¡¯s only the first of the month. We¡¯re gonna survive off of this¡­ Stuff? For thirty days?¡± Spike looks at me, an evil glint in his steel grey eyes. ¡°Well, Jackie boy, best get used to them then. Bottoms up. And remember, this is gonna be the best damn soup you¡¯re gonna have on this continent. For the next thirty days¡± Chapter 2 ¡°Jack? Jack! Wake up!¡± Someone¡¯s calling my name¡­ ¡°Jack, you inbred, wake up already!¡± Why is someone calling my name? Can¡¯t they see I¡¯m sleeping? ¡°If you don¡¯t wake up in the next five seconds, I swear to God I¡¯m gonna hurt you.¡± I¡¯m just gonna go back to bed. Yeah. That¡¯s a good plan¡­ It¡¯s too comfy to get up¡­ ¡°Okay, Jack. If you don¡¯t get up, you don¡¯t get breakfast. I went all out this time. Seriously. Eggs¡­ Toast¡­ Bacon¡­¡± I snap my eyes open, fighting back against the warm embrace of my bed. I fling my blanket off me, swinging my long legs over the side and planting them firmly to the ground. With a mighty grunt, I snap myself upright, narrowly missing headbutting Spike on the way up. ¡°Where¡¯s the bacon?¡± Before Spike could utter a reply, I was off to the kitchen. My stomach urging me to hurry with its soft meowling. Ripping open my bedroom door, I tear through our dusty living room. Throughout all the years of us living here, we''ve garnered quite the collection of ¡®Chique¡¯ furniture. Two worn, brown leather couches strewn around a small, coffee-and-beer stain patterned table. Thick, blue, dusty carpeting lines the floor, slightly springy beneath the feet. I can hear Spike slowly following behind me, whistling a merry tune. I reach the kitchen entrance and utter a primal grunt as I rip open the door and stand in the doorway. Generations of instincts kick in as I take a deep breath through my nose, my senses sharpening to a razor sharp point.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. I take in the kitchen, attempting to pinpoint my mark. Our old, black stove flanking the leftmost corner of the room being my first target. I scan the top of its hot plates, completely clean and unobstructed. I sweep my gauze across the countertops to the right of it. Discarded and forgotten letters, a carton of cigarettes, and some breadcrumbs adorn the tops. Not a plate, or a dish in site. With growing dismay, I turn towards my final target. Our small, plastic folding table adorns the back wall, adjacent to the door. Two folding chairs sit on either side of it. My heart sinks as I take in the site on top. On top of the table, sat not a bountiful early morning feast of fried pig and cooked yolk. But a black envelope, unopened, with silver letters etched to the front. I hear Spike¡¯s whistling getting closer, as he merrily makes his way to the kitchen to join me. ¡°Jack, you¡¯re blocking the door.¡± I turn back to look at the damned behemoth. He¡¯s looking down at me, A grin spreading across his face. The sly fucker. I let out a sigh, my stomach rumbling in protest. Fucking duped again. I''ve never felt such betrayal. I shamble my way to the chair facing the doorway, slump into it, and stare up in disgust at Spike. ¡°Hey, you want eggs and bacon?¡± he asks, casually making his way to his seat opposite mine. He slowly gestures to the menacing envelope sitting between us. ¡°Well, here''s your eggs and bacon. Fresh off the pan, might I add. Found it this morning.¡± Another job from the Feds. For a second, I manage to fully convince myself that it''s their fault I''m currently slurping tomato slushie for dinner. Then I remember the club, and that girl ¡®Sasha¡¯. I let out another deep groan and slump further into my chair. The fold-up table gives a slight jump as my knee smacks the bottom of it, sending the envelope flying off the table. I look up and see Spike raising his eyebrow at me, the envelope left forgotten on the floor. ¡°Jack, this ain''t like you¡­ You usually love getting new missions!¡± Spike leans his weight on the table, the cheap metal legs groaning in protest. ¡°I''m getting concerned, buddy. If you have a problem, you gotta tell me. We''re partners, remember?¡± I look back at the cupboards. One lays slightly open, seemingly looking back at me. Inside of it, I can see them. Those cylindrical, red devils. A tear wells up in my eye, as I think of the breakfast that never was. ¡°Spike, if we finish this mission, can you promise me one thing?¡± ¡°Yeah, sure buddy. What?¡± I look back to him, his shit eating grin welcoming me back. ¡°You''re making a goddamn feast of bacon and eggs when we get back.¡± Chapter 3 Spike carefully tears open the top of the envelope, and pulls out what''s inside. A small, red memory card. About half the size of his fingernail. Three indents on the top are the only markings visible on the card. Spike digs in his pocket, taking out his phone, and put the card into the memory slot reader. He places the phone on the table, a projection shooting out the front of the phone, lighting up the opposite wall with information. A picture of the target on the upper-right corner. Female, caucasian, black hair and brown eyes. No visible tattoos, branding or body modifications, as well as no skin pigmentation at the time the photo was taken. On the left of the picture, is her name. ¡°¡®Lee Davids¡¯... Chinese?¡± I asked as I carried on looking at the information below the name. 5¡¯4¡±... 120lbs, was wearing a green shirt¡­ ¡°Nah, see right there? Under nationality? European. Swiss, most likely. Bet you she fled the war, married our dear client here and ran off the moment he opened his accounts to her.¡± I take a look at the ¡®Last Known Location¡¯ section, and grin. ¡°Nah, no war refugee goes to the Bahamas after coming into some big capital. I bet you she¡¯s Russian. Probably got tired of the cold and the mandatory military duties and found her way out. If I spent my life in some cold-ass military base, I¡¯d also run off for some fun in the sun on some paradise island.¡± Spike gives me a sideways look, and goes back to scanning the projection. ¡°Well, looks like we¡¯re vacationing in the Bahamas. Last hit on the credit card she swiped from her dear husband was an hour ago, at a hotel in Nassau. What time is it over there?¡± he asks. ¡°3:03am¡­ She¡¯s probably calling it an early night, then. We could be there in three hours if we manage to catch a flight early enough.¡± ¡°Right¡­ Let¡¯s get moving, then. You all packed?¡± he asks, picking up his phone. ¡°I¡¯m always packed.¡± I say, looking back at him and laughing. I see a grin forming on his face as he starts to laugh too. We usually buy a pair of clothes at the location, makes us seem less suspicious and makes us less noticeable when we wear the local fashion. ¡°Right, then let¡¯s go.¡± ¡­ A stuffy cab ride, two hours of waiting and a swipe of the company card (provided by Spike, of course) later and we¡¯re ready to get going. From my cramped aisle seat, I can see the top of Spike¡¯s head poking above the headrest two rows in front of me. Sitting next to me is some sticky six year old, his feet in the air and his head resting on the seat before we even took off. Little bastard almost knocked my teeth out within the first five minutes. Sitting next to him is who I can assume is the mom. She¡¯s already ordered a glass of wine and is staring out of the window, probably longing to just get up, exit the plane and leave the little shit behind.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. As I try get comfy with the tiny amount of legroom afforded to me, I see Spike turning his head to look back at me. He looks at me, then the kids feet, then back at me. A soft chuckle comes out of him, and he turns back and starts chatting to the person next to him. The person next to him must be short, I can¡¯t see what they look like. But I can hear them laugh as Spike says something to them. It¡¯s a woman¡¯s laugh. And god damn, it sounds gorgeous. I look back at the kid, his legs cartwheeling in the air as he starts singing baa-baa black sheep off-key at the top of his lungs. I look up at the mother, busy sipping from her glass of wine. Headphones on and movie playing on-screen. I pull the zap at the back of Spike¡¯s head, and try adjusting my legs for the upteenth time. It¡¯s gonna be a long three hours. ¡­ The Argoplane, invented in 2055, revolutionized the transport industry due to its low fuel-to-force ratio. Electronic Nano-Filament, which makes up the outside layer, allows the plane to be non-frictional from the front, and increases air friction towards the back. This causes a difference in pressure between the two sides,which greatly increases speed and lift without sacrificing fuel. Once an Argoplane is in the air, it can stay there for a maximum of forty-three consecutive hours, while maintaining a cruise speed of 3 600 miles an hour, over six times the cruising speed of the previous generation of passenger airplanes. ¡°Huh¡­ Interesting¡­¡± I mutter to myself. This must have been the hundredth time I¡¯ve read a pamphlet like this. With the amount of travel we¡¯ve done, I¡¯ve gone over almost all of them. Those stupid little pamphlets they provide you in your little kit, so the more nervous fliers can read all about the safety and efficiency of the metal behemoth that holds their current fate. Most of them are almost exactly the same, yet I read on. ¡°Uhh dis is da pirot speekin, fasten yer seetbolt we arr lan... s¡­. krrsht...¡± The overhead speakers drone on. I¡¯ve been on hundreds of flights, yet not a single fucking one of the pilots make a single shred of sense when speaking on the mic. Are they taught to put the microphone in their mouths while they talk? Sure fucking seems like it. Right on cue, the air stewardesses start their commute to the back of the plane, checking each chair to make sure the tray is in the ¡®up¡¯ position. The little shit next to me is currently tugging on his mom, asking her a million questions a minute. ¡°What¡¯s happening now are we landing will it be rough do I have to put my seatbelt on what happens if I keep my tray down are we gonna get more snacks how do the pilots know when to slow down?¡± I look up at the mother, and for the first time, we lock eyes. The bags under her eyes must weigh a tonne. I glance down at her left hand, and see a very light tan line around her ring finger. An understanding passes between us, as I turn towards the little shit. I lean in closer towards the boy, as if I''m passing him a secret. ¡°Hey, kid¡­ Do You really wanna know how they know when to slow down? You see those ladies over there?¡± I asked, pointing towards the stewardesses. ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°They look for the loudest, worst-behaved and obnoxious kid on the plane. It has to be a kid, otherwise it doesn''t work. Adults are too heavy, y¡¯know? Then, they take that kid, tie them to the wheels outside, and they listen. The louder the kid screams, the more they slow down, until they land on top of ¡®em. That''s how they know when to slow down. Only way. None of the kids survive, of course, but that''s for the greater good anyways.¡± The little shit stares back at me, eyes going wide and face going pale. I match his gaze, my face perfectly neutral, dead serious. From the corner of my eyes, I can see the mother trying her hardest not to laugh. I point back towards the stewardesses, slowly coming closer towards us. One of them sees me pointing at her. She looks up at us, and smiles. ¡°Looks like they found you, kid. Good luck.¡± Chapter 4 We touch down without a hitch, some idiots clapping in the aistles as the attendants slowly make their way to help the lost souls find their shifted luggage. I get up and stretch, shooting one last glance at the now-sniffling brat and the mom trying her hardest to stifle a laugh. I see Spike get up, his new lady friend captivated by his deadly looks as she slowly reaches for her luggage, her eyes not once leaving Spikes. I stifle a groan and walk to the exit, giving him a shove with my shoulder while I pass. As I leave the doors of the plane, the heat hits me full in the face. Within seconds my hair starts to curl, the moisture in the air finding its way into every crease in my body. "God damn, why does it have to be so hot?" I feel someone shove me from behind. Turning my head, I see it''s spike. His bald head gleaming in the sunlight. He raises his hand,and I notice what he''s trying to show me. "She... She gave you her number?" Written in black ink, across the palm of his hand, stands ten digits which, presumably, means the bastard had a better fucking trip than I had. "Nice girl, she was. Her name''s Veronica. Twenty years old, she''s meeting her parents here and they''re vacationing for the next week. Said she''s gonna be alone until tomorrow." I shoot Spike the most disgusted look I could. "She''s almost half your damn age, you perv! Any younger and her parents may just become our next client!". I grab Spike''s hand, giving the numbers a second look over. "You should be arrested just for having this! Best give the number to me, and wipe this off your hand, before you commit any more crimes!"Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Spike rips his hand from my grasp. With his other hand, he pries his phone out of his pocket. Within a few furious seconds, he has the number saved onto the traitorous device. Giving me one of his famous shit-eating grins, he brings the hand with the number to his mouth, and in one unbroken motion, licks the ink off his hand. "Now that was just excessive. Coulda just told me no." He grins at me a moment longer, and goes back to his phone. He taps a few commands into its screen, and a ping sounds. "Looks like our lady in question is still in the same spot. About fifteen kilometers away from here. Let''s try find a cab and get some shut-eye. She ain''t getting up anytime soon, probably still sleeping off the booze." I look around and see a single, darkened cab on the curb. We walk up to it, its owner sound asleep in the driver''s seat. Spike gives a few knocks to the window, jumping the poor soul out of his slumber. He rubs his eyes a few times and points his thumb to the back seats. Spike and I cram ourselves in. "Welcome to the Bahamas, please enjoy your stay. Where must I take you?" He asks, all semblance of patience lost to this man. Spike takes out his phone, still with the tracking app opened, and shows it to the cab driver. The driver stares at it for a few seconds, nods his head, and starts the car. Turning swiftly onto the road without checking if it''s clear, the cab driver takes off down the street. "So... Are you two here on vacation?" Spike tries, and fails, to get more comfortable as he answers the cab driver. "No, here on business." "Ah..." says the cab driver, as he takes his eyes off the road to look Spike in the eyes through the rearview mirror. "What kind of business you two here for?" "We''re in the delivery industry, just here to fetch a delivery." says Spike, as he looks down at his phone. "Ah... Interesting." mumbles the driver back. I shoot Spike a look, but he''s buried in his phone. I lean over to check what he''s up to. I catch a glance at his IM''s. ''Lemme know what hotel u staying at, let''s go for drinks when u''ve settled in -Spike''. The cheeky fucker. Chapter 5. ¡°Hey, wake up. Our birds given us a chirp.¡± I jump up from bed, ripping the sheets off and grabbing my pants from the chair next to it. ¡°How long ago?¡± ¡°Seems she tried to use the card at one of the clubs nearby. Several times. Our client cancelled the card two hours ago, so we don''t have long before she realizes something''s up. Get your stuff, let''s go.¡± I slap on my red tropical shirt, provided by the hotels gift store. I put on the straw hat that came with it, pulling it low. ¡°How¡¯d I look?¡± ¡°Like a fucking idiot.¡± ¡°So, perfect.¡± I say, letting out a grin. He lets out a chuckle and turns to leave. He''s wearing a matching yellow shirt, the seams already ripping as he''s almost forced into a half Nelson by its tight design. His bald head smothered in sunscreen, glinting slightly in the mid morning sun. I adjust my gun, a sleek M14 tucked nicely into the waistband of my pants, for when things inevitably go south. Spike''s packing a matching set, nestled nicely in his pants, pressed low against his leg right by the crotch area. Completely fucking useless, since he has to practically pull his pants down to get at it, but it does draw stares from the ladies. Not to mention, adds a level of intimidation to him. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Not like he needs it. We come up to the club, a shady little building with a bouncer outside the door. Peering in, we can see a staircase leading down to the club floor. Spike pushes the bouncer to the side as we walk down, me following close behind. The natural light from the door is quickly extinguished, replaced by black neon lights hanging at regular intervals on the ceiling. The UV properties of the lights paint a mosaic of bodily juices on the walls and floor. And ceiling. Spike turns back to look at me, pointing to a particularly impressive stain. I nod my head, pulling out my standard-issue black rubber gloves from my back pocket and quickly pulling it on, before I catch something. Spike follows suit, pulling on his own gloves. ¡°Can it ever be easy?¡± I ask. ¡°If it was, we''d be out of a job.¡± We make our way down the rest of the stairs, the lit-up stains providing most of our light. Spike gets to the bottom, and let''s out a groan. His shoulders sagging. I push past him, and let out my own groan. It''s a fucking orgy. And it''s not one of those fun ones. Chapter 6 - Caught in a slippery situation. Spike and I have been doing this for a long, long time. If you spend any amount of time in this job, you''re gonna learn a bunch of shit that you''d never want to learn. For example, the right way to grapple a lubed-up junkie so that not only can they not get away, but they can''t reach around and pull on your taint like the emergency cord on a parachute. Or the fact that orgies can be categorized into two types: The fun orgies, and the bad orgies. The fun ones are the ones you see in movies and porn. The comfy king sized bed, two hotties to each dude, tonnes of lube and shaven bodies mixing together in an attempt to reach the ultimate climax. The bad ones are a bit different. Usually there''s feces involved, and at least one dude with a spiked cock ring. On occasion, you''d see a horse or some other well-endowed animal. It almost seems painful, forced, and often frenzied. Like a hate fucking between a resisting husband and a specifically malicious wife. Except they''re both on fire. And the gas is on downstairs. More often than not, when walking into a black-lit underground sex dungeon that''s lit up like the fourth of July with bodily juices, the floor sticky enough to catch small-sized dogs in its grasp, the sounds of painful grunting and agonizing screams overwhelming the frantic EDM being played in the background, you''re walking into a bad orgie. ¡°Think that''s her?¡±, I ask, pointing towards a blonde woman in the center of the action, a midget elbow-deep in her backside while another man takes her from the front. Another woman is lying underneath her, fondling her breasts. ¡°I think she''s vomiting¡­¡± Spike pulls out his phone, holding it up to compare the picture we were provided with to¡­ This thing. ¡°She¡¯s lost A LOT of weight, I¡¯ll give her that.¡± ¡°Guzzling nothing but semen seems to do that to people,¡± I say, nodding my head towards the pile. A horse lets out a neigh from within. ¡°After you.¡± ¡°Not a chance, shithead. I took the last dive, it¡¯s your turn.¡± ¡°You had to get in between three dudes and the target! Before that I fucking waded through the entire cast of ¡®World¡¯s biggest loser¡¯, and I gotta say, they all got my vote!¡± Spike rubs his head, thinking. ¡°If you go in this time, I¡¯ll take you to the all-you-can-eat buffet.¡± My shrunken stomach screams at the thought, and my vision goes black for a second, thinking about the food. ¡°Fuck you. You know me too well.¡± I pull my gloves up tighter, say a quick goodbye to my clothes, and wade in. It¡¯s sticky. Why the fuck is it sticky? What do you have to do, to make a fucking orgy sticky? I feel something grab my shoe. It pulls hard on it, attempting to drag me to the ground. I relent, and give up the shoe as a sacrifice. I see the hand pull it into the mass of bodies, gone forever. I hear a loud sniff come from that direction, followed by sounds of relief. I weep silently, as I lay my sock on the sticky ground. Five seconds in and I¡¯ve already lost a part of me. I lift my other foot, pieces of the sole tearing as I try to lift it off the tiles. I try lift my other foot, the sock I¡¯m wearing lifting off my foot, stuck to the ground. I look at it and see it has bonded on a molecular level to the ground. There¡¯s no ways in shit I¡¯m putting my bare foot on the ground. I look around, trying to find a solution. My balance is good, but it¡¯s not good enough to keep standing on one leg forever. Suddenly, out the corner of my eye, I see my doom approaching.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. A lady(?) in a gimp outfit, crawling towards me. The lube clinging to her rubber suit lets her glide over the surface, much like a snake glides over the sand dunes in the desert. She¡¯s spotted her prey, a poor defenseless mouse, stuck in the sand. She increases her pace, quickly crawling towards me on her belly. ¡°Fuck this.¡± As she gets close enough, I plant my bare foot on her back. She lets out a slight moan as she freezes in place, not wanting this newfound feeling of being used as a step to stop. After spending a second making sure I don¡¯t slide off of her, I try to pull my other foot up off the floor. My other boot is stuck. I tug a bit harder, putting some more force on my newfound safety island. She lets out a louder moan as the pressure I¡¯m exerting on her increases. After a few seconds, I lean down and reluctantly undo my shoelaces. Another one, gone to the void. I plant my other foot on her back, and take a second to survey my surroundings. During my struggle, the masses have shifted. I¡¯ve been surrounded, lubed up flesh on all sides of me. They start to close in on me, suffocating me with their warmth. I scan the mounds of flesh, trying to find our lady. I spot her, about ten meters to my right. She¡¯s on her back now, underneath a beautiful white horse. Poor thing looks just as traumatized about this experience as I am. I start to crawl towards her, over the top of the writhing flesh. An occasional moan comes from below me as my weight passes over them. Finally I reach her, the ground slippery for a change. I don¡¯t wanna think about why. ¡°Lee Davids?¡± I ask, standing next to the stallion that she¡¯s currently occupied with. ¡°Who¡¯s asking?¡± she asks, moving her head so she can see me better. ¡°Just a friend, I heard about you from someone I know and wanted to talk. Mind getting outta this for a bit?¡± ¡°Talk is cheap, honey. And I don¡¯t do cheap. I don¡¯t waste my time with people who haven¡¯t explored my upper organs yet.¡± Wow, fuck, okay then. Guess the easy route isn¡¯t an option. ¡°I¡¯m gonna have to insist,¡± I say, grabbing one of her hands and slipping a cuff on it, ¡°your husband misses you.¡± ¡°Let go of me, you sick fuck!¡± She screams, pulling against the cuff. A few people turn towards us, looking at what all the commotion is. ¡°Help me! He¡¯s trying to take me away!¡± That got them started. Seems they don¡¯t like people leaving. The whole room goes quiet as they all pop their limbs out of each other, and stand. Well, most of them stand. They turn towards me in unison, their minds connected. With my free hand, I fumble for my waistband, taking out my gun and firing two shots into the ceiling. ¡°Now everyone back the fuck up! Me and the lady here have some business to attend to!¡± The crowd doesn¡¯t even flinch. In fact, I think some of them are even more aroused. ¡°You fucking idiot! Do you realize where you are?!¡± I hear Spike scream from the other side of the room. I think for a second, trying to figure out what he means. The panting bodies in front of me lurch closer. ¡°Ah, fuck.¡± I just brought a whole new level of excitement to this party. The thought of potentially fucking dying is a whole new turn-on for these people. I grab Mrs Davids and sling her over the horses back. She kicks out weakly in protest, she¡¯s lost too much liquid to put up any real fight though. I turn to look back, seeing the crowd of naked bodies slowly coming closer as people try to remember how to walk. Some don¡¯t even try, swiftly crawling along their bellies towards me. I grab the horses mane, swinging myself on its back. Mrs David¡¯s slung in front of me. I turn the horse towards where I heard Spike¡¯s voice, and kick it as hard as I can. It lets out a whinny, and gallops towards the exit. Barreling into whoever¡¯s in front of it, knocking the lucky ones to the side. I hear bones cracking underneath us, as well as screams of pain, as this poor beast gets some revenge on the people who wronged it. Some of the horde tries to stop us, grabbing at the horse and its mane in an attempt to slow us down, but their hands just slide off, leaving streaks on the horses hide. I spot the staircase, completely clear with no one in site. Spike must¡¯ve ran when he saw me climb on the horse. The fucking bastard. ¡°Hiyah!¡± I shout, giving the horse another good kick to the side. It rears in response, pushing towards the stairs. I duck my head as we pass through its entrance, the horse leaping up the stairs effortlessly. Gotta give it to these freaks, they chose a prize horse. We burst out the door, knocking the bouncer to the side. I hear gasps coming from the vacationers all around me. For a second, I can picture this sight from their perspective. A tall, casually-dressed man with shaggy brown hair, riding a lubed-up white stallion, with a naked, glistening, handcuffed lady lying across its back kicking and screaming, bursting out of a club at a full gallop into the busy mid-morning streets. If this doesn¡¯t make the news, someone isn¡¯t doing their job. I spot Spike running towards me, from the side of the club. He¡¯s swinging his one arm in the air, pointing towards the club door with his other. I turn to look, and see the horrors of the deep coming to the surface. The orgy. They¡¯re filing out of the club door, all glistening bodies and tight leather. Leading the front is none other than the gimp girl I used as a step. ¡°Come back to us, don¡¯t leave! I love you!¡± she screams, jelly legs guiding her ever closer to us. I feel a chill run down my spine. Seems she¡¯s grown attached to the abuse I gave her. ¡°Hop the fuck on, we gotta get outta here!¡± I scream to Spike, holding out my hand to him. He grabs it and hops on behind me, wrapping his one arm around me for support. I kick the poor stallion again, turning it away from the Lovecraftian horror. We break away at full speed, in an attempt to evade our nightmares. After a while, I gather enough courage to sneak a glance behind me, seeing the orgy slowly making their way back to the depths of that depraved land. In the middle of the street, stands a lone gimp. Staring wistfully back at me. I feel a shiver run through me, and turn back towards the front of the horse. Towards freedom. Chapter 7 - Escape. After riding far enough that I finally start feeling safe from the freaks, I pull the horse to a slow canter near a vacant, grassy area, flanked by coconut trees. I look around, making sure no one¡¯s nearby as the horse comes to a halt, dipping its head low to sniff at the grass. It¡¯s most likely trying to recover as much as it can from the whole ordeal. I don¡¯t blame it. I swing my one leg over and hop off, landing on the grass. The pain from my rear immediately letting itself be known. This¡¯ll be the first, and last, time I ever ride without a saddle. I pull Mrs Davids off, depositing her unceremoniously on the grass on her back, as far away from the horse as I can get her. She aims a weak kick at me, missing by a mile, and bursts out into tears. I turn to Spike, who¡¯s still in the process of sliding off the horses back. A pained expression painted on his face, it seems Spike enjoyed the ride even less than I did. ¡°Well, what now?¡± I ask him. ¡°What do you mean, ¡®what now¡¯?¡± he asks, gently rubbing his backside. ¡°I mean, we can¡¯t exactly go back to the hotel with the Mrs here, naked and glistening as she is! Not to mention, still cuffed and screaming bloody murder!¡± We both turn to look at Mrs Davids, who is trying her hardest, without success, to squeeze out of the cuffs. After a few seconds, she notices us watching her and stops, looking away guiltily for a second before turning angrily back to us. ¡°Let me go, you pervs! What do you even want from me?!¡± I turn back to Spike. ¡°Huh, ain¡¯t that funny. She¡¯s calling us the pervs.¡± Spike pats the horses hide, it lets out a small whinny and continues eating. ¡°Yeah, pretty funny. Hey, ma¡¯am, why not tell that to our buddy here? I¡¯m sure he has a thing or two to say to you.¡± The horse lets out a neigh, eyeing her suspiciously before going back to eating. I let out a chuckle, seeing Mrs David''s face flush red. ¡°How dare you?!¡± she screams, ¡°I¡¯ll have you know that-¡±.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Spike and I turn to look at each other. He gestures to the side, and I nod in response. We both walk away, leaving Mrs Davids to her ranting. We hear her get louder and louder as we walk further away, until eventually she¡¯s screaming her words at us. Once her screaming becomes nothing more than some background noise, I turn to face Spike. ¡°We gotta figure out how we¡¯re gonna deal with the lady, man. We can¡¯t go back to the hotel with her. Even if we find her some clothes, and somehow manage to get her in them, she¡¯s gonna just scream her head off until the local PD¡¯s called.¡± Spike scratches his head, thinking. He turns back to look at the source of the screams, and our problems. Mrs Davids is currently trying, and failing, to stand up. Still screaming. Starving yourself while doing vigorous exercise for days on end does take its toll, it seems. She turns to check on us, sees us watching her, and stops screaming for a second. We look at each other for a bit, eyes locked. After a second or two, she turns away, wiggling to get her legs under her, and carries on screaming. Spike turns back to me, brows furrowed. He lets out a sigh. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right. Okay. We gotta think. What if... What if we gag her?¡± ¡°No, man. That¡¯ll look even more suspicious! Do we have to stay in the hotel? I mean, I¡¯m sure we can find a place to squat until the client can pick us up?¡± Spike thinks for a second, his arms crossed and his hand on his chin. ¡°Too unsafe. We can¡¯t risk keeping her in an uncontrolled environment. You never know who¡¯s gonna walk past and see us. Hotel¡¯s gonna be the best bet. Unless¡­¡± I grab him by the shoulders, turning him towards me. ¡°Unless?¡± ¡°You¡¯re not gonna like it.¡± I throw my hands up in the air. ¡°Not like we have a whole lot of options! Just tell me what it is.¡± ¡°We can call in the Feds. Get a car delivered to us, some new clothes for you as well. We can keep her in the trunk until we can contact the client and get a private jet outta here. It¡¯ll cost us, though.¡± I place my hand on my chin, thinking. ¡°How much?¡± ¡°More than we can afford right now. They¡¯ll take whatever outstanding amount we owe off our payment for the job, though. But we¡¯ll have to skip the buffet.¡± My heart stops for a second. ¡°No. No no no, no! I didn¡¯t wade through all that shit for nothing! No ways, no how, no sir! No thank you! Next plan!¡± Spike throws his hands into the air in defeat. He sits down hard on the grass, pulling his legs up and resting his arms on his knees. ¡°Well then fuck, I dunno, Jack! We gotta think of something!¡± I sit down next to him, pulling my legs up and resting my arms on my knees as well. We both sit there for a bit, watching Mrs Davids struggle. She¡¯s rolling on the grass, trying to get her legs under herself, her screaming becoming hoarse. ¡°Any chance she might lose her voice completely?¡± I ask Spike. ¡°Would be great if she did. But probably not. At the rate she¡¯s been going, she could probably keep this up for another few hours.¡± ¡°Huh. Damn.¡± We carry on watching, trying to come up with a plan on getting the good Mrs into the hotel without drawing too much suspicion. I tug some grass out the ground, ripping the blades into ever smaller pieces as I think. ¡°Wish I packed more sunscreen,¡± Spike says, as he takes out a tube from his pocket and pours it into his hand. He massages it into his bald scalp, the top already going a slight shade of red from the sun. ¡°But you know how plane customs are, ya can¡¯t carry more than a certain amount in your carry-on and all that shit. Bunch of bullshit, if you ask me. Used to be you could carry as much as you wanted in your check-in. Not anymore, though. Has to be less than x amount, or they make you chuck it.¡± Suddenly, it clicks. I have an idea. ¡°Hey, Spike. How big is your suitcase?¡± ¡°Pretty big.¡± he says, putting the tube back in his pocket. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I think I have a plan.¡± Chapter 8 - The Plan. The horse gives out a neigh as I kick it back into a slow trot, most likely unhappy with having to lug all of us on its back yet again. The Mrs is seated in front of me, too exhausted to carry on fighting for now. We¡¯ve taken one of Spike¡¯s socks and stuffed a rock in it, tying it around her head and lodging the rock in her mouth as a kind of makeshift gag. Nasty? Sure. Effective? Oh, buddy. Absolutely. ¡°I dunno about this plan, man. You sure you wanna try it?¡± Spike asks, sitting behind me. ¡°Not like we have much of a choice.¡± I reply, pulling on the horses mane in an attempt to keep it in the backstreets. ¡°We could always call for a car¡­¡± ¡°Not a chance, Spike. If this all goes tits-up, then we can call in a favor. Until then, we follow the plan.¡± I reply, tipping my hat lower. The Mrs has been giving us the silent treatment for some time now, refusing to even look at us. Not like keeping silent is very difficult for her right now. Or unwelcomed. ¡°So, let¡¯s go over your ¡®master¡¯ plan again¡­ Just so we¡¯re all clear on the details.¡± I hear Spike say, a trickle of doubt entering his voice. ¡°So, we hide the horse and the Mrs until we find a good hiding spot somewhere near the hotel. Somewhere away from prying eyes.¡± ¡°Correct.¡± I say, giving him a nod of confirmation. ¡°Okay. Then, while you stay behind to watch her and make sure she doesn¡¯t escape, I walk into the hotel and go up to my room.¡± ¡°Correct again.¡± I say, giving the horse a pat on the side for a bit of reassurance. ¡°Okay, cool. Once I¡¯m in my room, I empty out my suitcase and return to our hiding spot with it. Correct?¡± ¡°Correct.¡± I say, wiping the sweat from my brow. ¡°Cool, cool. Then, we¡¯re going to, and correct me if I¡¯m wrong, stuff Mrs Davids into the suitcase, with the gag still in?¡± ¡°That¡¯s correct.¡± I say, guiding the horse gently around a puddle.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°Okay, okay. Cool. Cool. So I didn¡¯t hear any of that wrong. After we, once again, stuff Mrs. Davids into the suitcase, we¡¯re going to walk back to the hotel together, and go to the room. Where we¡¯ll contact the client. Get him to organize us a private jet, and then sit tight while we wait for said private jet to arrive. Correct?¡± ¡°Correctamundo, buddo.¡± I say, squashing a cheeky mosquito that landed on the back of my neck. I hear him sigh. ¡°We¡¯re fucked, aren¡¯t we?¡± I turn to face him, bringing the horse to a halt. ¡°Listen, listen. This¡¯ll work out much, much better than dragging a naked, screaming woman in handcuffs into our hotel room in the middle of the fucking day, now won¡¯t it? We just stuff her in, run up to the hotel room, chuck her in and sit tight. Easy peasy. No money spent, no cops called, no prison time. No worries.¡± I say, kicking the horse back into gear. After riding in complete silence for a few minutes, only broken by the occasional squashing of a mosquito, I pull the horse up inside a quiet side alley, right behind what seems to be an abandoned building. Looking around the corner, I can recognize the street as the one that leads to the hotel. We¡¯re close. I turn to face Spike. ¡°Look, the hotel is right around this corner. If this doesn¡¯t work, we can call in the car. If the madam doesn¡¯t fit into the suitcase, we can call in the car. If anything puts the mission in danger, we can call in the car. But so far this is our best option. It¡¯s also, coincidentally, a good option. So right now I¡¯m hearing a whole lot of complaining, and not a whole lot of suitcase packing.¡± Spike sighs, pulling his legs over the side of the horse and sliding off. I swing my leg off the one side, sliding off as well. The pang in my ass from riding bareback is making itself known, bigger than ever. Feels like I bruised the damn thing. I grab the Mrs¡¯s arm and help her off. Once her feet touches the ground, she starts struggling against me, twisting her body in an attempt to break my grasp. ¡°Hey, easy, ma¡¯am. I don¡¯t wanna hurt you unless I have to. Don¡¯t make me have to.¡± She ignores my warning, bringing up her leg in an attempt to kick me. I pull her towards me, my leg reaching in front of hers to trip her. Once her balance is off, I force her onto the ground, on her back. ¡°Get up.¡± I say to her. ¡°Come on now, I¡¯m sure your back must be raw from all the time you¡¯ve been spending on it.¡± I pull her up, allowing her to get her legs crossed under her. She glares daggers at me as she sits. I look up at Spike, worry on his face. ¡°You sure you¡¯re gonna be fine with her?¡± He asks. ¡°I¡¯ve got her. Just get moving and grab that fucking bag. Oh, and grab some rope. We''re gonna need that.¡± Spike shakes his head while running his hand down his face. After a few seconds, he looks back up at me, gives me a nod, and turns to leave. ¡°Oh, and hurry.¡± He nods again, and disappears around the side of the building. I sit down, leaning my back against the wall. I take out my pack of smokes, pulling one out the box. I light it and take a pull. After a few puffs, I turn to look at the Mrs She¡¯s watching me intensely, every muscle tense, like a cobra ready to strike. She¡¯s most likely trying to find an opportunity to bolt. ¡°You do realize you¡¯re not getting away, right?¡± I ask her. She just keeps staring at me. ¡°Alright. Well, we have some quality time before Spike gets back. We might as well get to know each other during that time, right?¡± Her eyebrows lower into a frown at that. ¡°Hey, I got an idea. Wanna hear the story of how I got into this business? It¡¯s a juicy story, I guarantee.¡± She shakes her head, mumbling what sounds like ¡°no¡± and ¡°fuck you¡± to me over and over. ¡°Well, you¡¯re gonna hear it anyways. Be sure to listen up. I¡¯m not gonna repeat it a second time. Oh, and save your questions for after I¡¯m done, I get sidetracked easily.¡± She starts screaming again, the gag muffling most of the noise, much to both my relief and amusement. I feel myself grinning, as I take another drag. ¡°Well, let¡¯s start at the beginning, shall we? Hmm¡­ Let¡¯s see... I was about nine years old, when I met my first girlfriend. Caroline was her name¡­¡± Chapter 9 - Two Cowboys and a damsel in distress. ¡°... And she took someone else to prom, to boot! Boy, was I mad. And still itchy, thanks to her. Worst eighteenth birthday ever.¡± I look over at the Mrs. She¡¯s currently curled up on her side on the ground, her knees drawn up as close to her chin as possible. She¡¯s gazing at the wall, her eyes red and unblinking. Hey, at least the sobbing stopped. The horse, which I¡¯ve now fondly named Gimpie, gives out a snort as he sniffs the ground, looking for some grass to chew. Finding none, he shakes his mane, turning to watch me. I look him in the eye for a second, then turn back to watch the corner of the building. Spike should be back any minute now. But just in case someone else turns the corner, I needa be ready to deal with them. I keep my eyes locked on that point, my ears straining to spot any noise. ¡°Then high school was over, just like that! Suddenly, I had to pick a field to study, apply to all the colleges, find a part time job and plan the rest of my life! Can you imagine that? I was eighteen! The only plan I had up until then was getting into Sarah¡¯s pants, and we all know what a disaster that ended up being!¡± Suddenly I hear movement, coming from the entrance of the alley. I slowly get up, trying to make as little noise as possible, my hand reaching for my waistband. Loud, heavy footsteps start coming closer and closer. It sounds like whoever they belong to, is in a hurry. I see their shadow stretch into view, around the corner, and I pull my gun from its holster, aiming it at the corner. I glance over at the Mrs, her eyes wide and hopeful as she sees the shadow of her potential savior coming closer and closer. I see an arm and a leg peek around the corner, and raise my gun higher, taking aim at where I believe the head will be. ¡°Better take that next step carefully, buddy. I¡¯m loaded and got a itchy finger.¡± I say. The person halts. I hear a familiar chuckle, and Spike walks around the corner. ¡°Bit jumpy today, hey, bud?¡± He asks, slinging the large suitcase he¡¯s holding over his shoulder. I put away my gun, the danger over. ¡°I¡¯m hungry, man. Not to mention still sticky from those goddamn freaks. What do you expect from me?¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. He lets out another chuckle, swinging the suitcase in front of him and laying it down on the ground. He unzips it, flipping over the top so we can look inside. ¡°Damn, Spike. At least the Mrs will have some luxury in here.¡± The entire inside of the bag is lined with black velvet. Sitting inside, is a coil of thick rope. ¡°Yeah, but I¡¯m gonna have to get a new bag after this is done.¡± he says sadly, as he glances at the still-lubed up Mrs. I have no idea what kind of lube those freaks used, but I gotta say, it¡¯s been a while since we took her and she¡¯s just as slippery as she was when we found her. Quality stuff, I¡¯ll give them that. I let out a short laugh, slapping Spike on the back. ¡°Maybe you should call in The Feds for a new bag, hey? Take that cost off the final bill!¡± Spike grins at me. ¡°Nah, this is coming outta your cut, buddy. I can picture it now¡­ Next one¡¯s gonna have even more compartments¡­ Wheels¡­ A fucking cooler built in¡­ Heck, maybe even throw in some lights¡­¡± I let out another laugh, only half sure that the man''s joking. He grins back at me, then turns to look at the Mrs more closely. ¡°Man, what''d you do to her?¡± ¡°Oh, nothing.¡± I say, ¡°We were just talking. I was just telling her some of the stories from my youth.¡± Spike shakes his head. ¡°Ah, man¡­ We''re supposed to retrieve her, not torture her!¡± ¡°Hey, at least she stopped crying and screaming.¡± I say, as I grab both her ankles and look up at Spike. ¡°Now, are you gonna help me stuff her in this bag or what?¡± After a tonne of maneuvering, a lot of swearing and some discussion on what exactly ¡®in one piece¡¯ means, we had her crammed in. The zips were bulging slightly, but they were holding. And even better, she didn¡¯t resist in the slightest. Seems we¡¯ve finally broken her spirit. ¡°Got her.¡± Spike says, panting slightly from the exertion. ¡°Now¡­ We just gotta get her back to the hotel.¡± ¡°That¡¯s where the rope comes in. Help me get her on Gimpie.¡± I say, picking up the rope and slinging it over my neck. ¡°Gimpie?¡± Spike asks, grabbing one side of the suitcase. ¡°Oh, yeah¡­ The horse.¡± I say, nodding towards Gimpie. Gimpie looks back at us, unsure of what we¡¯re talking about but somehow understanding that we¡¯re talking about him. He lets out a snort, and carries on sniffing the ground. ¡°Jack, what did we say about you naming stuff?¡± Spike asks, lifting his eyebrow at me. ¡°... To not to. But look at him! It fits him!¡± I say, gesturing towards Gimpy. Spike stares at the horse a bit longer, contemplating. After a bit he looks back at me, his face serious. ¡°Just this once. We¡¯ll keep the name, just this once. Now, help me lift her.¡± says Spike, as he lifts the one end of the bag. I grab the other end, and together we get her on Gimpie. We place her in the middle, so Spike can sit behind the case and keep it steady while we ride. I take the rope from around my neck, tying it around her and Gimpie so it¡¯s easier for her to stay on. ¡°Ready?¡± I ask Spike, wiping the sweat off my brow. ¡°Ready.¡± We both jump on the horse, me sitting in front of the bag and Spike behind me. I give Gimpie a pat on the side to reassure him, then give him a light kick to the side to get him moving. We come out of the alley and into the street, making our way slowly towards the hotel. ¡°Looks like it¡¯s lunchtime¡­¡± I say to Spike, swerving Gimpie to avoid an ogling tourist in the middle of the road. On all sides of us, people stop to stare for a second, before carrying on with their day. ¡°Don¡¯t mind us, just a bunch of tourists, just like you.¡± I hear Spike mutter under his breath. ¡°Let¡¯s just get to the damn hotel.¡± He says to me. I nod, and kick Gimpie into a faster pace. Chapter 10 - Theres Something in The Bag. It¡¯s funny. No matter what you¡¯ve seen, or how old you are, or what you¡¯ve experienced, you can still learn new things almost each and every single day. For example, today I learned two things. That orgies can be skin-wrenchingly sticky. And that two men riding on the back of a white stallion, in the middle of the day, with a massive suitcase between them, tends to draw stares from the crowd they¡¯re trying to pass through. Who knew? ¡°We¡¯re almost there. You remember the plan?¡± I ask Spike, the hotel finally looming into view, getting ever closer. ¡°Yeah, I remember. Grab the Mrs, run upstairs, chuck her in. Easy peasy.¡± He says. I nod, pulling Gimpie up to the steps of the hotel. A few fellow guests stare, taking in the sight before them, before they turn and carry on with their day. Spike and I quickly untie the Mrs from Gimpies back, Spike heaving her up the steps and into the hotel. Spike half-walks, half-jogs in, the bag now visibly wriggling as the Mrs starts fighting against the bag. I see a part of the zipper pop open, a slender, manicured finger poking out of the hole. I run up to stand next to Spike, blocking the view of the bag from the reception area, giving the cute receptionist behind the desk a tip of my hat on my way past. I hear her giggle behind me, as we make our way quickly to the stairwell. We quickly duck into the stairwell, leading up to the second floor. We take the stairs two steps at a time, the soft, red carpet that makes up the floor of this cheap hotel cushioning the sound of our frantic footsteps. I hear a noise coming from the bag, and I look down at it, just in time to see an arm fly out of it and latch onto Spikes¡¯ leg. Spike stumbles and lets out a short shout of surprise, as he frantically tries to kick her off of him. Her arm frantically crawls further up his leg, seeking out his crown jewels. He lets out another cry, tripping over the last step and dropping the bag onto the ground. I turn around, checking to see if the coast is clear. Not a single guest in sight. ¡°Jack, help me here!¡± Spike says quietly. He dodges away from the second arm, bursting out of the same hole as the first, both arms twisting and seeking their target. The bag strains against the pressure, still holding back the beast within for now. ¡°What am I supposed to do?!¡± I ask quietly, jumping away from a furious swipe. ¡°Just open the door so I can throw her in, dammit.¡± ¡°Fine, fine.¡± I say, skirting past the furious bag and walking towards the door. I reach into my pocket, searching for the key. Finding nothing, I check the other. Nothing. That can¡¯t be right? I check the first pocket again, finding nothing but a small lighter and some small change. I go back to the second pocket, finding it just as bare, the pack of cigarettes and my phone hiding nothing underneath them. ¡°Spike, do you have the key?¡±The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°You locked up this morning, so no.¡± he says, giving a small kick to the wandering hands. I hear a muffled cry from within the bag, followed by the arms stopping their wandering. After a second, they start again, trying to pull the bag open. I check my pockets yet again, coming up with nothing. I feel a sinking feeling in my stomach, as the realization hits. ¡°I think I lost the key¡­¡± Spike turns to me, a hint of anger in his eyes. ¡°You did what?¡± he asks, a slight edge creeping into his voice. ¡°I said¡­ I think I lost the key.¡± He lets out a groan, scratching his head and giving the suitcase another small kick. ¡°Fuck, man! Wait here. Watch her. I¡¯ll go down and ask for a spare. If they charge us a fee, it¡¯s coming off your cut!¡± ¡°Fine. Fair enough. Just hurry, She¡¯s getting a bit antsy.¡± I say, as I dodge another grapple attempt from the bag. The noises coming from it is starting to get louder. It seems she found an otherworldly source of energy that¡¯s giving her a kind of second wind. I¡¯m slightly impressed, after all the physical activity she¡¯s been doing I¡¯d expect her to be exhausted but she just keeps on going. Spike groans again, turning back to the stairwell and giving me a quick wave. He hops down the steps, three at a time, and his body quickly ducks out of sight. I let out a sigh, and turn back to look at the bag. She¡¯s pulled her arms back in, and has stuck her head out of the hole she managed to make. She¡¯s looking around, trying to find a way to break the bag further. She turns her attention to me, and we lock eyes for a second. I can see the fury in her eyes. She¡¯s not happy. She starts shaking her head from side to side, screaming as loud as the gag allows her to. ¡°Hey, better quit that now. The harder you make things for us, the worse it¡¯ll be for you.¡± She stops and looks at me, her face a mask of rage. I crouch down, bringing my face closer to hers. ¡°We didn¡¯t have to gag you. You made that choice, not us. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s uncomfortable, but it¡¯s needed. Don¡¯t make things harder for yourself.¡± Suddenly, I hear a click coming from in front of us. We both turn to look at the source of the noise, the Mrs turning as far as she can, but she¡¯s facing the wrong way from the source. I see one of the other doors in this corridor¡¯s handle push down, as the door swings inwards. I curse quietly, and see the Mrs face light up with hope as she realizes what¡¯s happening. She starts screaming as loud as she can, hoping that whoever is coming will hear her. Shit. ¡°I¡¯ll be back in a minute, just gotta fetch something from the store quick!¡±, I hear someone say from inside the room. Sounds male, probably mid-30s. Not good. I grab the bag, pushing the Mrs head back in with as much force as I can. I fling the bag against our door, the hole she made pointing towards it, blocking her from pushing her head out again. I pull out my phone from my pocket, opening the feed app and clicking on the first video on the page. Some Korean news report starts playing, something about the war, the english subtitles flying across the bottom of the screen. I turn the volume up as loud as I can, sitting down on the bag as heavily as I can to prevent it from moving. I lean my back against the door, my hand resting just over where my gun holster is. Just in case things get ugly. A second later, he comes out the room. Definitely mid-30s, slightly overweight, in a green collared shirt with khaki shorts. Possibly 200lbs, his steps are heavy, meaning he probably isn¡¯t fast on his feet. His hands are tucked into his pockets, relaxed, his shoulders slouched as if he spends too much time in a chair. He regards me for a second, our eyes locking as sounds from the news feed mixes in with the sounds of the Mrs¡¯ muffled screaming. For a second he hears it, I can see the moment he hears it. That slight sound that doesn¡¯t seem quite right, the muffled screaming that doesn¡¯t belong with a news feed. My hand slowly goes towards my waistband, as his step falters. ¡°Afternoon.¡± He says, giving me a curt nod. The man starts walking again, his brain accepting and associating the noises he¡¯s hearing to my phone. ¡°Afternoon.¡± I say back to him, giving him a curt nod. I let my hand slip from my waistband, feeling that the moment has passed and I¡¯m safe for now. The man walks to the stairwell, and I watch him slowly disappear down it. A bead of sweat drips down my neck, as my adrenaline levels start leveling out. A moment later, I see a familiar, bald head peek up from the stairwell. Spike. I get up from the bag, the Mrs wriggling furiously as she tries to escape again. ¡°Did you get it?¡± I ask. He pulls out a set of keys from his pocket, attached to a massive wooden keychain with our number on it. ¡°Cost us a hundred credits. Oh, sorry, did I say us? I meant you.¡± he says, flicking the keys towards me. ¡°Yeah, yeah. Take it from my cut.¡± I say, catching the keys mid-air, as I turn towards our door. I slide the key inside the lock, feeling the tumblers part underneath it. I give it a twist, and the door clicks open. ¡°Let¡¯s just get her inside.¡± Chapter 11 - An Unexpected Guest. I wake up in a cold sweat, bolting upright in the bed as I look around the room in panic. Something isn¡¯t right. The first rays of dawn filters through the yellowed blinds, telling me it¡¯s morning. I take another sweep across the room, noting the small desk in the corner, the wardrobe lying against the opposite wall, the air-con above it still blowing cold air into the room. Nothing. Must¡¯ve been another bad dream. I shrug, and lie back down. I grab the blanket, pulling it higher up until it rests underneath my chin. Then I turn onto my side, facing the room, my one arm lying underneath my head. Perfect. I feel myself drifting slowly off to sleep, my mind wandering as I reach that semi-awake stage just before sleep. I think about the past a bit. And about Robin. I picture her in my mind. Her shoulder-length black hair. Her slender neck. Her long legs. The way she would always tuck her hair behind her left ear. I picture us together again. Happy, but tentative, knowing that we couldn¡¯t last but trying our best anyways. For a minute, it feels like I¡¯m back with her. I feel her arm wrap around my waist, from the back. It feels¡­ Different. I frown, trying to figure it out. I cuddled with her hundreds of times, and this doesn¡¯t feel like those times. How could my brain get this feeling wrong, but know that it¡¯s wrong? Are brains self-aware of their own mistakes? Has it just been so long that I¡¯ve forgotten what it feels like, and my brains trying to connect the dots itself? That¡¯s when I hear a sigh coming from behind me.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. A very, very real sigh. I jump out of bed as quickly as I can, adrenaline pumping as I realize there¡¯s an intruder in the room. In my bed. I fall to the floor, the blanket tangling my legs. I pull them off, revealing the intruder underneath. She wakes, and lets out a yawn, her rubber hand lifting up to the mouth hole of her latex mask. Her long, blonde hair tied into a pony, poking through a hole in the top of the mask. She rubs her blue eyes, blinks them a few times, and looks up at me. It¡¯s Gimp girl. ¡°Spike! Spike, we have a code blue! Code blue, Spike!¡± I scream, backing towards the door. I hear Spike¡¯s heavy footsteps furiously coming towards my door. He pulls it open, stepping inside, his massive frame taking up the doorway. ¡°Hey, whoa, whoa. Calm down. The fuck¡¯s a code blue?¡± He asks, looking at me. I point to Gimp girl, her eyes wide and darting between Spike and I. He looks at her, and I see surprise on his face. Followed by dismay. He rubs his face, shaking his head. ¡°Fuck sakes, Jack, I told you not to bring any girls around when we¡¯re on a mission! It¡¯s a risk we don¡¯t needa take! Kick her out, after you let her get decent. I don¡¯t care what kinda fetishes you have, Jack, but it¡¯s cruel to make her wear that all night. Poor thing must be dying of heat.¡± He turns and walks out the door, closing it behind him. I can hear him muttering to himself as he walks back to his own room. I stare at the door in shock. Bastard left me, in my time of need! I turn back to Gimp girl, in time to see her crawl off the bed towards me on all fours, her hips swaying as she makes her way closer towards me, every curve accented by the tight leather. I back up as far as I can to the door, the fear and adrenaline coursing through my veins turning my legs to jelly. I try fumble for the doorknob, my shaky hands unable to grip it. This is a nightmare. This must be a nightmare. I¡¯ll just close my eyes, and when I open them again, I¡¯ll be back in the bed alone. I close my eyes, and wait. Chanting over and over in my head that this is just some bad dream. The sounds of her crawling stops. I listen out, trying to hear her. Nothing but the singing of the birds outside. I let out my breath, I didn¡¯t even realize that I was holding it. I let out a short chuckle and shake my head. My dreams are becoming crazy real these days, it seems. Though I should¡¯ve realized it was just a dream, I mean really, a gimp girl somehow breaking into my room, sleeping in my bed, without any of us realizing? That¡¯s just ridiculous. Feeling better, I open my eyes. Gimp girl is right in front of my face, leaning forward. Her big, blue eyes staring into mine. I scream, my fear taking over. I let out the most blood-curdling, ear-shattering scream I can. I can¡¯t stop myself. My body pushes itself as close to the door as it can, my fight or flight response choosing flight against my will. I hear Spike running towards my door again, he swings it open and I fall backwards, the resistance finally gone. I scramble into the small living room, ducking behind the dark blue couch. After hiding for a second or two, I realize I¡¯m still screaming. I close my mouth, cutting off the noise. I glance over the couch and see Spike standing in the doorway, turned towards me. He¡¯s shaking his head, his face in his hand. Behind him, I see Gimp girl on all fours, leaning around Spike¡¯s legs so she can see me. She gives me a wave, the rubber of her suit squeaking as her slender arm moves back and forward. ¡°Jack, mind telling me what the fuck is going on?¡±, Spike asks. I keep my eyes locked on Gimp girl. She leans back and sits on her legs, her curvy, black frame shining in the morning light. I feel a shiver run down my spine. ¡°I love you.¡± She says timidly. Spike lets out a groan. ¡°Jack, what did you do?¡± Chapter 12 - A Sight to Behold. ¡°Jack, get her changed, and get her out. We needa talk.¡± Spike says, his arms crossed and hand rubbing his temple. I¡¯ve retreated to the far wall, Gimp girl is sitting on her legs in front of me, leaning as close to me as she can. I can almost smell the latex as she flutters her eyelashes at me. ¡°Spike, for the last fucking time, I didn¡¯t let her in! She¡¯s one of those freaks from the club!¡± Spike lets out another groan, louder this time. ¡°Well then how did she get in, Jack? The door¡¯s locked! The windows too! Unless she¡¯s got some decent lockpicking skills, someone must¡¯ve let her in.¡± he says, looking her up and down. ¡°And it sure as hell wasn¡¯t me.¡± ¡°Then how the hell did she get in?¡± I ask, turning from Spike to look at her. She turns away from me, guilt written across her latex face. She nervously glances at the floor, then back to me, then back to the floor. I sigh, realizing what I have to do. I have to talk to her. I lean in closer to her, trying to draw her attention back to me. She turns to look at me, her eyes wide in shock at me coming closer to her. I can see she¡¯s blushing, the skin underneath her light blue eyes bright red. ¡°Listen, ah¡­¡±, I almost say ¡®Gimp Girl¡¯, ¡°Weird girl? You can¡¯t be here. You needa tell us how you got in here, okay?¡± She turns to look at the ground again, avoiding eye contact with me. I lean in even closer, laying a very tentative hand on her shoulder. Huh, she smells like roses. Weird. ¡°Look, I¡¯m not gonna be mad at you. I just wanna know how you got in.¡± She looks up at me, her eyes narrowed as she tries to read my face. Sorry, honey, but I have one of the best poker faces in the business. She looks down at her hands, fiddling them in nervousness. ¡°I¡­ I have a key¡­¡± She says timidly, barely above a whisper. She reaches down her latex suit, grabbing something from within and pulling it out. The missing key. I snatch it from her hands, taking a closer look at it. Same red keyring, with our room number on it. ¡°Well, we figured out where you lost that key at least. Maybe we can get a refund on the spare.¡± Spike says, pulling a chair from underneath the round dining room table, sitting between the kitchen and the couch. He sits down heavily in it, leaning his arm on the backrest and looking at me. He pulls out his phone, tapping on the screen. ¡°Now get her out.¡±This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°With pleasure,¡± I say, standing up and gesturing to Gimp Girl. ¡°Come on, you had your fun. Time to get out.¡± She crosses her arms over her chest, turning her face away from me. Her chin pointed upwards. Is¡­ Is she pouting? I shake my head and sigh, running my hand through my hair. I was really hoping she¡¯d go willingly. I really don''t wanna touch her. ¡°Look, you had your fun, gave us a bit of a scare, and now the fun¡¯s over. You needa go.¡± I say with a bit more authority. She looks up at me for a second, then carries on pouting. I look to Spike for some assistance. He shrugs, then goes back to his phone. Safe to say I¡¯m not getting any help from him. I mentally prepare myself for what¡¯s coming next. ¡°Okay, I was hoping you¡¯d take the easy way, but you left me with no choice. You gotta go.¡± I say, as I grab her arm and lift her to her feet. She struggles against me, the latex suit helping her wriggle out of my grasp. I try holding on as I pull her closer to the door, but she keeps slipping out. I look for anything that could give me a bit more grip, seeing nothing but the ponytail sticking out the top. Fuck, man. I really don¡¯t wanna do this. I push her in front of me, her back facing me. I quickly wrap my one arm around her stomach, and grab her ponytail with the other. The second she feels me pull slightly, she freezes. A soft moan escapes her lips, as she¡¯s frozen in place, waiting for what I¡¯m going to do next. Fuck, man. I really don¡¯t wanna do this. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s go.¡± I say, pushing her towards the door. I unlock it and pull it open, pushing her through first. She takes a sharp breath as she walks through the door, her breath becoming audibly labored. The fuck? Am I pulling too much? I¡¯m barely even holding the thing! ¡°Good luck getting her outta reception, Jack. While you¡¯re there, tell the cute receptionist we found the key. Oh, and try figure out how she tracked us. If she can find us, I¡¯m sure the rest of her friends can too.¡± I hear Spike say behind me. Gimp girl is still standing outside the doorway, I¡¯m still inside the room, my feet not yet crossing the threshold. She starts squirming a bit, obviously uncomfortable, but she¡¯s slightly moaning? What¡¯s up with her? I walk out the door, pushing her ahead, and realize why she¡¯s becoming so agitated. The other guests. Entire families are outside in the corridor, getting an early start to the day so they could see the sights and get a full day in. They¡¯re all staring at us, parents covering their kids eyes at the sight of me pulling the Gimp out of the room. I see a camera flash from somewhere inside the crowd, and Gimp Girl takes another sharp breath. Oh. Oh no. The embarrassment... She¡¯s into it. She¡¯s not squirming because she¡¯s uncomfortable¡­ My face turns bright red, as I hear a kid speak up from the crowd. ¡°Mommy, why¡¯s that lady in a rubber suit? Why¡¯s that man pulling her hair?¡± ¡°Come on, let¡¯s hurry now.¡± I say to her, pushing her through the crowd forming around us, towards the stairs. We hurry down them, rushing past the very-confused receptionist and an equally large crowd standing in the reception area. Just how many guests does this damn hotel have? As we step outside, I see just how she tracked us. Gimpie. He¡¯s just¡­ Standing there. His white coat brilliant in the morning sun. He¡¯s standing in the exact same spot we left him, grazing on the grass. I shake my head, disappointed. Gimpie looks at me, giving me a welcoming snort before going back to grazing. Such a fine, young stallion. Yet so, so stupid. ¡°Alright, miss. I don¡¯t particularly wanna reunite you with Gimpie here, but I can¡¯t have either of you drawing attention to us.¡± I say, as a crowd forms around us, their cameras clicking away. ¡°Safe to say that it¡¯s a bit late for that¡­ But it¡¯s time for some damage control, I think.¡± I help push her onto Gimpie¡¯s back, standing back once I¡¯m done to admire the scene. Gotta say, I¡¯m gonna remember this for the rest of my life. It¡¯s not every day you see a gimp riding bareback on a white stallion. Maybe I should ask one of these tourists for a copy of the pictures. Once I¡¯m done admiring, I give Gimpie a solid slap to the rear. He rears back, letting out a loud neigh, before racing down the street. Gimp Girl grabs onto his mane, holding on for dear life, as they quickly disappear out of sight. ¡°Well, that¡¯s that.¡± I say to myself, the crowd of people around me slowly dissipating as the excitement disappears. Some stay behind, though, gawking at me. I turn around and start heading up the steps, back to the hotel. ¡°Now, let¡¯s see if that receptionist is kind enough to give us a refund¡­¡± Chapter 13 - Its not worth it. I¡¯ll add ¡®dragging a Gimp by the hair¡¯ to my ¡®successful ways to intimidate someone¡¯ list. A hundred credits richer, I return to the hotel room, skipping up the steps and pushing past the last of the families that are still meandering the corridor. They all stare at me as I reach the door, possibly still in shock. I twist the doorknob and slip back into the room, giving them all a friendly wave goodbye. I close the door behind me, and let out a satisfied sigh. Disaster over. Spike¡¯s still sitting in the chair, tapping away at his phone. I fish out the credits from my pocket. The flexible, green, translucent plastic they¡¯re made of crumpling beneath my hand as I toss them onto the table. ¡°I solved two problems today and the sun¡¯s only just gotten up. What¡¯ve you done today?¡± Spike lazily gets up, stretching his limbs and cracking his neck as he walks towards the table. He takes out his card from his pocket, tapping it onto each note. The ¡°50¡± displayed in the center of each fades and disappears off the bills, as the money¡¯s deposited directly into his account. He crumples them up, and throws them into the trash bin. ¡°You caused two problems, though. So I¡¯d say they don¡¯t count.¡± Spike says, placing his hands in his pockets and nodding towards the bathroom door. ¡°Alright, we needa talk about what we should do about the madame over there.¡± He says, pointing his thumb towards the bathroom door. ¡°Her husband just send me a message. He¡¯s hopping on his jet now, says he¡¯ll be here in two hours. We needa keep her locked up, and safe, until then. Get some liquid into her, in case she dies before he gets here. God knows when the last time she had anything nourishing.¡± I nod, putting my hands in my pocket. At least the mission is almost done. I can almost taste that buffet. ¡°I heated her up a can of soup while you were messing around with the gimp. Should be enough to keep her going until the client gets here. Shall we check up on her?¡± ¡°Yeah, sure. Hopefully that shower mellowed her out a bit.¡± I say, picking up the key to the door from the table as I walk towards the bathroom. I slip the key inside the lock, turning it as I twist the door open. The door swings inward as I flick on the light switch next to it, the single bulb lighting up the room. This is the only room in the suite that doesn¡¯t have a window, making it perfect for keeping the Mrs. She¡¯s lying in the bathtub, blinking away the sleep from her eyes. Still naked, gagged and cuffed, she lets out a groan as her eyes adjust to the light. At least she¡¯s clean. Spike and I threw her in the tub last night, kicking and screaming behind the gag as we turned on the shower head above her. After a few minutes, she quietened down and accepted her fate, as the lube still clinging to her body was washed down the drain. ¡°Good morning, ma¡¯am. How was your night? Comfy?¡± I ask, as I stroll towards the bath. She glares daggers at me, as I sit on the edge of the bathtub. She tries to talk, the gag doing its job well yet again as she drones on and on. I pull out the keys to her cuffs from my pocket, swinging it by its keyring. ¡°Well, that¡¯s great to hear. We¡¯ve cooked you up some breakfast. Fresh tomato soup, provided by our dear chef Spike here.¡± I say, gesturing towards Spike. He gives her a short bow, then crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. I look back to the Mrs, hunger written across her face almost as much as anger is. I smile back at her. ¡°Now, if you¡¯re good, we¡¯ll uncuff you and you can slurp it down on your own. I can guarantee that you needa replace your liquids. Get some nourishment in your body. Your husband¡¯s on his way now, should be here in about two hours. So we just needa watch you until he makes his appearance.¡± She looks to the key I¡¯m currently swinging, hope glimmering in her eyes. ¡°Yeah, yeah. I¡¯m sure those cuffs are hurting something fierce. Not to mention the gag. That must be uncomfortable.¡± I say, as I get up from the edge of the bathtub. I cross my arms, looking down at her. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°So, I¡¯m giving you a choice.¡± I uncross my arms, holding out my closed hand, the key to the cuffs nestling safely inside. ¡°You can cooperate, and enjoy that tomato soup¡± I say, as I uncurl my hand to show her the key nestled within it. ¡°Or,¡± I say, snapping my hand shut yet again, ¡°we can keep you like this, locked up and gagged in this here tub, until your husband arrives and drags you off to who-knows-where. No soup. No stretching. No nothing.¡± She looks down in contemplation. After a few seconds of deep thought, she looks back up at me, resignation on her face. She nods. ¡°Alright, I¡¯m trusting you here.¡± I say, as I lean over to uncuff her. She turns her back to me, raising her arms up as high as they can go in order to make the job easier for me. I slip the key inside the cuffs, twisting them open. I hear a click, as the first cuff comes loose. She slips her hand out, bringing her arm in front of herself and clenching and unclenching her hand, trying to bring some circulation back into it. A red mark outlines where the cuffs were, the skin there rubbed raw from its harsh metal. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare betray my trust, ma¡¯am, or these go right back on. And you might have a few new bruises, to boot.¡± I say, as I unlock the last cuff, taking the set and slipping them in my pocket. The Mrs starts massaging her wrists, while I untie the gag from around her head. I hand the gag to Spike, his sock now ruined beyond repair. He tentatively takes it, still moist, and walks away towards the bin. She looks up at me, the exhaustion she¡¯s feeling starting to show, the bags under her eyes heavy and betraying just how little sleep she¡¯s been getting. I glance at her wrists, the skin red and raw. I let out a hiss, knowing exactly how sore those cuff burns must be. ¡°You might wanna get some lotion for that. I¡¯ll go grab you some while you eat. Lemme just help you outta that tub.¡± I say, offering my hand to her. She tentatively takes it, and I pull her to her feet. She wobbles a bit as the lack of food and water catches up to her. ¡°Thanks.¡± she says, her voice raspy and hoarse. ¡°No problem. See, we¡¯re not the bad guys.¡± I say, as I help lead her out the tub. ¡°We¡¯re just doing our jobs.¡± She lets out a short laugh. ¡°Your jobs? Is that what you call this?¡± She stops and looks me in the eyes, her lips curling into a snarl. ¡°Normal people call this kidnapping.¡± ¡°And normal people call what you¡¯ve done theft, adultery and beastiality.¡± Spike says from inside the kitchen. He¡¯s sitting behind the round dining room table, a lit smoke in his one hand and his phone in the other. ¡°Be happy that your husband sent us, and not a lawyer.¡± I turn back to look at her. She¡¯s got her nose turned up, mouth still curled into a snarl. She¡¯s somehow looking down at Spike from over her nose, even though he¡¯s easily taller than her even when he¡¯s sitting. He gives her a wink, and looks back down at his phone. He sweeps his hand towards a bowl and a spoon sitting on the table, directly opposite him. ¡°Eat up, and stop arguing. You don¡¯t have the energy.¡± ¡°Ignore him, he¡¯s just a grumpy old man.¡± I say to her. ¡°Though he does have a point. You needa eat. Sit down and get started on that soup, I¡¯ll find you some lotion for those wrists.¡± She looks up at me, her eyes narrowed as she tries to read my expression. Suspicious of my kindness. They usually are. After a moment she nods, and slowly shuffles towards the table. She sits down in a chair and picks up the spoon, tentatively dipping it into the soup and taking a sip. I hear her gag as she tries to force the nasty stuff down her throat. I turn to go to my room to find some lotion, the sounds of Spike chuckling following behind me. ¡°Best damn soup you¡¯ll taste this side of the continent¡­¡± I hear him quietly mutter to himself. I give a silent prayer to the Mrs, knowing exactly what she¡¯s going through. I dig through my bag on the floor, finding a small bottle of hand lotion I keep in case of emergencies just like this. I walk back into the common room, lotion in hand. I swear, you could cut the tension with a knife. The Mrs¡¯s entire concentration is on ingesting that soup, while Spike stares at his phone screen, lit smoke still in hand. He appears calm to the casual observer, but I¡¯ve known him for long enough to see that his muscles are slightly tensed, ready to jump up at a moments notice. I sigh, and walk up to the table. I pull out a chair and sit down in it, directly in the middle of Spike and the Mrs. I pass her the lotion, her silent gaze the only thanks I get. I sling my arm around the headrest, cross my leg over the other and lean back. Spike offers me the open pack of smokes, still staring at his phone. I take one and light it, calming my nerves and doubts at having the Mrs unrestrained at the table. ¡°So¡­ We have two hours, might as well learn to get along before then. How about we go around the table, introduce ourselves.¡± I say, tipping my smoke, the ash falling into the ashtray. The Mrs shoots me a glare. ¡°Not a chance in hell, weirdo. I couldn¡¯t care less about either of you, and the sooner I can forget about you two, the better.¡± she says, pointing the spoon back and forth between Spike and I. Spike looks up from his phone and raises his eyebrow at me, giving me a ¡®what did you expect?¡¯ look. He reaches into his pocket, fishing out his card and dropping it onto the table in front of me. ¡°Jack, take the card and go buy the Mrs some clothes. I want her decent for when the client comes.¡± The Mrs looks up, grinning at Spike. ¡°Why? Do I bother you?¡± She asks, putting down her spoon and resting her arms on the table, leaning forward a bit. ¡°Does my nakedness make you awkward? Are you feeling uncomfortable?¡± Spike looks up from his phone, raising his eyebrow at her. ¡°Ma¡¯am, your nakedness doesn¡¯t phase me in the slightest.¡± He looks back at his phone, tapping something on the screen. ¡°Don¡¯t try to lie to me. All you men are the same. All you want is sex. All of you just want my body.¡± She says, her voice rising before falling to a whisper. ¡°That¡¯s all they ever want.¡± Spike puts down his phone, letting out a frustrated sigh as he pinches the bridge of his nose, scrunching his eyes shut in frustration. He relaxes, opens his eyes, leans forward and looks the Mrs directly in the eyes. ¡°Look. You know what we do, right?¡± He asks her. She lets out a short laugh, ¡°Yeah, you guys fucking kidnap people!¡± ¡°We bring back runaways and thieves, just like you.¡± Spike says, pointing his finger at her. ¡°People exactly like you. Same situation, same looks, same nakedness, same attitude. We get called to pick them up from their weekends out and drop them back off at home. Unharmed to a certain degree, untouched beyond what we found them like, and in one piece. If we hurt you severely, we don¡¯t get paid. If we kill you, we don¡¯t get paid. If we sleep with you, we don¡¯t get paid.¡± He takes another drag from his cigarette. ¡°Some of the girls we pick up are much, much more attractive than you could ever hope to be. Some are not. All of them, including you, have one thing in common that puts us agents completely off of people like you.¡± ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡± She asks, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in her chair, pouting. Spike leans back in his chair and gets comfy again. He picks his phone back up and looks down at it, tapping away at its screen. ¡°None of you are worth the money.¡± Chapter 14 - A game of patience. ¡°Hey, Spike, does it feel like it¡¯s been two fucking months already to you too?¡± I ask. ¡°Yeah, bud. Weird, isn''t it?¡± he replies, as he puts down his phone. He shakes his head, eyes scrunched shut as he fights off the strange feeling. ¡°It feels like it¡¯s been an entire year for me.¡± says the Mrs, as she tries to smooth out the shirt I gave her. Spike opted not to spend our hard-earned credits on clothes the Mrs. wouldn¡¯t wear anyways. After an hour of us forcing it on her, then forcing her to keep it on, she¡¯s finally relented. It hangs just above her knees, billowing out halfway down her arms. ¡°Could you not give me some pants as well?¡± ¡°No can do, ma¡¯am. This is the only pair I have with me.¡± I say, as I pull up the waist. Black jeans are almost a must in this line of work, able to handle tough stains and grabby fingers. ¡°We were gonna buy you some fresh clothes, but you wanted to be difficult.¡± She wrinkles her nose, her eyebrows furrowing together. ¡°Your only pair? How long did you expect to stay here?¡± ¡°About a month.¡± I reply, as I smooth out the wrinkle in my pants. ¡°That¡­ Is disgusting.¡± She says, as she tilts her nose up in disgust. A second later, realization dawns on her, and she grabs the hem of the shirt she¡¯s wearing and takes a deep whiff. After a second sniff test, she lets go of it. ¡°At least you washed this at some point.¡± ¡°Sure, yeah. Let¡¯s go with that.¡± I reply, as I lean back into my chair. Spike looks towards the Mrs, his one eyebrow raised. ¡°If you think that¡¯s disgusting, you should see the state you left that bathtub in.¡± She turns beet-red, as she turns her face away from him, arms crossed once again and nose turned up. ¡°Spike, this is fun and all, but when¡¯s the client flying down?¡± I ask, as I pick up the empty box of smokes for the fifth time in a row. I give it a shake to make absolutely sure we¡¯re out. Stolen novel; please report. Nothing. With a sigh, I drop it back on the table. After many hours of debate, some plates being thrown and knives being drawn, we came to the conclusion that the easiest way to sneak her out the country was to just call the client and tell him to pick her up. He can just wave his billionaire dick around and get her out, no questions asked. I doubt we could do the same, unless they accept smokes as bribes. Even if they did, we¡¯re all out of smokes. ¡°He said a few hours, he¡¯ll let us know when he lands.¡± he replies, as he sighs and leans back. His chair creaks in protest. ¡°Hey, how about you go out and buy us some smokes?¡± ¡°Sure,¡± I say, grabbing the room key and getting up from the chair, ¡°good luck with this one.¡± Spike nods, shoots a glare at the Mrs back and goes back to his phone. I walk to the door and slide the key in. I unlock it and step outside, feeling the warm afternoon heat hit me. I close the door and lock it again, twisting the handle to double check. Finally, a few minutes of freedom. I let out a sigh, stretching as I look down the red corridor. Man, it feels like forever since I¡¯ve been out here. Turning on my heels, I make my way down the stairs, hands in my pockets. As I walk into the foyer, my blood turns cold. A policeman is talking to the receptionist. I take a breath, telling myself to calm down. He could be here for anything. Maybe the receptionist lost something and is filing a report, or maybe they¡¯re friends and he¡¯s just on a coffee break and decided to pop by? I can¡¯t hear what they¡¯re saying from this distance, and if I stand here too long, I¡¯ll look suspicious. I take a few easy steps towards them, keeping my shoulders relaxed. I try to look as touristy as possible. As I get closer, the receptionist stops talking mid-sentence and glances at me. The policeman turns to look at me as well, giving me a hard glare. I nod to him. ¡°Afternoon.¡± I say, keeping my voice level. He gives me a nod back, his stare lingering on me for a second longer before he turns back to the receptionist. He asks her something under his breath, and the receptionist answers quietly. I feel a shiver run down my spine, as I casually walk outside the front door. That¡¯s not a good sign. Intuition is one of the strongest tools of the trade, and mine is telling me that something¡¯s not right.