In for a Penny

Bopping to the beats pulsing out of her phone as it perched on the counter by the sink, she spun and wiggled around the kitchen as she cleaned, bare feet slapping lightly on the tiles. Warm late-afternoon light spilled in through the open front windows, an orange hue beginning to overtake the yellow.

The movement beyond the gate was hardly noticeable through the slats in the fence, but her rhythmic swaying slowed, then stopped, as she tried to pinpoint the origin of the slight disturbance. A sound of closing car doors? The tall wooden gate abruptly swung open, revealing a large, stern-faced man, wearing clothes that made him look gym bound. Light sweatpants and hooded sweatshirt, mostly unzipped to a plain light shirt beneath, none yet stained from exertion. He moved into the yard as the gate opened, making way for the little bald man in his wake.

Click. The latch of the swiftly closing gate behind them. Two pairs of eyes suddenly met her gaze through the window, nearly knocking her back with their predatory intensity. They lurched onward toward the front door as a rush of adrenaline washed through her nervous system accompanying the realization that they were not, in fact, lost neighbors or some other innocuous thing. She scramble/ran the two steps from the tiny kitchen to the hall which led left, to the front door, or right, to the bedroom with a window leading to the backyard.

Awkwardly throwing herself to the right, she hurried into the bedroom, trampolined by the untidy bed to the window. The bang of the front door slamming open somehow seemed simultaneous with the arms that grabbed her and flung her backward just as her fingers touched the latch.

A confusing cacophony of sensations bombarded her heightened alertness. The world spun momentarily as she bounced back onto the mound of blankets and sheets, her mind trying to understand the violent clattering of the blinds she'd been ripped away from mixed with the deriding faux laughter of the bald man behind her.

"You sure that's her?" The large man was now between her and the window.

She struggled to free her limbs from the blankets and shove her light brown hair from her face. Again her eyes met with the intense gaze of the looming larger man.

"Yeah, man. Just look at her tattoos." Even in the dimly lit room, the intricate lines that made up the artwork on her flesh were visible. Vining roses with thorns nearly covered her right forearm, and the left had an intricate spider web with tattered edges, a small brown spider dotting the vein in the middle of the wrist. Her oversized t-shirt and panties were worn for comfort, not modesty, and they hid little of her apparently identifiable markings now as she regained her bearings and pushed herself up tentatively.

"Great," the gym-clad man said matter of factly, breaking his gaze to grab her legs, his huge hands easily encircling her calves. He effortlessly yanked her toward him, her sheer black panties hiking up and midriff suddenly exposed.

"Ho damn!" the smaller man excitedly squealed.

A flustered stream of "no no no no no no" was all her panicked mind could stutter out, which was as useful as the flutter of her hands to free her legs from the larger man's powerful grip. Pulling her off the bed, he expertly maneuvered her into a locked position pinned against his body. His arms were like a net, tightening each time she moved. With her arms trapped across her chest, she fought to catch her breath, blood screaming in her ears, even as the chest she was held against was stoically calm and still.

"Yup, that's his girlfriend." She suddenly remembered the smaller man. He had approached her group of friends recently at a club and offered to sell them drugs. He had been oddly pushy but backed off when he got the hard pass. Now he was standing there in her bedroom in that same stupid purple satin jacket that seemed to accentuate the sleekness of his bald head, catching the intermittent light shining past the swinging blinds.

The terror that these were people specifically here to get specifically her was beginning to take root, and the world spun again as her stomach fell through her feet. Finally able to take a half breath, she choked out a "Help." The larger man — was he a bouncer from the club? — huffed in minor annoyance as he shifted his weight to restrain her with one arm, freeing the other to clap a hand over her mouth.

"Wait, wait, wait," the pusher stopped wringing his hands and staring at the bottom hem of their prey's t-shirt momentarily. The hand over her mouth pressed her head back into the broad man's chest. She strained to see the smaller man gesture toward the bed with a jerk of the chin. A pleading smile lit up his face.

"What the — fuck you," her captor retorted.

"Come on!" The pusher slid sideways to block their exit. "You remember what he said. 'Unharmed.'" Another step. "Look at it from my perspective." He gestured at himself. His tone was the familiar insistent desperation from the club, but worse. "And look at her!" He threw up his hands in dramatic fashion and spun around. "Maybe you don't get it. You're this big fuckin' guy." In that moment she realized that, although she'd been thinking of him as small, he was still larger than her. "I just... Look, I'm not gonna hurt her." That same nauseating tone.

After a moment of silence. "Hm..."

The little guy whipped back around, eyebrow arched severely to match the pull of his smirk, more surprised than anyone that he was seemingly being considered.

"Remember everything he said." With that, she was thrown back at the bed.

"Fuck yeah!" The pusher clapped his hands and went for a high five. Mr. Gym looked at him with disgust and crossed his arms.

"If you're gonna do something, do it," he said as he jerked his head toward the window that their diminutive quarry had already made a break for.

"Oh come on now!" the smaller man chided, lunging onto the bed and grabbing her ankle. "Where do you even think you can go? I mean —" She spun around as he yanked her toward him and, using her free leg, kicked him right in his smug face. "Fucking bitch!" he whined, recoiling slightly but tightening his hold on her other leg as she frantically tried to wrench free, Mr. Gym chuckling in the background.

"Fuck you, man! She didn't fight you like this," he said, dragging her under him, then struggling to secure her wrists as she twisted and pulled, breaking his grip several times.

"Yeah. It's almost like I know what I'm doing."

Arms finally pinned over her head with his left hand, he leaned back slightly. Just in time to avoid a weak attempt at a head butt. He shook his head. "Why you gotta be so mean to me?" His lip curled as he pressed his groin against her pelvis and roughly grabbed her hip, the smell of pharmacy-brand cologne and stale sweat assailing her nose.

As he ground into her, she could feel the seam of his jeans through the thin fabric of her underwear. Her heels slipped against the top sheet as she kicked and bucked, trying to create space. He leaned forward, chest to chest, brusquely shoving his hand under her shirt, mashing her breast so violently it knocked the air from her lungs in a pained yelp. "Wanna dance?" An echo in her mind. He asked that at the club. The fingers on her breast zeroed in on her nipple, pinching her painfully.

She barely realized she'd screamed out, but she heard a roll of duct tape stretch in the background. "This will keep her quiet. Get off her."

"What?!" Her frantic bucking resumed in a short-lived wrestle for control before Mr. Gym came up and pushed the smaller man aside. Muscles already becoming clumsy with exhaustion, she pushed herself slightly back on the bed, toward the window. Tape in hand, the large man paused, eyebrow raised disbelievingly at her futile attempts. A little shrug. Then he firmly pressed the tape against her mouth. Before she could claw at the edges, he deftly took her wrists in one hand and reached for the roll of tape.

"What the fuck? I barely grabbed one titty. I am *not* done!" It sure sounded like he actually stomped his foot in petulant frustration.

"Look, she screamed twice." His voice raised slightly to be heard over the screech of the tape as he wound it around her wrists. "You did what you need to do. She's scared." He pulled her to her feet and started walking her to the door.

Bouncing around him like a flea, the pusher pointed and snapped, "Uh, you clearly don't know what I need."

"You need to get her in the car."

"You're a fucking asshole!"

They were out the door and through the gate in a few long strides. Unable to keep up, she was partly dragged to the car, her toes scraping on the gravel. A dark SUV sat in her driveway. She was spun around and pulled into the backseat as the large man entered the vehicle.

Car doors closed. He lay her bound form out next to him and tossed a blanket over her. Hands bound together over her stomach, she felt the meaty weight of his large paw settling over her, securing her in place for the ride. The engine started, and they drove in silence for a period of time she couldn't begin to estimate.

The vehicle came to a final stop, the engine clicking off and an excited, singsongy exclamation from the driver's seat. "We're here!" The briefest glimpse of an underground parking lot was visible as the larger man replaced the blanket with a far more ominous black bag over her head.

"Unharmed" ran over and over in her head. Who would send goons who had to be specifically told not to hurt her? Because of her boyfriend? He was just a security guard at an office building.

Stepping out of the car onto cool, smooth concrete electrified the tiny cuts and nicks on her feet from the driveway. They throbbed, making her wonder about that "unharmed" clause in whatever the fuck was going on.

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"Boys! Your message said you had good news? Cause I could sure use some," a voice erupted from another nearby room. She straightened as much as she could in her new restraints. No longer held together, her arms were now separately taped to something above, holding her in an uncomfortable Y position, her feet barely touching the ground.

"I think you'll be happy," the growingly familiar voice of Mr. Gym becoming louder as he led his, presumably, boss into the room.

"Oh wow!" A delighted exclamation and single clap. Still with her head in a bag like a soon-to-be assassination victim, heels dangling above the floor, she instinctively pulled against the pound of tape plastered around her wrists.

The sudden squeak of a chair as someone plopped down in front of her elicited a wordless yip from behind the strip of tape over her mouth. Another creak as he leaned back.

"Well, it's not my birthday. So this is the girlfriend."

"Definitely," the pusher interjected unnecessarily. His sniveling desire for praise on clear display.

"Only took two tries for you, Bennie. And one for Ko." He paused a moment, leaving his words and tone hovering between encouragement and berating. "You'll get there." Tipping the balance with a friendly lilt, she could hear the smile in his voice.

A deep breath and creak of the chair and uncertain moments of silence. With the still air of the enclosed room, she was sure no one else was moving either. Another creak as the pressure on the springs eased, the slight push of displaced air as he leaned toward her. The urge to pull away stymied by her restraints.

A cool finger touched her lower thigh. The sudden contact made her heart flutter out of control. Panic forced her to search again with her hands and feet for escape. Through the momentary thrashing, the finger became a hand, firmly and gently pressing against her thigh. He waited.

Once she had stilled, relenting to his touch, the steady hand resumed its upward journey, thumb catching the side of the panties and pulling them up as he traced along her hip, cupping the curve of her pelvic bone, grip tightening slightly as it lingered there.

She could hear his deep breaths over her own thumping heartbeat, his hand sliding under the edge of her shirt as he let the stretchy panties slide off his thumb to snap back against her hip. He twisted a finger, coiling the bottom of the shirt, once, twice, three times, each twist pulling the loose material more snug, exposing her form more clearly as it strained her balance to the side. The sexually frustrated voice of Bennie groaned out from somewhere in the room. The finger slipped from the fabric, letting it fall as far as her outstretched arms would allow.

"Well, I should get ready for my meeting," his chipper tone commanding the room. "But first, I just have to..." She felt someone stop in front of her. The edges of the bag over her face began to slowly roll back. "It's like unwrapping a present." His sociopathic giddiness was unnerving. Folding the cloth up over her tape-covered mouth provided a rush of relatively fresh air to her nose, which she greedily inhaled.

"And here I thought she just wasn't the talkative type," spoiled honey in his voice.

Another two rolls exposed her soft brown eyes to harsh light and the face of a man with a devilish smile, spiky bleached hair, and ice blue eyes that froze her. Just like they had the first time she had seen them. Days ago, when she was dropping something off at her boyfriend's work. As she walked into the grand main entrance, these eyes locked with hers from the side of the building where the office smokers congregated. He had been dressed well, but not precisely business appropriate. And he wasn't smoking. Glaring red flags springing up in her memory one after the other. His eyes had made her feel dirty, exposed, vulnerable.

His head cocked slightly, and the nature of his wry smile shifted nearly imperceptibly as final connections were made in his recognition as well. "They make you cover up for work, I guess." He pulled the bag off the rest of the way and tossed it to the floor, leaving her hair to scatter across her face. He took a stride away from her, then turned back to let his eyes rake up her full body, a harsh, calculating expression when they finally settled on hers, holding her captive. The unbalanced smile returned to his face but didn't touch his locked eyes. "What are we going to do with you?"

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With her newly restored vision, she took in the room, with its exposed pipes and wiring. No construction tools were present despite the stacks of walling material. A wooden chair on rollers blankly watched her look desperately for something in reach, anything, to get loose. The solitary door beyond the chair had a small security window that looked out to a blank white section of wall maybe. She could only guess. The stillness was abruptly jostled by a familiar little shaved head popping into view. Bennie wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her and started making kissing motions through the window before being punched by someone on the other side of the door.

Resting as best she could, she waited for what could have been hours, joints aching as she stood nearly on her toes, arms outstretched. Calm monotonous breathing almost became light sleep when yelling from the hall jolted her attention.

The door burst open, the blue eyed man coming into the room like a hurricane, followed by Bennie and Ko, who shared looks of concern. His anger was palpable as he whirled to a stop inches from her face. Staring through her, he took two steadying breaths and tried to pour the salesman veneer over his frustration. He closed his eyes and smiled, but the smile cracked as he began to speak, eyes still closed in concentration.

"Does he think he's smarter than me?" It sounded like a rhetorical question, but the blond man jerked his chin at the slimy little guard in his purple jacket, who jumped to attention.

The blue-eyed man motioned and spoke as though his thoughts were obvious, "Take that off her mouth. Get her some water." Thumb tapping on his lips in contemplation with his rapidly returning composure, he turned only his eyes to her. "I'm sure she's thirsty."

The uncushioned wooden chair again popped and creaked as he lowered himself into it. The little man scurried to her face and ripped the tape, and a layer of skin, off in one swift motion. "Son of a — ball — bitch ass — fuck —" Coughs cut off the remainder of her blurted profanities.

Bemusement seemed to fully overtake the boss's mood. "Those are really your first words to me?"

Through her coughing fit, she looked up at him incredulously and angrily wheezed out, "Apparently." For the first time, she saw a true smile.

Bennie reappeared with a bottle of water, cracked the top, and looked at the blond man for a final go ahead before bringing it to her lips. He smiled and dug his fingers in the back of her hair, wrenching her head back too far, mouth open wide. As soon as he started pouring the water, unable to swallow, she choked and sputtered, water pouring down her front.

"Hey! What's the matter with you? We don't want to water board her!"

"Sorry. Sorry," Bennie muttered to everyone and no one as she coughed and regained her breath, her shoulders aching more as she shifted on the balls of her feet.

"I apologize for my inept compatriot, my dear, and for my... sour demeanor." A nod of his head shook the smile back onto his face. "After all, you'll be improving my evening one way or the other."

The cold air of the room now pricked at her partially wet skin, making every hair stand at attention, goosebumps pebbling her legs and arms.

"What the fuck is going on?" It felt like an eternity since she'd actually completed a sentence out loud. Another eternity passed as he considered her, curled finger to his lip, occasionally tapping the toe of his shoe against the leg of the chair with a hollow thunk.

"Your boyfriend, he's not who you think. And he has something of mine that I would very much like back." Her mind raced, finding no hypothesis that could gain traction. Was her boyfriend a drug dealer or thief? Was he a gambler? Did he have a secret family? None of those made sense. Tuning back in to the moment at hand, she realized the man in the chair was quietly watching her reaction, hands steepled.

He nodded knowingly, then raised a finger but stopped himself. "It looks like the only thing you need to know is that he has my property. I came to him as a businessman. I offered him a fair trade, which I think is more than charitable since he *stole* it." Another deep breath. "For reasons I cannot fathom, he seems to be rejecting my olive branch."

"So now comes the moment of truth. Because I really do just want my property back so that my business can run in the way I promised to some people who, if you get the chance to meet them, will make me seem like the fun babysitter." He leaned forward in his chair, somehow less threatening but all touch of playfulness gone. "Do you understand?" He had the grave voice and demeanor of a longtime friend who wanted to see the best for you.

Disarmed by his sudden sincerity, she found her mind trying to process the terrifying series of words he'd just rattled off at her. "I... think so. They send the..." her eyes jumped momentarily to the men at the door. "Different men."

"Pretty good understanding."

He spun around once in the chair, a car salesman's toothy smile and sparkling eyes back in place when he stopped, facing her. "I don't even know how I want you to answer this." He paused.

"Where is it?"

"What — what is 'it'?"

He laughed and stood up. "That wasn't really fair. It's pretty obvious you aren't in any loops."

"Doesn't sound like I want to be," she muttered grumpily. Maybe her rest had rekindled a bit of her fiery nature.

"Well, it might help you now," he pointed out in a warning tone. "It's a flash drive. Black and green. It would have shown up about a week ago. Think hard now." The last words with added emphasis.