Note: This, as you might guess, takes place just after and then during the events of chapters two and three. You don't need to read them to figure out what's going on, but if you like this kind of thing...
*
Emma had quickly grown to hate her workout clothes--the little black lycra shorts, low-rise cotton panties, tiny white socks and black-and-pink sports bra she'd thought were so cute when she checked herself out in the mirror. They itched now, and wearing so little in the back of the damn van all night had made for a very cold ride. Even her ponytail holder had betrayed her, falling out early on and letting her hair flop everywhere--and with the gag in, she couldn't blow it out of her face.
She was almost lucky he'd grabbed her at the beginning of her run, before she had a chance to get sweaty. She hadn't been able to believe it at first--grabbed and pulled into a van while out on a night jog? Really? Was this real life or a cautionary anecdote? But by the time he'd bound her hands behind her, locked her to the post, shoved vibrator inside her and spent the rest of the night picking up two more bewildered girls, she'd been forced to believe it. Especially when he stopped the van, far from anywhere she knew, and started pulling them out.
By the time he'd taken the rest of them, one by one, and carried them off into... whatever this place was, Emma had more or less given up on the idea of struggling; she'd watched the redhead, then the blindfolded girl, then the feisty brunette all kick and squirm like wildcats, only to be handled easily and spanked for their trouble, like this guy was some kind of judo master.
It hadn't escaped her notice that their hair colors all differed (brown, red, black and her own nearly-white blonde), or that they all had similar figures: from slender to athletic, petite but leggy, with small breasts and within a few years of the same age. This guy clearly had not only a well-honed system for picking up girls, but particular tastes he was looking to sate. The four of them were a matched set. But Emma had no intention of playing her part.
So when he returned for her, she went limp as he untied her, letting her shoulders shake a little, turning her face away.
Yeah,
she thought as he heaved her out,
just lull yourself into believe I'm going easy, you bastard...
In the meantime, dangling upside-down over his shoulder, she tried to get an idea of where they were. The garage where he'd parked the van was large, holding two more vans just like it, along with a few expensive-looking cars and a motorcycle. Every one gleamed as if it'd been freshly detailed. That gave her hope: if there was some kind of staff here, or at least visiting attendants, there was a chance of escape.
Out of the garage and into a basement hallway lined with six ominous metal doors; the clanking she'd heard must mean that the brunette girl was behind one of these now. She noticed that each one had a peephole--but that the eyepiece was set to look inward.
They came to a more normal-looking staircase with hardwood steps, split by a landing halfway up, and began to climb. As they went, Emma noticed the door of what was almost definitely an elevator opposite the stairs. How big
was
this place? It seemed like just a large house, but what kind of house had an elevator, and why?
Then she had a vision of herself tied to that pillar again, but this time on a wheeled platform, on its way down the elevator to those metal doors. Emma felt her heart pound against her ribs.
Confirming her house hypothesis, Emma glimpsed some kind of large, open room at the top of the second flight--decorated like a teenage boy's dream hangout, with a massive television and speakers, but again incongruously spotless and organized. Then they were climbing up another flight, and another, until they emerged from the stairway (another elevator door here, she noted) onto a glassed-in balcony.
Emma was looking out onto a forest, with hills rising slightly to either side, and no other sign of civilization--the sun was rising, and she couldn't even see a streetlight anywhere. This house was completely isolated.
A perfect place,
she thought,
to spend some time alone with your victims...
The balcony led to another hallway, though the doors up here were mahogany, not metal. Yet the one he opened seemed to belong in a much darker place.
It was laid out with a frightening clarity: the large bed in the center was a four-poster, but its posts were steel, anodized to a dark red color. There was only one sheet. A few feet away on either side were steel tool cabinets with dozens of drawers. One wall had several panel doors set into it, made of some kind of smoked glass that offered a dim view of another balcony and the trees beyond. Two more walls were lined with shackles. There were rings set into the floor, mirrored by rings welded to the ceiling--which, she noticed, was a grid of dark pipes like that of a black-box theater. In fact, the light in here came from a number of dimmed theatrical spotlights, aimed to highlight the gleaming metal pieces in the room.
Emma knew exactly what was going to happen in here.
So the minute he tossed her onto the bed, she rolled away frantically, bouncing sideways off it and stumbling onto her feet. He was already moving for the door, but she faked toward him, then spun and darted for the balcony door.
Before he could get to her, she wedged a toe into one side, and the door slid open as she'd hoped; a quick glance confirmed that it was too high to jump down from the outside, but she was out of the room. This balcony seemed to continue all the way around the second floor, so she picked right at random and ran, tucking her feet in a roll as she went to get her hands under her legs. They were still bound, but at least now they were in front of her.
Emma ran.
