Chase grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter and frantically looked for her keys. Don't panic, don't panic, she kept repeating to herself. Her piece of shit father was on the run, which meant it was only a matter of time before one of the mob goons was breaking down her door. The text from him had read, 'I'm sorry for everything. Please forgive me.' Which could only mean one thing, the son of a bitch had mentioned her name and he knew they would come for her when he skipped town.
Fuck, fuck fuck... Chase found her keys finally and slammed the door behind her. She cursed herself for buying the stupid rural farmhouse... Could there be a more dangerous location for a single woman? A single woman with a fucking asshole of a degenerate father... fuck.
Chase ran across the gravel driveway to the old shed where she stored her car. Yanking up on the old door, she cursed the thing for always sticking. Then, she heard the engine... a car was coming down the drive. Chase tried to calculate her timing. Her shitty old Chevy couldn't outrun someone, she had to hide. Dumping her purse beside the shed, she ran for the barn behind the house where she kept an old hunting rifle - in case of bears... and apparently gangsters.
What would they do to her? She tried to push that thought aside as she grabbed the rifle off the workbench and crouched down behind some fire wood. Gritting her teeth, Chase's bare knees sank into the gravel as her yellow sundress was hiked up by her crouch. She couldn't hear anything except for her shaking breath - and then, footsteps crunching on the gravel. Chase waited until the footsteps came closer, then she launched forward, rifle up, ready to shoot.
"Agh!" She was thrust onto her back as the man yanked the gun out of her hands. She scrambled backwards, trying to get away from the monster in front of her. He was huge, looming over her.
Chase tried to tell herself to scream, but her voice seemed to be gone and no one would hear her anyway. The man lunged forward, grabbing her arm and hauling her up. She clawed desperately at his tattooed arms. Slamming her foot down on his, her flimsy converse connected with the steel toed work boot. He spun her back towards him, locking both her arms in place across her chest. Locked in the vice of his grip, Chase couldn't move. All she felt was solid muscle against her back. The man leaned down and she felt his beard against her cheek. She squeezed her eyes shut, long blond hair tangled in front of her face, somehow hoping that like a child, if she couldn't see him, he wasn't there.
"Stop fighting," his deep husky voice commanded against her ear. She picked up an accent but couldn't quite place it. Scottish? Irish?
Chase felt only sheer panic as the tears slipped down her face.
"We're going to go inside and have a conversation. Do not fight me," the accent making it sound like 'do-naugh fi me.'
He gripped her upper arm and pulled her towards the house. Her frozen body tripping forward, trying to keep up with his long strides. He pulls her up the porch steps and tries the door, finding it unlocked. Dragging her into the kitchen, he yanks a chair away from the tables and throws her down on it. Before Chase can think about an escape attempt the man is closing metal cuffs around her wrists, weaving the chain through the rungs on the back of the chair.
He pulls a chair in front of her and situates his massive frame on the small wooden chair, his jean clad knees pressed against hers as he crowds her.
She flinches when he reaches forward and grips her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"You know why I'm here?"
"M-my fa-father?" Chase looks up at the man, taking in his harsh features. His dark hair sets off his green eyes in a way that seems almost too pretty for the rest of his look; his beard only accentuating his square jaw. Chase's eyes dip to his chest; the black tee shirt straining to encase his massive chest and biceps. He looks like he could kill her with his bare hands without breaking a sweat. The tattoos just increasing the intimidation factor - running all the way down both arms and over his rugged hands.
"Mm hmm, your father has gotten himself in a bit of a bind." Jake's knuckles caress the side of her face, taking in her delicate features. It would be a shame to hurt her, but he will if he has to. He silently hopes she won't make him go hard on her. Her fear's a good sign she understands the stakes and what could happen to her if she doesn't cooperate.
"I'm going to ask you a question," Jake's hand is back on her jaw, forcing her eyes up, "If you lie, I'll know."
Chase trembles, unsure what she can do... Can she get through this? Will he kill her? Her father's an asshole, but he's still her father. Could she just sell him out? And what if she does... then this guy will kill her for sure. That's the thought that keeps winning out in her mind. If she tells this guy what he wants to know, she's no longer serving any purpose, and days or weeks from now a utility worker will find her body in the kitchen.
"Where is he?" Jake waits a beat. Her mind clearly in overdrive. "No, no. Thinking isn't required and is only gonna get you in trouble here. I ask a question, you answer, simple." He waits another moment and when she doesn't answer he reaches behind her. The cuffs have the benefit of holding her wrists in place, and exposing the sensitive spots. He presses his thumb on one side of her wrist, pushing the metal cuff down, as he digs two fingers into the pressure point above her pulse. He gets the reaction he wants.
Chase throws her head back and screams as the sudden pain radiates through her whole arm. Jake lets his fingers trail back up her arm as he cups her neck and leans in close once again.
"Where is he?" His lips are against her ear and he can feel her trembling beneath him... almost able to smell her fear. He's intoxicated by it.
"I - I don't know. R-really, I promise, I don't know," Chase lets the words tumble out of her mouth. I can't take this I can't take this I can't take this, rushing through her head. Fuck, I'm such a wuss, she thinks. I'm about to be fucking tortured, I can't take this.
"One more chance sweetheart before we get serious. Where is he?" Scottish, thinks Chase, definitely Scottish. She has to pull all his words apart as they slur together in his rough brogue.
"I can't, please..." Chase tries not to cry as she wonders what he will do to her next.
"See, that's better," Jake grips her throat, not so much squeezing as applying a solid pressure, "You know, but you can't tell me?" He locks eyes with her, savoring his control, "I'm gonna help you go from 'can't' to 'can'. That's my specialty." He lets go of her neck and listens to her small pants. His big hand spans almost her whole chest as he runs it over the front of her pretty yellow sun dress. Instinctively, her thighs press together, the vulnerability of her situation engulfing her. Jake watches and waits, letting the fear build a little. He will take this as far as it needs to go. His hand goes to her bare knee, and then slowly, he trails his fingers up her thigh, pushing the dress up.
"D-don't, p-please don't do that," Chase tries to back away from him, trapped by the chair and her cuffed hands.
"Tell me where your father is, and I won't touch you. I'll get in my car and drive away and you never have to see me again," as Jake speaks, his hand slips between her thighs and easily parts them, giving him a glimpse of her innocent white underwear. Her petite frame is no match for his masculine strength, and he revels in that... it turns him on. His hand goes back to her face, and she flinches away from him.
"No," his voice deceptively gentle, "No, I'm not gonna hit you sweetheart," he cups her jaw, thumb brushing over her lips, "I have more persuasive ways to make you talk, and they're much more enjoyable for me."
Chase gasps a little, he's threatening to rape her? Yes, he was threatening to fucking rape her. Her panic ratchets up. This fucking brute of a thug is going to rape me in my own house. She pulls against the cuffs in a last ditch, brain broken, attempt to escape him. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do...runs over and over in her head. Again, any moment of clarity has the same logic, if I tell him anything, he'll kill me and leave. My only chance to stay alive is to stay silent. She squeezes her eyes closed, drawing on any strength she has. "I can get through this..." Chase thinks to herself, "At least I'll try..."
Jake marvels a little at Chase's bravery. She's proving more difficult to break than he thought. Taking the key from his pocket, he leans over and undoes one of the cuffs. He grips Chase's upper arm, and pulls her up from the chair. Pulling her up the stairs awkwardly; she keeps tripping forward. He quickly finds her bedroom and tosses her inside and onto the bed.
Chase tries to scramble away from him, but he's too quick. Jake grabs her wrists, hauling her backwards on the bed as Chase kicks out, trying to connect with any part of him.
"Easy lass," Jake uses his knee to pin Chase's thigh to the bed as he pulls the cuffs through the rungs on the head board and attaches her wrist once again. She's panting and struggling with her efforts to escape him, but Jake's glad she's not a screamer. No one would hear her, but he would still have to listen to it.
He sits on the edge of the bed, giving her a moment to calm down... or exhaust herself. Supporting her head for a moment, he pulls the pillows away and tosses them on the floor. Jake admires the scene in front of him. Chase lays prone on the bed, cuffed hands behind her head slightly pressing out her small chest. Her cheeks flushed, thanks to her brief struggle and certainly the fear coursing through her. Jake pulls off one converse, and then the other, setting them neatly beside the bed. He thinks she may try to kick him, but she seems momentarily paralyzed by fear.
Reaching into his back pocket, Jake pulls out his small switchblade. Chase's eyes immediately go wide and she's snapped out of her frozen state.
