Some tiny sixth sense prickled Rosemary’s consciousness; guilt maybe? It warned her
against keeping her secret assignation with her lover, Michael. She somehow anticipated
that Fate, her old adversary, would punish her deceit. Should she return home to her
husband, Donald, and a cosy existence? Then her fiery, fun-loving friend, Lindsey, would
laugh at her misgivings, would regard her as a wimp. Anyway, Rosemary realised, she wasn’t
made for a mundane life of boring routine - something she had precious little of during
the last year or so with her various adventures. In addition, she had recently found it
increasingly difficult to enjoy Donald’s advances - they were more an unpleasant wifely
duty now!
The tyres of Lindsey’s car scrunched over the gravel of the secluded car park.
Michael’s Jaguar was in its usual Monday evening spot.
“Take it when you can,” beamed Lindsey, “and enjoy yourself - have one for me.” She
gave a low, dirty chuckle. “I know what Mike’s got to offer, remember. I’ll wait till
you’re safely in his car, then meet you back here at 11 pm. Have some wine, you’re telling
hubby that we stopped off for a drink after our aerobics,” she reminded.
Closing the door, Rosemary tugged down her sweatshirt and smoothed her expensive
jeans against the curves of her bottom. With unseasonably mild winter weather, she hadn’t
bothered with a jacket, which helped to foster the illusion of a gym session. Collecting
her bags, she walked to Michael’s car. In her middle twenties, she knew she was beautiful.
Deliberately, provocatively, she seductively wiggled the few yards. Seeing Michael dozing
behind the wheel, she figured he’d had another busy day trying to build up his
security-firm business: she knew how to wake him, though.
“Sorry I’m late,” she sat beside him. “Donald had a few friends round and I
couldn’t get away ...”
Michael failed to stir when her lips brushed his waxen cheek.
Whoosh!
A leather bag, jerked down over her head, plunged Rosemary into stifling darkness.
She clawed at the draw-strings tightening around her neck, practically throttling her.
Sharp pain stabbed through her knees as they thrashed against the parcel shelf.
“Don’t struggle and you won’t be hurt. This isn’t murder or rape.” The
authoritative female voice, from whoever had been hiding in the back, calmed her immediate
panic.
“What ..?” Rosemary’s muffled voice came weakly from the bag.
“No talking,” interrupted the voice, “Hands behind you. If you make this difficult,
you and Michael will suffer - I have a knife. This is what you get for cheating.”
Despite her SAS training, any thoughts of resistance were banished. Rosemary could
only hope that Lindsey would raise the alarm. She guessed that her captor had been
expecting her, perhaps following her regular illicit liaisons. She was blind, choking,
Michael unconscious. The woman was prepared and had the upper hand. She could feel the
reins of freedom and control slipping from her hands as she reluctantly, obediently,
placed them behind her.
***** ***** *****
A calming sense of almost relief washed strangely through Rosemary’s cramped body,
removing any guilt. The inevitable had happened again. Life was kicking her for bending
its rules. Now she could relax, let someone else worry, she was no longer responsible for
her actions - that had been taken out of her control. Grimacing, she realised that perhaps
relax wasn’t the appropriate term. Her wrists secured, the bag had been pulled off for a
filthy rag to be pushed into her mouth and secured with a wide band of tape. With the bag
tugged down again, her captor pushed her from the car. Scuffling footsteps suggested to
her sinking spirits that Lindsey had also been caught. As she was manhandled into a
vehicle, she heard the creak of an opening trapdoor.
“Put them under the false floor,” someone instructed before she was pushed down
into a confined space and tied with additional bonds.
Two other squirming, gasping bodies were squashed in with her before the lid
closed, the perfume and after-shave confirming it was Michael and Lindsey. She was
thankful that it was him, rather than Donald, who shared her imprisonment.
Claustrophobically, she heard objects drawn back over the floor above, entombing them.
Although their prison was lined with sacking, every bump jarred through her. With ankles
tied back to her wrists, she was drawn back into a bowstring, unable to brace herself.
The journey seemed endless. Placed head to tail, Rosemary couldn’t communicate
through her gag and, anyway, the noise of the engine made hearing very difficult. When the
movement stopped she assumed they had reached their destination. A radio blared somewhere
above. By straining her ears, she just could just hear her kidnapper responding to someone
in a low, flirting, voice and the words ‘officer’ and ‘speeding?’ No one would ever find
them under the floor. Desperately she and Michael grunted, thumping their feet, but it was
drowned by the radio. The driver, maybe guessing their intentions, cruelly called out when
they resumed their journey.
“Only a warning, nothing to worry about - we’ll be there soon.”
Just as Rosemary felt sure she must be sick, the movement stopped again. The floor
was opened up and her ankles untied. With strong arms gripping her, she was hustled
helplessly along, over gravel, then down echoing stairs and through doors which clanged
ominously.
The relief of having the hot smelly hood whisked off was tempered by the harsh
white blinding light which replaced it. She screwed up her eyes, looking away but hands
re-positioned her again to face it.
“Haagh,” she gasped as the tape was savagely ripped from her lips and the gag
extracted.
“Remain still, face the light and don’t move,” ordered a frightening, robotic voice
in staccato tones. She realised from her training that it was a male voice and he was
using a voice-disguising throat mike. At least, she considered, their captors’ wish to
conceal their identity gave some hope of eventual release.
When her cuffs were removed, she gingerly rubbed her wrists, trembling, then thrust
her hands in her pockets, trying to be brave. It was difficult to feel too confident about
the future with the cold and dampness of her surroundings seeping into her body. Squinting
against the incandescent brightness, she could just make out the outline of a seated
figure at a desk. From the corner of her eyes, where the light was less bright, she could
see another figure seated casually on top of a table, one leg swinging over the other. It
looked like a woman’s shape, but a black mask obscured some of her face.
“Frisk her,” ordered the figure at the desk. The staccato speech was in feminine
tones.
The man who had removed her cuffs pulled her hands above her head.
“Keep ‘em there,” he demanded. He ran his hands through her hair, then crudely
squeezed her breasts, then pushing between her thighs. Finally he patted down her legs as
she stood obediently still.
“Hand me your trainers, socks, top and jeans,” instructed the woman.
“Please ... why?” Rosemary began, automatically crossing her arms over her chest.
Crack! Crack!
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