AVAILABLE FORMATS:  PALM (PDB)  Mobi (PRC)  
MSWord (DOC)  PDF  MSReader (LIT)  Text  RTF  

        “The boss has what he wants, Pammy. Now, me and my brother here get to collect our
bonus. Our little…commission.” He began to chuckle that moronic little laugh that both he
and his identical twin, Luke, shared, along with everything else, as a jeweled finger sank
down the front of her low-cut blouse. Pamela shuddered and turned away, again crying. 
        Barring Duke’s small deformity, the brothers were as close to carbon copies as
anything Pamela had yet seen: some malicious malfunction of a bad gene pool. They were
pure malevolence, builds like professional wrestlers, little brain power except with
regards to cruelty, and a blind devotion to Eddie; a hunger for sex and violence that
never seemed sated. She wondered if they ever forgot who they were, at times. They were so
nearly robots.
        “Come on, babe,” the goon chided, flicking a manicured nail at one of her
nipples, now exposed. “It’ll be painless…almost,” he giggled. “Who knows, after your first
mouthful of the famous Luke and Duke sandwich, you might even be hungry for more. I
mean…c’mon…over a million served!” He sneered and crushed her nipple with an almost
inhuman force. Pamela felt herself getting dizzy as a wave of cold sweat popped from her
pores. It would be so easy to just black out and pretend it was all….
        Something in her psyche had snapped just then. Maybe it was the vision of Eddie,
that fat prick, sitting at his opulent, sculpted walnut desk in their --- now his --- Long
Island mansion, puffing smugly on his cigarette holder, plotting her final humiliation as
he scripted this entire scenario for his two overpaid idiots.
        She lunged forward and pounded insanely on the car horn, only to be met with
silence, followed quickly by both brothers’ crazy laughing. Pamela jerked her head around
to the other side of the car. Luke was peering through the glass, holding a tire iron and
one of her tires, a bunch of lugs nuts in the other hand. Without warning, he flung the
iron as if it were a discarded gum wrapper, and her passenger window imploded.
        Before she could unleash her first, sadly too late, scream, a gag was choked
around her lips, and she was effortlessly removed from the car. In less than five seconds,
she was in the rear of the Humvee, handcuffed to a steel loop, lying on the back of a bed
of seats that had been folded down.
She was driven to a secluded wooded area, one she did not recognize from her prone
position in the vehicle. 
        Once at their destination, they uncuffed her and threw her against the rear door
of the Humvee. Duke locked up the ATV and Luke tied her wrists together and around the
loop in the right rear door handle. Night was rapidly closing in and she tried to scream
for help, but the gag in her mouth severely restricted any unduly loud noise. 
        Duke came around the front of the Humvee, snuggled in a long fur-lined suede
duster, and handed an identical coat to his brother. Luke lit a long cigar and flicked
open his switchblade. Puffing deeply, he traced the razor-sharp tip around both of her
breasts, giggling as the material ripped. When he was through, her breasts spilled forth,
like candy from a gumball machine.
Luke chomped on his cigar, snarling, as he landed a right cross to her left breast, then
slapped her face. She kicked back and landed a blow to his right knee-cap, causing him to
howl, the cigar dropping from his mouth.
        “YOU FUCKING BITCH!” he roared, staggering to the rear of the Humvee. She watched
as he opened the rear hatch and produced a wooden baseball bat, stalking toward her with
murderous rage in his face.
        “Ho! Hold up!” Duke said, raising his hand. Luke stopped, seething. “Gimmie that
thing,” his brother said, taking the bat. He tied her ankles to it for weight, and then
ripped her skirt and panties to shreds. “We’re s’posed to torture her, not kill her,” he
rebuffed sternly. “You heard the boss’ orders.”