Chapter ONE

He wasn't sure, but it looked like Paul was enjoying their latest victim too much. He wasn't sure, but it seemed like he'd incapacitated the parents first for a reason.

Paul had set in motion a rousing game of Cat in the Bag. Peter had the role of holding a pillowcase tight around the girl's little brother's neck. The girl was crying like they all do with their dresses around their ankles and their makeup smeared. Little whore. She couldn't have been nineteen.

"All of it," Paul said evenly.

"No," she sobbed. "Please."

Peter glanced at Paul, then dug his fingernail's into the back of the kid, James' neck, pinching the flesh. It was effective. The kid yelped and his sister stripped fully, shaking and sniffling.

The father lay unconscious on the carpet, the mother bound tightly on the couch, her eyes squeezed shut. Both abductors looked over the naked girl. Paul wet his lips and Peter anticipated him telling her to get dressed.

"There," Paul said, chipper. "Not so hard. Why are you crying? You should be proud of that body. I understand why Tubby here cries when he gets naked, but you?"

Peter huffed angrily. "Stop calling me Tubby," he said in that childish voice.

"Oh," Paul mock-grumbled, nodding toward his partner. "He doesn't like that." He poked a finger at Peter's soft chest.

Peter just gripped the pillowcase. He could feel the kid breathing, the occasional vibration of a whimper. Did this game usually last so long?

Almost on cue the mother piped up. "Let her get dressed now," she said, voice quavering.

Paul smiled, gave a small breath of a laugh. "Like looking into a mirror of the past, huh, Mrs. Grady? Don't worry, with some work, you can look that good, too."

"Yeah, right," Peter mumbled, and Paul laughed with fake incredulousness.

"Tubby, be nice."

Peter thought Paul might suggest the mother strip as well, which he wouldn't mind as long as it took some goddamn attention of the whore daughter.

"Can I please put my clothes on?" the girl, Ronnie, begged softly, arms crossed over her small breasts.

"What's your hurry? You don't need to be shy. Does she, Tom?"

He wasn't sure, but he thought Paul used the nickname because he could sense Peter getting restless.

"Not at all," Peter said quietly. He smiled his small smile. "Not if we're going to play some more games." He hoped the hint would move things along.

"I have a new game," Paul said, leaning forward, hands together, lips split in a TV host grin. "It's called How Bad Do You Want to Live?"

X

Paul had handed him a baseball bat and told him to watch the rest of the family. He took the naked girl into the other fucking room.

Peter pulled the pillow case off the boy's head. The kid was probably twelve or thirteen. He sat the boy next to him and sighed. "He's breaking the rule," Peter mumbled. He rested a gloved hand on James' head and plucked out a brown hair; the kid flinched. Peter pulled out another and another.

He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Paul moan.