Round Robin

Chapter 21 (CornFedFiddler)

STEPHANIE

I came to my senses slowly, realizing only that I was in a room with bright sunshine filtering through lacy, old-fashioned curtains. I began playing mental gymnastics, trying to put together the pieces regarding my whereabouts and what had happened but failing miserably. It's as if the pieces were just out of my grasp, a mystery filter sitting between my brain and the information. I vaguely remembered some type of injection, and I attributed my momentary lack of intelligence to whatever it may have been.

"Welcome home, my love," an eerie voice greeted.

I blinked several times, subconsciously trying to clear out the cobwebs in my brain. I realized I was laying on an antique walnut bed with a faded quilt. I glanced up and made eye contact with Mickey Bolan, who was sitting in a walnut rocking chair in the corner of the room.

Instantly, the scene from the farmer's market locked into place in my mind. The blood in my veins turned to ice, and my stomach turned. The Rangeman plan didn't work. I loved and trusted Ranger, and I knew he had to be scrambling behind the scenes to find me. But I was on my own now. If I was going to survive this, I was going to have to get smart—and fast.

"Cat got your tongue?" Bolan purred, looking only mildly perturbed.

"You drugged me," I groaned, my voice deeper and more awkward than normal. "Hard to… put together words."

Mickey's face transformed into one of concern.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Stephanie," he apologized. "I wanted to surprise you. Too much?"

I lay on my back and looked at the ceiling of the bedroom, watching the fan lazily move air.

"Too much," I groaned, rubbing my face.

"Let me make it up to you," he said, rising to stand over me in the bed.

The sense of dread in the pit of my stomach was overwhelming, but I tried to put something neutral on my face.

You've got to survive this, Stephanie, I coached myself. Get smart and stay smart. Two steps ahead. Get back to Carlos.

"How are you planning to do that?" I asked, worried about what the answer might be.

"Dinner?" he asked.

"Like a date?" I asked, feigning enthusiasm. "Where are we going?"

Bolan experienced a moment of glee at my enthusiasm to go on a 'date' with him, but then he seemed to remember how this had come to pass and appeared to think twice.

"Let's stay in tonight, gorgeous," he cooed, placing a hand on my ankle and tracing his fingertips up my leg. "I can make it worth your while."

My blood pressure approached stroke level.

"Just get me fed, please," I argued, scooting to the edge of the bed and out of his reach. "I'm starving. I missed lunch working at the market."

"Oh, oh," Bolan half scolded, half laughed. "A woman who knows what she wants. I love it. What sounds good?"

"Pino's."

An apologetic look crept onto Bolan's face.

"We'll have to rain-check Pino's, Stephanie. We're not in Trenton."

"Not in Trenton?" I echoed, the knot in my stomach growing.

"No, I wanted to bring you to this place. Show you our home together. Isn't it great?" he asked.

"What is his place?" I asked, confused.

I stood and hesitantly crossed to the window; aware he may not want me peering out windows. However, he didn't stop me.

"An old family cottage," he said, sitting back in the rocking chair. "I want to share it with you. Call it home."

I pushed aside the gauzy lace curtain and looked at the world beyond. We were on the second story of what appeared to be an older home. Our location was remote, with scrubby pines, rocky terrain, and a small rocky road that intersected the dirt driveway. It reminded me of the pine barrens, but I couldn't be sure of it. I'd only been a few times. A broken-down shed stood about one hundred yards from the house, and a white sedan with tinted windows was parked in the driveway.

"What do you think?" he asked, closing the distance between us to wrap his arms around my waist, pulling my back into his chest. He set his chin on my shoulder, so close I could feel and smell his breath.

My body tensed, but I kept reminding myself I had to play the part to survive.

"No Macy's?" I asked sadly. "No 7-Eleven? What am I going to do out here? There's no salon to work in."

"I have a kitchen," he cooed. "You can make jam and jelly. Bake and cook."

He laughed and placed his lips on my neck. The urge to crawl out of my skin was overwhelming.

"It's peaceful here. Quiet. I think you're going to love it. Sure, it's a change from Trenton…" he trailed off.

"Back to dinner," I said, changing the subject to pull away from his arms. "What's the plan? What are you going to make me if you won't take me out on a proper dinner date?"

As if on cue, my stomach grumbled.

Bolan shrugged, gazing down at me. His eyes were wide and looked insane, his pupils shrunk to pinpoints.

"I'm not sure what you're eating for dinner," he said with a shrug, "but I figured I'd have you."

Before his words could completely sink in, he had ripped my t-shirt from my body, shredding the fabric as it tore away.

I gasped and let out a shriek, trying to pull away. Unfortunately, Bolan had six inches and at least seventy pounds on me, not to mention an abundance of muscle.

"I've waited so long for you," he said, placing his hands on my ass and pulling me into him.

He ground his pelvis into my belly, and I could feel his excitement building beneath the fabric.

"Please stop," I begged softly. "Not this. Not now. Let's do dinner first."

Bolan grimaced at my pleading, but he did not change his course of action. With the flash of his hand, he had undone my bra, which dangled awkwardly between us.

"You're such a good girl, Stephanie," Bolan cooed. "Asking to wait? Mmm…"

He placed his hands firmly on my butt and held me tightly to him as he ground into me.

"Don't you think we've waited long enough? Two years is a long, long time to wait. And I'm excited."

Two years? This guy had been obsessing over me for two years. I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

He stooped and connected his lips with mine. I felt the bile rise in my throat, and I turned my face away from him.

"We're gonna be great together, Stephanie," he said, kissing down my neck and to my small area of exposed cleavage. "And we're gonna make the prettiest babies. Be so happy."

"Babies?" I shrieked. "I don't want babies."

"You will," he cooed, his voice otherworldly. "I can already imagine you pregnant… holding you at night with the swell of your belly between us."

I tried to push him away, but my attempts were met by his strength. He pinned my arms to my body and, in one swift motion, turned my back to his front. He held down my arms so tightly it hurt, and I cried out.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, my love," Bolan cooed. "Let me show you how much I love you."

"Please, no," I whispered, closing my eyes. A tear leaked down my cheek, and I realized I was going to have to be smarter than Bolan—I would never overpower him.

Bolan's teeth grazed the skin on my neck, then he began to suck—roughly, no doubt creating a huge purple hickey.

I forced myself to glance around the room to look for something—anything—that could help me get out of this. An antique brass lamp sat by the bed—I might be able to get enough power into a swing to do damage with it, but I probably couldn't knock him out. I was two stories up, so the window wasn't a great escape option. I had no idea what lay beyond the bedroom door.

Bolan ripped my bra away from my body, leaving my breasts exposed. I gasped, covering myself with my arms.

"So beautiful," he said, roughly fondling my body.

With panic rising in my chest, I fumbled to come up with a plan. Anything that could get me out of here. Screaming wouldn't help since we seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. I didn't have a phone, and my wire was long gone. If I could get out the door, I could run and try to hide in the trees—that seemed like an unsafe option, but my choices were coming up in short supply.

"Can we at least take this to the kitchen for my sake?" I begged, trying to sound nonchalant. "I'm famished. I'm not sure I'm capable of all the… activities," I said, clearing my throat, "that you're hoping to do in this state."

Using one arm, he spun me around to face him, twisting the arm painfully behind my back. I grimaced in pain, standing exposed in front of him.

"If I get you a snack, will you please shut up so we can do this?" he asked, sounding frustrated.

I nodded.

"Scout's honor. I need a sandwich. A Tastykake. A bag of chips. Something."

"Fine," he said, his lips drawn into a half-smile, half-snarl as he studied my exposed breasts. "We'll get you a snack, then you can be my snack."

He bent me backward awkwardly, and I placed a hand against the wall to steady myself as he continued twisting my arm behind my back. Waves of pain coursed through my arm and shoulder, and I whimpered, trying not to cry out.

Bolan studied my breasts, looking pleased with himself. He traced a line across the swell of one with his tongue, then grazed his teeth across the other. My blood pressure ratcheted up again, and goosebumps covered my flesh. I'd never felt so disgusted or disrespected in my life, and it took everything I had not to throw punches or cry out.

"You like that, huh?" he asked with a devilish grin. "I do too."

He took one of my pink nipples into his mouth and nipped it between his teeth, causing me to cry out in pain.

"Let's get you fed."