Author's note:- many apologies for the delay. Warning for this chapter, whilst there is nothing too graphic the squeamish may want to look away. Thank you for all of the support so far. Do let me know what you think. J

Chapter 4: Demands

Mark shifted slightly trying to move his arm to alleviate some of the aching pain, but there was something stopping the movement. He rolled his shoulder, moving as much as he could to turn into the ache as he attempted to claw his way back to consciousness. His mind was fuzzy, the world registering only as sound, and there was precious little of that, the hum of a light bulb that should have been silent, the high pitched chirping of a lonely cricket seeking companionship out of season, the odd rattle of an ill fitting door or window as a gust of wind caught it.

The next sensation to return was smell, damp mustiness, sweat and. . . something else. If he'd been more aware he might have identified it as fear, possibly. Not that humans were as adept at identifying the smell as animals were, but even though he couldn't identify it at a conscious level, on some subconscious level it pushed his anxiety buttons, and a softly skittering cold breeze danced across his exposed skin, as his heart rate kicked up, and his breathing became that little more rapid, that little more shallow.

The idea that something was very wrong finally registered as a conscious thought and he increased his efforts to pull himself awake. The fact that even opening his eyes was proving so difficult did nothing for his rising anxiety, and, by the time blurred images began to register as something other than the sensation of light and dark, he was already breaking out in a cold sweat, his breathing too fast.

He did not recognise his surroundings, dull green walls and slightly cracked paintwork, furniture that had probably looked old when it was brand new, before the wearing and the scratches had spoiled the finish on the woodwork. He was lying on a bed, on a slightly lumpy mattress. Cheap motel or hotel room he concluded. Not that that was difficult, he had seen his fair share of them in his time. Not quite as bad as a cell, but only because you could come and go as you pleased, not because the accommodations were any better, but what the hell was he doing here and why. . .?

He struggled through the mush that currently masqueraded as his memory, looking for answers in the jumbled mass of images and thoughts, even as he turned his head to try to find out what was restricting his arm movements. Handcuffs. . . .what the. . ? He turned his head a little too quickly to the right to check the side of his injured shoulder, and gasped from the pain even as he noted the handcuffs securing that wrist too, and suddenly the anxiety level that his brain was operating at didn't seem enough, and his heart-rate and breathing quickened further as his body dumped a slew of chemicals into his system in response to the fear.

"Oh good you're awake. . ."

Mark turned his head again to look down and across to the source of the sound, and every thought, every feeling froze in a sudden numbness at the recognition, Melissa Kantwell. . . .

She slowly unfolded her leg from underneath as she rose, closing the magazine she had been flicking through as she did so. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever wake up." She dropped the magazine on the chair behind her and began to walk forward, one step carefully placed in front of the other like a model on a catwalk, a pronounced swing in her hips. She dropped forward bending at the waist as she reached the bed, exposing a maximum view of her cleavage. She shook her head to flick out her hair. "You have beautiful blue eyes." Her tone was soft and sultry, "and you're real handsome, but you know that don't ya?" Her hand moved up to the brush the curls off his forehead, lightly caressing his skin.

He flinched a little, away from her touch, it was pure reflex, his thoughts were still frozen, and her eyes flashed in anger at the reaction, but it was only a slight break to the mask of sultry seductress. "Oh now don't you be like that," she said softly. "I want us to be friends." She gave him a soft smile. "I want you to tell me all about your racing." She shook her head again allowing a little excitement mixed with awe, as the memory of watching Mark race replaced all other thoughts. "I want you to tell me what it's like to drive so fast that everyone else is just chasing to keep up." The smile was genuine, the remembered excitement making her breath hitch a little. "We can be real good friends," she added as she moved to touch him again and again he moved away from it. There was still some element of reaction but there was some control this time as his thoughts unfroze and desperately scrambled to catch up with the time that had elapsed.

Mark's head shifted backwards. It was a small but sharp move, coupled with a push from his feet to move back away from her. He regarded her coldly. "What do you want?" he asked, unable to keep his tone to the neutral he'd been aiming for, the anger still crept in. A large part of his mind knew that she was crazy, that antagonising her was a really bad idea, it was that part that had aimed for the neutral tone, but there was just too much anger, too much resentment towards her for what she had done to him, to Arvin Lee, to Sheriff Blackstone, for he was in no doubt that she was the one doing the manipulating, feeding their anxieties as well as their fantasies. It was just too much for him to fully suppress, and that was before she'd kidnapped him and handcuffed him to a bed.

Melissa pouted a little. "I just told you, I want to learn all about you." She held the pose of sulky child for a moment or two, and then her expression softened as she stared into his eyes, her hatred temporarily forgotten as she allowed her attraction to him to take over. Lust and infatuation burned through her, and her hand dropped down to his bare chest as she ignored the cold glare of hatred that met her lustful gaze, and lightly ran her fingers through the mess of short hair, the movement slow and sensual.

Mark's mind froze again, and he barely felt the chafing on his wrists as his muscles tensed in reaction to the unwanted touch, his mind attempting to find refuge in denial as her other hand joined the first and she lightly massaged his chest, rocking a little as she moved. This couldn't be. . .he wasn't. . .but he was, helpless, hopeless, at her mercy.

No. . ! he closed his eyes, willing the external world to go away, but willpower wasn't enough. Her weight was shifting, she was sitting across his thighs, he could feel her as she rocked forward again, and her hands still played over his chest, and her lips moved down to meet his, warm breath, soft moist contact, weight shifting backwards and forwards, and she was talking to him, soft sultry tones, but he couldn't make out the words past the blood thundering in his ears.

Pain now shot down from his shoulder, pulled on his wrists, as his hands clenched in empty fists. No. . still he tried to deny, but he could feel his body betraying him, responding to the sensations, and he was just lying there and letting her. . "No!". . and he didn't even register that he had screamed the word, that he had arched his back off the bed and twisted in a frantic motion to get her off him. That she had been thrown to the floor where she rolled and thudded into the wall, because all that was in his mind was fear and revulsion, and he scrambled backwards, not feeling the tearing of skin on his wrists, the ripping of barely healed flesh as he twisted his arms awkwardly, pushing back with his feet, retreating to the corner of the bed furthest from her as he pushed his back hard into the headboard, sitting with his knees drawn up as far as they would go in a tight defensive ball, but it wasn't enough.

Melissa pushed herself to standing and stared at Mark, with an expression of hatred that turned her beauty ugly. Her eyes flashed with a twisted anger and her smile had turned to a sneer, passionate lust switching back to passionate hatred in a heartbeat, dipolar opposites contained in the same body, the same mind, in a way that could only be achieved by the truly insane. She snatched the gun from the dresser and threw herself forwards.

Mark turned away, tried to avoid the blow, but his arms were pulled out to either side, his instinct to curl away from the danger left his legs trapped at an awkward angle, and useless for defence against the raging harridan who now descended on him. He felt the pistol make contact with his cheek as the backhanded blow struck, and his face exploded in pain, and then there was a haze of red and white. There was barely time to register the pain of each blow before the next one hit.

H&MCH&MC

Mark opened his eyes, well he opened one of them at least, the other felt swollen shut, a sensation he was sadly over-familiar with. What . . ? How. . .?

Thinking was so difficult, like crawling through mud, slow messy. An almost overwhelming sense of cold fear pervaded his senses, fed memories that returned in stark flashes, contrasting with the near darkness of the room around him. He tried to ignore the burning pain that seemed to scream from every inch of his arms, head and chest, tried to separate out other sensations, take his bearings on where he was. Lying on a bed in a cheap motel, with. . was that hair? a head? resting on his chest. . .what was?

The thought hit him like another physical blow. . .Melissa. She was lying on the bed with him, her head resting across his chest, her arm around him, sleeping on him in the soft natural pose of a lover, and he felt the nausea rising, swallowed back the bile, attempted to temper his breathing so as not to disturb her, because although every instinct was screaming at him to pull away from her, the fear was stronger, the survival instinct was stronger. If he did anything there would be more pain, and he couldn't take any more pain right now, he just couldn't take. . he just couldn't, and much to his shame, tears began to run down his cheek and he couldn't even wipe them away.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .