A/N: Shorter chapter this time, guys. The next one is massive, though, so there's that. I'm sorry this site is effing up my posts and/or your ability to leave reviews. :/ Really hope it doesn't deter readers. There's always AO3? Trigger warning for graphic language on this chapter. As you can see from the title, the narrator is rather vile.

Chapter 8.

Make America Great Again

. . .

Matthew Parker was not happy with the role he had been relegated to in this twisted little scheme of Vaughn's. He felt like a neutered mutt, his balls chopped off to keep him from running wild. From looking for some other bitch to mount. It wasn't fair, especially since he was the one who had set the whole plot in motion anyway. If he hadn't found that dyke wedding announcement in the newspaper last year, Little Miss Smarty Pants Vaughn never would have known that Rebecca De Mornay-looking cop was married to the Linda Evangelista-looking cunt he'd almost banged right here in good old Squealview. ('Cause that's the sound they made when you stuck it to 'em.)

How many guys even read the paper anymore, let alone paid enough attention to all that wedding crap to notice such an important piece of the puzzle? Granted, he'd only glanced at that section on the off-chance there were some good tits on display—and out of habit, to see if his ex ever roped in another poor sucker—but that didn't make it any less of a good catch. Even Vaughny couldn't deny that.

And yet she treated him like he didn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. Bossing him to do this and do that, and "don't deviate from the plan, Parks," as if he hadn't practically set up Phase One singlehandedly. The Sandberg guy (Parker didn't play into that "Sandman" bullshit) might be the head honcho and the one Sondra Vaughn had connections with, thanks to her old lover Nadari, but Parker had been the go-between, relaying all the instructions and putting his ass on the line stalking those dyke cops.

Now, Sandberg and his merry little band of assholes were going to get a taste of that luscious, turbo-tit captain who should have been Parker's fourteen years ago. He'd seen her first, copped the first feel, and bent her over that table, when it was all he could do not to jerk down her snug orange bottoms—in his mind, they were always spandex-tight on her nice round ass—and take her right there, in full view of Harris and the other inmates. Harris had helped himself that time, later telling Parker he only got a few good thrusts before the partner ran in, but it had been like sliding his dick into warm apple pie, like they said in that movie.

It burned Parker to think of Sandberg and the other guys having their warm apple pie while he got nothing out of the deal. Okay, sure, Vaughn was a hot piece of ass, too, and she did give good head. He supposed he loved her, otherwise why would he have gone to so much trouble to make her happy? But he was sick of sneaking around to get sucked off in broom closets that smelled like bleach and the last guy's wad. Sometimes it was still dripping from whichever surface the dude had blown it on. Parker preferred creampie himself, though he seldom got the chance with Sondra. Wouldn't get many chances for at least seven more years; longer, if she got caught in the web she was spinning for the De Mornay lookalike.

In the meantime, Parker deserved his own serving of creampie, and he intended to fill up on that Benson bitch. She might be old now (only four years older than he was, to be honest; still, women were different, they aged in dog years), but he had gotten it up a few times in his parked car just watching her and the blonde from behind his camera viewfinder. He'd practically splooged the windshield fantasizing about the two of them together, and he wouldn't mind splooging all over the little blond detective, either. But he liked the look of the captain these days. Her breasts, hips, and thighs were fuller than ever—the ass, too—and he couldn't wait to get his hands on them again. To get what had been due him for nearly fifteen years.

Sondra would be pissed to find out he'd gone against her wishes, but she would have to forgive him once she saw the surprise he had for her. And he was going to risk everything to kidnap one of those brats she kept yammering on about, so she better show some gratitude. Why she wanted a kid that belonged to a woman she hated, and a white woman at that, he couldn't say. The two youngest were kind of cute, though.

The older boy was queer and the blonde was off limits—Sandberg had plans for her. But Parker wouldn't mind playing papa to the little redhead or the baby, whichever he nabbed first. So long as Big Daddy got to have a go at Mama Benson in the meantime.

He nearly popped a boner just thinking about it on his way to D Block. De Cock, the male guards called it, with a Frenchie accent that always cracked him up. As if the coozes that ended up there were straight off the Paris runway or some shit. Most of them were pretty heinous. Except for Sondra and her cute curly snatch. What did Kitty Kat's look like? he wondered, then smiled to himself. He supposed he was about to find out.

Parker never had quite gotten the hang of calling the bitch by her real name, instead of the undercover one. He liked the sound of Kat better than Olivia, anyway. She'd be purring in his ear soon enough.

"Sst," he hissed, resting his chin on the crossbar of Vaughn's cell. "Wakey, wakey."

Recumbent on the top bunk, a cloud of dark hair was all he could see of her at first. She didn't get the time or the products to style it behind bars, and it was kind of a rat's nest, but he liked the wild curls all the same. They felt nice between his fingers when she went down on him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked in a harsh whisper, rolling over to gaze down at him with annoyance. No doubt irked that he wasn't keeping his distance today like they had agreed. Best not to raise any eyebrows on the commencement date of Phase One.

It was really fucked up, how she had insisted the captain's abduction take place on the anniversary of her abduction by that Lewis nutcase. (Yet another bit of information Vaughn should be thanking Parker for; he had watched Captain Kitty lie her pretty little ass off on live television back then, while he bragged to his buddies that he'd stiffed her once, and he was the one who snuck his favorite moptop prisoner all the articles and court transcripts he could find on the case a few months ago.) Probably a chick's idea of poetic justice or whatever, but it was still pretty twisted.

His Vaughny could be a downright bitch.

"I brung you a present all the way up here, and that's how you greet me?" He flashed a grin, perhaps with too many teeth—she eyed him warily—and slipped his cell phone through the bars, swaying it back and forth, tantalizing.

"Brought." Sondra sighed heavily, but swung herself down from the bunk, fluid as a cat, and sauntered over like a tail was twitching behind her. A different kind of kitty altogether. "What is it?" she asked, huffing when he swiped the phone back at the last second, playing keep away. "Dammit, Parker . . . "

"Jesus, you are the moodiest bitch I ever met," he said, but let her pry the device from his fingers on the next try. He hadn't gone through all the trouble of smuggling in his private phone, equipped as a hotspot for this momentous occasion, just to turn around and schlep it right back to his locker. "Could at least say, 'Thank you, Parksy.'"

"What's it for?"

So much for his sweet brown sugar. He'd just have to get him some milky white cream when he visited the captain later. Here, kitty, kitty . . .

After a glance around to be sure the other celly wasn't returning from macramé classes (or whatever the hell these bitches did in their spare time), he skirted the open cell door and instructed Vaughn to check his photo album. When she glanced up with uncertainty, he tapped the thumbnail that was time-stamped at a little over two minutes, playing the video he had shot during his lunch break. He'd had to wolf down his ham and cheese on the way back to the prison, but man, it was worth it to see those two dyke cops get ambushed in person.

The blonde had looked like she was pissing on an electric fence—God, he wished he'd gotten a shot of her tits then, still filled up from the baby, the nipples probably rock-hard—and the way Sandberg's boys moved on that apple-pie captain, you'd think the gangbang had already begun. Parker wasn't inclined to be jealous of a friend, but he had envied his pal Angel in that moment. He and Nicky Angelov went way back, to before the freak-show body modification and multiple incarcerations. Good guy, Angel. And a devil with the ladies. That little prude captain wouldn't know what hit her.

"What is thi—" Sondra squinted at the phone, holding it under her nose. She flat-out refused to buy any of the cheapo glasses from the commissary whenever Parker suggested it. "Wait, is that them? Cagney and Lacey?"

That was one of the code names Sondra liked to use for the cops in the video. Parker had never watched that dumb chicks' show himself; just a bunch of ugly man-haters running around trying to act tough. He favored Baywatch, and his preferred names for the women he'd recorded were Pamela and Yasmine.

"In the flesh." Parker flashed his broadest grin, feeling pretty proud of himself, truth be told. The surprise only got better from here, and Vaughn was already gaping at the phone, mesmerized. She was going to shit a brick when he played the next video. "Double D's and all. Keep watching, it's about to get good."

He had started filming a bit early to capture a decent tit shot while the women were walking along, totally unsuspecting. He liked the way their t-shirts jiggled, especially the big-breasted captain's. It was just a filmy little white thing you could see right through in the sunlight. Bitch had flaunted it around Sealview, too. Today would be the last time she did it and got away with it.

"I told you to stay out of this part, Parker," Sondra said, but her eyes were still glued to the phone and her voice hadn't hit that razor-wire pitch that made his testicles jump back up in his stomach. "If Gus even suspected that someone was poking around— oh, shit."

The blond detective on the screen was gripped by a sudden seizure-like spasm, having just been tased by Sandberg's kid, whose name Parker could never remember. Parker just thought of him as Jack, because he looked like a beanstalk. Within seconds of Jack's attack, Angel hopped down from the van like he was doing a kickflip on the skateboard he'd ridden constantly as a teenager. Rolled right up on the goody-goody captain and sunk a needle in her neck, and she never even saw it coming. He always had been sneaky, that guy.

"Fuck." Sondra said it reverently, as if she were watching a religious ceremony, rather than a couple guys lugging about a hundred and fifty pounds of dead weight into a van. Parker hadn't envied them that part, even if their hands were all over several pounds of grade-A tits and ass in the meantime.

"Yup," Parker said, hooking his thumbs into his utility belt, unable to resist a faint smirk. The inmate was practically vibrating with excitement as she watched the final seconds of the kidnapping, a sadistic little gleam in her eyes.

They were as black as eight-balls in this lighting. "Like to act big and tough, but those muff divers went down fast, huh?"

Onscreen, the one whose muff was probably blond, too—Parker really would be interested to know—was flopping around on the sidewalk, reaching out a hand towards the van, calling for her wife as the vehicle sped away. It was all very dramatic. He would give it four out of five stars, though the camera work wasn't his best: he'd hightailed it in the opposite direction the moment the van disappeared.

"Very. Wonder what was in that syringe." Vaughn passed the phone back to him, a smear of red frozen in the video window. Parker had accidentally switched to selfie mode in his haste to flee the scene, and the last frame was a flash of his MAGA cap, his only disguise. Luckily, the shot was too blurry to make out his face. "Better not knock her out. The instructions were to keep her awake and lucid. I want her to feel every second of it. The more she suffers, the more Rollins suffers. That's the whole point, those idiots better not—"

"Hey, relax." Parker rested his hand awkwardly on her shoulder. She didn't like him to touch her unless they were fooling around, and sometimes not even then. But that edge had been creeping into her voice and she had slipped up on the detective's name, which wasn't like her. Sondra never slipped. "They know what they're doing. She's gonna feel all of it, every single dick-inch and whatever else them guys put in her—and I can prove it."

Sondra rolled those wide eight-ball eyes up at him, skeptical. "How?"

So glad you asked, he thought, but kept it to himself. If she knew she was playing right into his hand, giving him everything he'd hoped for, she would probably act like the next part was no big deal. Still, he could barely contain his excitement as he glanced outside the cell, listening briefly, then pulled up the link on his phone. Right where Angel said it would be. Parker didn't know dick about that dark web bullshit, but Angel had promised him simple point and click access to the livestream.

He held his breath and clicked.

"Who's your daddy?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear when he displayed the browser and the video feed therein. It was a bit pixelated, the sound a bit muffled, but the lighting was good and the old office desk in the forefront was clearly visible. Must be where they were going to do her. She had the kind of ass you wanted to bend over and ream from behind, he knew that from personal experience.

Right now, though, she was on her knees (also a good position) and the guys were standing over her. Parker didn't recognize the one in the ball hat, but he saw his buddy Angel, that Jack kid, the walking steroid who went by Lobo, and boss man Sandberg—speaking, of course. That dude loved to hear himself talk. He was currently informing Captain Kitty Kat Benson of all the fucked up shit he planned to do to her kids.

Parker didn't go for all the kiddie porn and child trafficking stuff Sandberg was into—though he had heard you could make a killing—but it was none of his business. He would be doing his part by saving one of the littler kids from that fate. In the meantime, the bitch captain looked like she was about to hurl. Not so high and mighty anymore.

They had roughed her up pretty good already, but her clothes were still on, so nothing too exciting had happened yet. Nevertheless, Vaughn's eyes were bugging out of her head as she gaped at the scene unfolding in her hands. She was even shaking a little, like one of those puny, bobble-headed dogs that could barely contain itself.

"Is this now? How did you—" She broke off there, either too stunned to continue, or too fed up. Based on her inability to pry her gaze from the screen, where the dyke cop let out a bestial roar and tried to launch herself at Sandberg, it was the former.

"I got connections too, baby," Parker said, and took a chance, slipping in behind Vaughn, arms cinched around her narrow waist, to watch the captain fight and scream and lose. When he wasn't rebuffed, and when the screaming began in earnest, he relaxed into the embrace and rested his chin on the inmate's shoulder. This was better than pay-per-view porn.

Too bad he hadn't brought popcorn. Oh well, he thought with a shrug, and concentrated on enjoying the show. He always had been a fan of the coming attractions.

. . .