BOUND FOR REVENGE

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When three high profile kidnappings of trophy wives plague the city, Michael, a successful P.I. goes deep into a part of the nightlife of the city that he never imagined existed. The victims released, unable or unwilling to say what happened cannot help him, but he finds an unlikely partner. The last victim’s sister more than willing to do anything to bring about justice. The hot sex makes it more pleasure for Michael than work, his partner taking everything Michael can dish out. And more. Trying to convince others that they are players in the dark side of the nightlife. Are they convincing enough to get the captors to play into their trap? Can they stop the next kidnapping before another innocent victim has to go through the same humiliation?

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EXCERPT

Michael was sitting on the patio of his office overlooking the San Diego Bay and the Coronado Bridge, having his morning coffee. He had moved into his new office only weeks ago, finding a great bargain in the Gaslamp District of San Diego since the “credit crisis” had spread to the commercial development downtown. No matter what the rest of the economy was doing, Michael’s business was booming. It seemed that even in bad times, people needed the help of a Private Investigator. And most of his clients were immune to the vulgarities of the everyday market having built sufficient wealth beyond what could be spent in a lifetime. Most of them were more interested in privacy. And seeking justice when the local police couldn’t help them. Or wouldn’t help them. That is where he came in and Michael was good at it. The best.

Kimberly brought him his coffee, no sugar, just a splash of half and half. She looked at him on the patio, almost wishing she hadn’t taken the job. For Michael had strict rules about mixing work and pleasure, at least as far as with his employees. Besides her, he had ten other employees, though most worked outside the office. They were called on short notice to do things that most would think impossible but never illegal. For Michael was as ethical as he was handsome.

She stared at him, her panties growing wet with desire, the thin pullover clinging to his chiseled chest, his large arms almost popping out of the sleeves. She had watched him when he walked onto the patio, his pants clinging to his firm buttocks, his thick thighs and muscled calves rippling beneath his pants or at least Kimberly’s imagination saw it that way. Though she had never seen him naked in person, he monopolized her dreams and she knew almost every inch of his body. He had a rugged face, always looking like it had been hours since he shaved, a five o’clock shadow prevalent. But it was his eyes that mesmerized all the women, their knees going weak when the dark blue eyes stared into their souls. It was almost as if he knew what was going on in their heads. And it was usually him that swam in their brains, Michael able to see their most lustful desires. Very few women failed to succumb to him when he wanted them. None ever regretted it.

And nothing drew a woman closer to a man than danger, a forbidden thrill running through them when they met a man that seemed all wrong for them. And when Michael packed a revolver hung around his side tucked beneath his arm, he was the most dangerous man around. And it drew women to him like a magnet. A former member of CIC, the Army Criminal Investigation Command, he suddenly retired from the military after twenty years, at the ripe age of 38. It took him about a year before his PI business took off, Michael being in the right town at the right time. It had been almost two years since that day. Kimberly handed him the morning Union Tribune along with his coffee. “Do you need anything else, Michael?”

Michael looked up at her, smiling broadly. Kimberly was smart as well as attractive. She had an MBA from Pepperdine University, but she chose to be Michael’s right-hand woman instead of another job more befitting her education and intelligence. He did pay well and if Kimberly worked out as he expected, within a year she would have the dream job, one of his investigators or researchers. They were paid well, never having to punch a clock but always on call with the shortest of notice. And to say the jobs were challenging would have been an understatement. For most, they would have laughed at his requests, calling them unreasonable and impossible. But his staff never failed to complete their assignments and under the most demanding and dangerous conditions. And they thrived on it, for all of them were adrenalin junkies. Just like Michael.

“Nothing, Kimberly. Slow Monday. So far. I have some paperwork to finish up on the Carlson job but that is about all. But something is coming our way. I can feel it in my bones. Something very challenging.” He watched as Kimberly walked back into the office, the gentle sway of her ass in the tight skirt stirring him. He went back to his coffee, opening up the paper to the broad headlines splashed across the top.

Third Mysterious Disappearance

He began to read, remembering the last two. The first was about six months ago. The wife of a wealthy stockbroker went missing for two days. She was 25, her husband almost 60. A trophy wife the papers played up. There was an intense manhunt for two days and then suddenly it disappeared from the front page as if it never happened. Only if you looked on the last page of the paper could you find that she suddenly showed up at home, unable to explain her absence. The papers hinted at sexual scandal, but it died as quickly as it started. The wealthy didn’t like publicity. The next was two months ago. Like the first, the young wife of a La Jolla businessman that made his money in grocery stores. He was even more powerful, his 30-year-old wife disappearing from the La Jolla Neiman Marcus store one afternoon in plain sight of hundreds of people. He put political pressure on the police, another intense manhunt, sightings reported almost every hour. The police checked out each as if that was the one, finding nothing. Then on the second day, he returned home to find her sound asleep in bed, no explanation given. Or at least reported in the newspapers. The story disappeared from the papers with barely a whimper.

He began to read the article, it suddenly hitting home. One of his clients Charles Barcelona’s wife had gone missing. She was last seen at a popular downtown eatery with a group of her girlfriends. They all split up after dinner, taking their limousines home; his wife, Charlotte, telling the driver that she forgot something in the restaurant. She went back in, the driver growing nervous when she didn’t return. He went in, the waiter remembering her coming back in but not leaving. The police were called, Mr. Barcelona first. They combed the Gaslamp with hundreds of officers last night, finally calling off the search after all the restaurants and bars closed. They were combing the back alleys and dumpsters this morning, but not a clue could be found.

“Kimberly, get me Charles Barcelona on the phone. Right away.”

Kimberly dialed the number immediately, hearing the urgency in Michael’s voice. “Michael Stetson for Mr. Barcelona.” She waited for a minute before his voice came on the phone. “Just a moment, Sir.”

Michael picked up the line. “Charles, I’m sorry about Charlotte. Anything I can do?” He spoke to Charles for over ten minutes, finding out that the police didn’t have a lead, but Charles wanted to give them a chance before he involved Michael. Michael assured him that he would see what he could find out while keeping a discrete distance, having good connections with the San Diego detective unit. “I’ll call you back in a couple of hours.”

* * *

Charlotte didn’t know what had happened. She had forgotten her blush case on the table. She picked it up and as she turned to go back out, something was thrust over her mouth. Large hands encircled her, pinning her arms to her sides. She felt her legs leaving the floor, picked up like she weighed ten pounds and hustled out the back door. No one was in sight as she passed through the kitchen, almost as if it were cleared out on purpose. She was thrown into the back of a white van, another large man pouncing on her as she hit the hard floor of the van. The door was shut and the van sped off, Charlotte fighting to breathe, a heavy body holding her pinned to the floor of the van. It was dark in the van, powerful hands pulling her arms behind her back, Charlotte powerless to do anything but comply. She felt the cold metal on her wrists and the crisp snap as the metal fit snuggly over her slender wrists. Her hands were released, Charlotte tugging on the cuffs, finding her arms securely pinned behind her. She was at least grateful that he got off of her, hands running up and down her naked legs as she lay face down on the floor of the van. She couldn’t do anything, trembling in fear. Did they kidnap me for ransom? Charles had talked to her about it once, afraid that because of their wealth he would be a target, never even thinking that it would be Charlotte. She tasted the gag, the cloth making her mouth dry as it soaked up all her spit. Darkness overcame her, a blindfold put over her eyes. The hands returned to her legs, Charlotte trying to kick them away, but the hands were everywhere. When she tried to close her legs, they moved slowly up between them, pinching her flesh until she relented. They freely explored the soft flesh of her inner thighs, the calloused hands rubbing hard on her soft skin. She feared them as they moved up higher, but they stopped before they got too high up. But they didn’t stop moving, only moving back down to her knees and then back up again, each time more pressure put on her thighs until she found herself face down, her legs spread wide. Am I going to be raped?

The van slowed down, a loud noise like a garage door opening, then it moved in, the door closing this time. The van stopped, the door of the van opening nosily. She couldn’t see anything, but then she felt hands on her. Hands grabbed her hips, raising them up until she was on her knees. A hand pushed down on her back until her face was pushed back onto the hard floor. A slap on her ass, then the hands returned between her thighs, pushing them apart until her legs were splayed wide. She was on her knees, doggy style, expecting to be raped at any moment now. She could only imagine how she looked, the cool air blowing on her naked legs, her skirt riding high up. She felt hands rubbing her thighs again, slowly snaking up between her legs, Charlotte trembling as they moved closer to her pussy. They stopped before they touched her panties, but she could feel them so close, never stopping, making small circles on her flesh as though they were trying to tease her. It kept up for at least five minutes, moving back down to lightly touch the skin of her thighs, then back up, stopping just short of her pussy, Charlotte’s nerves on edge each time. Expecting the worst. And then it stopped, hands grabbing her wrists and pulling her up, yanking her as she was pulled from the van, Charlotte struggling not to fall down.

She could hear the echo as she was marched down a long hallway, her heels clicking on the floor as she struggled to keep up with the fast pace of her captor. She was stopped and then shoved, a door slamming behind her, her captor leaving her alone. She could only hear her own breathing. She waited, not sure what to do. Foot steps walked toward her, Charlotte bracing for him.

He took off her blindfold, standing in front of her, waiting for her reaction.

She was temporarily blinded when the blindfold came off, the bright lights glaring in her eyes. Then her eyes adjusted, Charlotte almost wishing she still had the blindfold on. In front of her was a man, a black leather mask covering most of his face, only holes for his eyes, nose and mouth. It fit over his head like a second layer of skin. He was naked from the waist up, a hairy, chiseled chest that looked like he spent all day in a gym. His arms were bulging with muscles, his hands huge. She blushed when she looked down, a form fitting pair of leather pants almost glued to his body, none more than his crotch, his cock, even his balls outlined in the black leather. And he was big and erect, the possibility of being raped growing exponentially. She watched as he reached over, pulling off the gag. She sputtered, spitting out the bits of cloth still filling her mouth. She didn’t say a word, not daring to.

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