At the same time Jimmy stepped onto her hand, hard, and heard what had to be a bone crunching, though he couldn’t be sure. A second later he kicked her in the chest, his foot actually recognizing the feel of her boob compressing despite the fact that Samantha’s breasts had been the first ones he ever touched.
Megan grunted and tried to grab the gun again.
Jimmy kicked her hand away and took hold of it himself and pointed it down at her.
Megan still didn’t stop and grabbed his leg and tried digging her nails into it, but couldn’t get much of a grip thanks to the jean fabric.
Jimmy kicked her again and screamed at her to stop, his mind wondering how the hell he would get her hands tied with her fighting so much.
Megan didn’t listen.
Heart racing, Jimmy kicked her again, hard, and then grabbed hold a chunk of her hair, which he used to lift half her body into the air, her hands digging her nails into his own hands.
“Let go!” he demanded while pressing the gun into her temple. He didn’t want to pull the trigger, not when he knew he could have so much fun with her down here, but would if forced to. After all, it was better to shoot her in the head and kill her than to risk her escaping and bringing her dad here.
Megan dug deeper.
He hit her with the butt of the gun, not hard, but with enough force to hurt her.
Megan’s fingers relaxed, but still didn’t release, and then started to tighten again once she regained her senses.
He hit her again, harder and then pointed the gun at Samantha. “Let go or I’ll shoot your friend!”
This time he received the compliance he was looking for, but it only lasted a second, because the moment he lowered the gun and looked at the damage done to his hand, one which still held her hair, she grabbed his testicles and twisted, a cry of fury echoing from her lips as one of pain echoed from his.
Jimmy tried pulling away but couldn’t and had no choice but to hit her with some serious force.
The hand released him as her eyes rolled backward.
Hurt, but knowing he only had moments, Jimmy set the gun on the shelf, and began tying her wrists together, his hands making sure the rope was as tight as possible when he knotted it.
Chapter Eight
Samantha was broken and didn’t even realize Jimmy had returned to the room with another girl until the hand touched her face. Even then she couldn’t really register what was going on, the pain being the only thing her mind understood, though even that was fading and turning into nothing more than a noticeable ache.
Sounds echoed from her left.
Samantha eased her eyes toward the source of the struggle, but didn’t really see what was going on, nor did she care because it didn’t seem to have an immediate affect upon her. The idea that one of them could free the rope didn’t enter her mind because the very idea of being free no longer seemed real. Instead she just watched what was happening without any emotion or opinion, the way a dog might watch a little league sport match outside the window.
Megan drifted in and out of consciousness the way a person on a twilight drug during a medical operation would come and go, her mind seeing and registering things, but not really processing them, at least not at that point in time. Even the tug of the rope above that secured her hands wasn’t fully understood, yet the discomfort was. She also made several attempts to stand up even though her body couldn’t balance itself, her feet always trying to find a firm spot on what seemed to be a wobbly floor. All of these attempts failed and caused the tug of the ropes to be more intense, though the association between the two wasn’t understood.
“What happened to you?” Alan asked as Jimmy walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
“I fell off my bike into a thorny weedy mess on the side of the road,” Jimmy said.
“My God, are you okay?”
Jimmy looked at his left hand and wrist which had suffered the worse of Megan’s nails, huge gouges marking where the flesh had been peeled away, and said, “Yeah, I think so, though these hurt like hell.”
“Was it Brett?”
“No, though it might as well have been him because I was looking back to make sure it wasn’t him coming up behind me when I hit a broken patch of road and went right into the brush.” He winced as he ran his arm under the water. “But I guess I should be thankful nothing is broken and that I didn’t hit the bump and fall right in front of the car.”
“Yeah really.”
He added soap to his arm, his mind not even wanting to consider trying the peroxide on this, and squeezed his lips together for a second before saying, “Fuck!”
“You know, on Mythbusters they found out that swearing helps you manage pain.”
“You’re shitting me!”
“Honest.”
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he shouted while rubbing the soap in. “It still hurts!”
“But maybe it doesn’t hurt as much. Cut up the other arm and try it without the swears so we have a base line to compare it to.”
“Fuck you!”
“Did it hurt less during that microsecond?”
Jimmy rinsed off the soap and then toweled off his arm with a disposable sheet.
“Better?”
“I hope so. The last thing I need is an infection from her.” He tossed the paper towel away.
“Who?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You said get an infection from her?”
Jimmy froze, but then quickly said, “The bush. Her. Get it?
Alan stared at him.
“Bush as in pussy. STD. It was a joke.”
“Okay, yeah, a real Jimmy original — all the greatness of a professional joke, minus the annoying need to laugh afterward.”
“Fuck you,” Jimmy said though with a smile.
“Okay, on a scale between one and ten how was your pain while swearing?”
Jimmy shook his head.
“Did you at least get measured for your tux?” Alan asked.
“No, I didn’t make it to the place before falling and then came right home. You want to go with me later on once Mom is home with the car?”
“Sure, or we could just walk there.”
“Let’s drive. I’m sure they will still be open after five.”
“Probably. Battle?”
“Battle!” Jimmy confirmed one arm raised up in the air as if wielding a sword and commanding a charge.
Megan’s understanding of the situation returned slowly and wasn’t pleasant, especially when she vomited all over herself. With the vomit came a kind of clarity, one which allowed her to focus on the situation, though some parts of it still took a few moments to register.
Her hands being tied was one of them.
A part of her knew they were tied, and that the constant pull from above against her wrists was a result of it. The understanding of the ropes, however, wasn’t fully realized until she tried to touch the back of her head, her fingers wanting to assess the pain. The ropes would not allow this.
She looked up at the bindings, her head moving slowly due to the dizzy spells that threatened.
The knots seemed tight and very far away.
A nasty tickle hit the back of her throat, one which she recognized as a precursor to throwing up. Thankfully nothing did venture toward her mouth, and everything settled once she lowered her head back through her arms.
I want to show you something.
The words echoed in her mind, but without reason, the memory fuzzy.
She pushed it away and carefully tried to take in her surroundings. Earlier, while only semi-conscious, she had thought she was inside a small boat, one that was rocking in the waves. The idea now seemed ridiculous due to the concrete floor and walls. Plus the events from that afternoon were starting to fade in again.