ROMANCE: THREESOME : Billionaire Brothers' Party (MFM Menage Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Threesome Short Stories) (105 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

“
Jesus Christ, what the fuck is the matter with you?!?
” screamed Samantha as the car zoomed past at 70 mph on the highway. Samantha, who not even two hours ago was immersed with her eyes closed in a grimy, calcified bathtub was now inconsolable as her speeding abductor laughed maniacally, his cackle serving to fray her nerves even more. “What the fuck are you laughing for? You likely killed someone back there!
You could have gotten us killed!”

“Ah—but the point is I
didn’t,
” laughed the stranger. “Besides, what are you frightened for? This is one of those stories you’ll likely tell your grandkids about one day…” The Trans Am swerved to cut off a pick-up in front of it, receiving a volley of horns and inaudible curses in thanks for its efforts.

“So what are we gonna do now?” asked Samantha.

“Well… first things first,” the stranger lit a cigarette before graciously handing it to her. “First things first, we gotta square out of Tulsa altogether. No turning ‘round, as much as I’d love to drop you straight off back where you belong—”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Well, you’re a witness now. A potential accomplice. You know what that means?”

“I picked the wrong night to come home, apparently.”

“It also means you could be facing up to ten years. Like it or not, we’re in this together now, you understand?”

Samantha glared at him in the darkness of the car.

“Course, if you don’t have any record… but I’m getting ahead of myself. First things first… We gotta get outta Dodge. No two ways about it. Then we gotta see if there’s been either hide or hare heard out of Mr. Randall Cox, Esquire. Shit… come to think of it, your sister—”

“My
cousin
,” Samantha corrected him.

“Sister, cousin… whoever. Seems like ol’ Reg and Dim put a bit of a scare into her. Should probably tell him to ease up. No need in gettin’ her all riled up for no reason.”

“
Now
, you’re having second thoughts? You just shot two men back there—”

“In self defense.”

“After you kidnapped someone over a fucking drug deal—”

“Look… Things weren’t supposed to work out like this. These things… sometimes these things happen.”

“These things
happen
?”

“Right, Life ain’t always so predictable. In the meantime, I think we both could use a drink, don’t you? Open the glove compartment and fetch me that bottle there, will you?”

Samantha sighed, and unlatched the hatch with no small display of disdain. Every square inch of her 5’ 7” frame was spiked with a disgust that set her teeth on edge. Disgust at the violence she had just witnessed, jumping out not from lurid Technicolor screens but in the very viscera of close range; disgust at this maniac who was now pushing close to 80 mph with a smug and impervious jeer on his face; disgust at Randy who had landed her into this mess in the first place. And disgust at herself for her sense of stagnation and self-loathing that allowed her to stay with the callous son of a bitch in the first place.

She could have taken the rectangular bottle of bourbon, heavy and pensive in her quivering fist and smashed it square over the skull of this wildly grinning lunatic. She
should
have. In this circumstance, just about anyone
would
have. But she didn’t. Dictated by gravity she had no say in whatsoever, she unscrewed the cap and took a strong pull. The taste burned her parched mouth, sending tendrils of sheer electricity to her overworked synapses. She passed the still open bottle to the waiting hands of the driver, who was somehow able to navigate a curve, drink and switch the radio station at dangerously high speed simultaneously with his eyes closed. Samantha looked him almost in amazement, and shook her head, staring out the window into the starless night whipping past them, illuminated only by the spare highlight beam or distantly blinking neon sign several hundred yards in the distance.

The voice yelled and testified on the radio.
“Brothers and sisters, they say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. But, God isn’t looking for flattery, brothers and sisters. He’s looking for us to be like Him. What is He looking for?”

“Yes, what is he looking for?” repeated the driver, to himself. He turned to Samantha. “You a believer?” His question was neither accusatory nor threatening, but open and curious.

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you a believer? In the Almighty, who sent his only begotten son to die for us, who was crucified, and on the third day resurrected—”

“I’m… well aware. What does that have any bearing on—”

“It doesn’t.” He took another pull off the bottle of whiskey. “Just trying to make small talk. Frankly, I don’t give a damn one way or another. See it as a code, I guess you could say, both in terms of a structure that gives meaning to some people’s lives and a mystery to be unraveled. It ain’t for everyone. Hell, it ain’t even for me. Get the feeling that it probably ain’t for you, either. But sometimes, I think—”

Samantha took the bottle from him. “Frankly, I think you should shut the hell up and drive.”

The stranger burst out laughing. “Y’know, honey… you ain’t all that bad of a sort. Mind if I ask you something a little personal?”

Samantha took another slug, and felt it settle in her stomach, a glow spreading out over her.

“No.”

“No, you don’t mind or no, you do?”

“Just… no.”

“Meaning what?”

“Whatever you’re going to ask me, the answer is no.”

They drove along in stony silence. Ten minutes passed; then twenty. It could have been an hour; it could have been a day. A week, for all it mattered. Samantha felt as if the night was going to swallow her whole.

An exit sign pointed to a Mobil station just off the highway. “Should probably fill up now while we got the chance. You hungry?”

“Not particularly.”

“Jesus, you’re just a kid and you’re already all skin and bones. How old are you anyways?”

“Could you just get your gas please and figure out a plan?” Samantha took another slug out of the bottle as they pulled into the desolate filling station. Despite the welcoming lights beckoning the fugitive vehicle from the highway, the lot seemed suspiciously empty. The stranger waited several minutes before honking the horn. Eventually, a middle-aged, hump-backed attendant shuffled over, a look of extreme displeasure on his face at the interruption. Not even the chewing gum he clacked perpetually was enough to mask the stench of vodka on his breath. The stranger rolled down the window.

“Hate to bug you, my good man, but wondering if you could help me out here. Mind if I ask where we are?”

“Where you what, son?”

“Where are we, sir? What city?”

“Why, you’re in Vinita, son.”

“Vinita?”

“Thassright.”

“OK. And is there any sort of hotel… motel… anything around?”

The attendant peered in, catching sight of Samantha in the passenger seat. He leered at her obscenely, loudly chewing his gum and she slumped into her seat.

“Lessee…. Just take a right at the next set of lights. ‘Bout a mile and a half, you’ll find the 66 Inn. Lil’ bit pricy, but you tell ‘em ol’ Rudy sent ya, and they cut you a discount. You two havin’ fun tonight?”

“A blast. Can you fill her up, and… you want anything, baby? A candy bar or a Coke or something?”

Samantha shook her head, and buried her face her hands.

“Just the gas please. Thanks… uh… Rudy.”

As Rudy began to fill the tank, the driver stepped outside to stretch his legs. As he looked over the dreary stretch of road, there was a certain calm in his demeanor that hardly befit a potential murderer. Samantha took this as her cue. She knocked on the window pointing at Rudy. He looked over, and caught her eye.

“HELP,” she mouthed silently but slowly, carefully, hoping that the attendant understood how to read lips. “I’VE BEEN KIDNAPPED,” she seemed to plead, with a look of absolute helplessness on her face.

The attendant simply smiled lewdly and grabbing his crotch, blew her a kiss.

CHAPTER SIX

If the city of Vinita had ever seen better days, the 66 Inn was not privy to it. Despite the promise of free coffee, air-conditioning and poolside service, it was and would forever remain an hourly motel where furtive desires were squelched on the vibrating rhythms of barely operating mechanical beds. An aura of cheap sanitizer and water-based lubricants seemed to hover above its peeling stucco facade, and the sounds of drunken carousing could be heard from the farthest edges of the parking lot. But it was cheap; and at half past ten in the evening, it was the only option around.

As the Trans Am pulled in, both passengers took turns splitting the last remnants of the whiskey. Despite the fact that Samantha herself was never much of a drinker, it seemed to have little effect upon her. Her system was simply too numbed by exhaustion and regret to feel drunk.

They walked into the lobby, where they were greeted cheerlessly by a squat, swarthy man with a receding hairline. He glared at them, not even bothering to mask his disgust under the veneer of professional courtesy.

“Yeah?”

“We’d like a room, please.”

“Single or double?”

“Double, please!” interjected Samantha breathlessly. The night-keeper looked at her with suspicion.

“Nightly?”

“Yes. Two, if possible. Your phone?”

“Incoming calls only. Payphone right outside.”

“I see. Complimentary breakfast?”

“Coffee from 6 ‘til 10. Other than that you’re on your own.” The night-keep reached underneath the desk and fetched a set of keys. “Room 23. Up on the second floor. Only got one key. You lose it, you pay extra. No parties, no drugs. Any complaints, we call the cops no questions asked. Twenty-five dollars.”

He extracted an extremely thick billfold from his jacket, and peeled off three tens. Samantha was shocked to see the amount of cash he had on him and was moved to say something, but thought better of it at the last minute. “Keep the change. You can trust us. Any place to grab a bite to eat this hour?”

“We got a machine. Otherwise, you’re out of luck. There’s Chester’s right down the street. Kitchen closed, but the bar’s open ‘til 2. Don’t take too kindly to out-of-towners, so I’d best behave if I was you.”

“Thanks. Sounds swell. You’ve been a peach.”

The manager let out a snort as the couple walked away.

As they passed by the curb out front, they stopped at the pay phone. “What’s your number, honey? And don’t pass me some bullshit.”

Samantha sighed. “RI-3… 3749.”

The stranger paused to light a cigarette before inserting a handful of change into the slot and crooking his bony fingers in the dial. It seemed to take forever for the receiver to even register a dial tone. Eventually, it rang. And rang. And rang. Finally, after nine rings, it picked up. There was a brief pause before the tired voice of Reg answered. “Hull… Hullo?”

“Reg, it’s me, man. What’s goin’ on?”

“Awwww… nothin’ much.”

“Nothin’ much. Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Look… We got a problem. A big fuckin’ problem. Any sign of that fuck?”

“Nawwr, man. Not yet. You know I’d tell you if there was.”

“Whadya mean, you’d tell me? I’m 70 fuckin’ miles away in Vinita, for Chrissakes. Listen… you been following the news on the radio for the past couple hours, by any chance?”

“Funny… funny you mention that. There was a shooting over at A’s we just heard breaking in…”

“Then you know what I mean by trouble.”

“Was that—”

“Wasn’t him. Listen… I gotta split town for a little bit. I gotta keep low. You gotta keep an ear out for me. Can’t hang around that dump anymore. It ain’t safe.”

“But what if I don’t wanna?” Reg giggled, feeling Jill’s head resting along his naked thigh as he ran his fingers through her teased hair.

“No choice. The girl… the teenybopper. She OK?”

“Oh, she’s a trooper,” Reg smiled.

“I think her sister—I mean her cousin—might wanna talk with her. Put her on the phone, will ya?” He handed the phone to Samantha.

“Hello?”

“Sam? Is… that… you?” Jill’s voice purred lowly, stoned out of her gourd.

“Yeah, it’s me. Everything OK with you?”

“Yeah… Actually,” she giggled, “These guys are kinda fun. How are you holding up? Are you OK?”

“Well, now that you mentioned it—” she caught sight of her abductor glaring at her. She knew he was ready to pounce on the receiver at any time. She simply rolled her eyes. “I’m doing just fine. I don’t know. I’m absolutely exhausted. Everything’s gonna be OK. There’s just a misunderstanding. It’ll all be over soon. Any word from Randy?”

“No. What’s going on?”

“I don’t even know. Listen, we’ll be home soon. I think. I don’t know.”

“But how can we get a hold of you?”

“We’re on the road. We’re just gonna have to call you—”

“Please. Deposit. Thirty. Cents. For. The. Next. Two. Minutes. Please,” an artificial voice interrupted. Samantha reached in her pockets frantically, but found only pocket lint. The call disconnected. She turned around and spoke with an authority she had never felt before.

“I don’t know about you, and frankly I don’t care about you, but right now I think we need to get drunk. I don’t have a dime to my name right now, but I think given the circumstances, you owe me at least that much. Point me in the direction.”

He took her arm in his hand and proceeded to stroll breezily down the moonlit avenue before she stopped him.

“And please do NOT touch me.”