Until You (55 page)

But he'd stopped the other man from touching her.

Maybe it was going to be all right. They'd kidnapped her but that didn't mean they intended to hurt her. Money. That's what they wanted. That's what kidnappers always wanted, wasn't it? They'd ask Eva for ransom and she would pay it because she and Hoyt couldn't afford scandalous headlines, wasn't that what she'd told Conor?

Conor. Conor, who had deceived her. Who had never meant anything he'd said, whose kisses had been lies...

"I do want to thank you, darling, for having made things so nice and easy for us, though it was probably just serendipity. Still, it was lovely. First your boyfriend abandons you and then you come flying out the service entrance of your mother's house, just when we were trying to figure out how to go in and get you." Moratelli sighed. "Listen to me, prattling on. I haven't even asked you how you feel."

"Mmph," she said, into the gag.

"Ah. The gag's in your way. I understand." He patted her shoulder gently, like a father or an older brother. "We'll take it out soon, I promise. After we land and get settled. But first, you're going to take another nice little nap."

No, she screamed, or tried to scream, but she couldn't. There was the sudden sharp sting of a needle in her arm and then, once again, there was only darkness.

* * *

When she awakened the next time, she was sitting in a soft, deep chair and the drone of the engines had gone.

Where was she? A house? A room. It was cool; she could hear the whisper of an air conditioner and, way off in the distance, a deeper sound. Waves, maybe, beating against a shoreline.

"You awake, darling?" It was Moratelli; she could hear the rustle of cloth, feel the whisper of breath against her face and she knew he must be squatting down beside her. "Not feeling too good, huh? Well, you'll feel better soon. Take off her blindfold, Joey."

She trembled as the cloth was ripped away. She didn't want to look, didn't want to see anything. Dialogue from a hundred bad movies chased through her brain. You weren't supposed to look at your kidnappers, not if you wanted them to let you live.

But she already knew their identities. One was named Joey. And the other was a man she'd prayed to never see again.

"Open your eyes, Miranda."

Moratelli's voice was soft and surprisingly gentle.

"Come on, darling. You might as well take a look. We both know you can identify me. Besides, I think you're going to be surprised. This isn't half as bad as you've probably imagined."

There wasn't really any choice. Slowly, she opened her eyes. She saw Joey first and he was as she'd pictured him, small and dark, with a furtive look that was frightening. She thought he must have been the kind of boy who'd gotten his kicks torturing defenseless animals.

"You like what you see, huh, pussycat?" Joey said. He grinned, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth, and she looked quickly past him.

Moratelli smiled as their eyes met.

"Miranda," he said, nodding his head.

For one insane second, she almost smiled back at him. He looked just as she remembered, tall and good-looking, with a civilized smile and dark, pleasant eyes.

"Look around you," he said. "You'll see that there's nothing to fear."

It was true, there didn't seem to be. She was in a living room that was big and bright. The ceiling was high, with exposed wooden beams and a huge skylight that seemed filled with stars. A fireplace stretched the length of one wall. The furnishings were handsome and looked expensive.

"Nice, isn't it?"

Her gaze flew back to Vince and he frowned.

"For heaven's sake, aren't I foolish? You can't answer, not with that gag in your mouth, can you, darling? Joey, undo Miranda's gag, if you please."

She took a deep, ragged breath as the gag fell from her lips. Her throat felt raw and parched and she swallowed painfully.

"Joey," Vince chided, "I think you must have had that on too tight." He bent down and knelt in front of her, his expression one of deep concern. "Are you all right, darling?"

It took effort to work enough moisture into her mouth to speak.

"Mr. Moratelli..."

"Please, there's no need for such formality. Call me Vince, won't you? It's much more appropriate, considering how well we're going to know each other."

Joey let out a high-pitched giggle. "Oh, that's good, Vince, that's really good!"

Vince sighed and shook his head. "You'll have to forgive Joey, Miranda. His manners are sadly lacking."

"Mr. Moratelli. Vince." She swallowed dryly. "Vince, please, you're making a mistake."

Joey giggled again. Vince shot him an angry look.

"Go put up some coffee," he said. "Miranda and I want to talk. Now, darling, what do you mean, I'm making a mistake?"

"I know you want money."

"Well, we all do, don't we? Even you, with your privileged upbringing, must understand that."

"What I'm trying to say is, if you let me go, I'll see to it that Eva pays you whatever it is you've asked."

Vince smiled. "That's very kind."

"Plus a bonus, for—for being so cooperative."

"Do tell."

"Yes. And I swear, I'll never tell her or anyone else that you were involved in this."

Vince rose to his feet, folded his arms and rocked back on his heels.

"I don't understand, darling. You say your mother will pay extra for your safe release."

"Absolutely. As I said, she'll pay whatever you've asked, plus—"

"But I haven't asked anything, Miranda."

"No, not yet. I'm talking about when you get around to contacting her."

"Ah, I see." Vince smiled. "Sit forward, will you, so I can undo that rope around your wrists."

Miranda scooted towards the edge of the chair. She could see Joey measuring coffee in the kitchen. He was horrible, a human weasel, and he made her skin crawl. Vince did, too; she tried not to shudder as his fingers brushed her flesh as he untied her hands, but at least he was reasonable.

She had to concentrate on him, direct her plea to him.

"How's that? Better?"

She nodded, flexed her hands and put them in her lap. The blood was pouring back into them and the pain was sharp, almost breathtaking, but she sensed it would be better not to admit it.

"Much better. Thank you."

Vince gave her another of his radiant smiles.

"Good. Now, what were you saying, Miranda?"

"I was saying that if you'd just let me go—"

"I'm afraid that's impossible."

"Why? Why is it impossible?" Miranda heard the hysteria mounting in her voice. She stopped, took a breath, and started over. "You're in charge, you said, isn't that right?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, then..."

He moved, so suddenly and swiftly that she had no warning at all. He grabbed a fistful of material at the round neck of her cotton shirt yanked down hard and ripped the fabric to the hem. Miranda screamed. She reached for the torn edges of the shirt but Vince grabbed her hands in one of his and squeezed. She could feel the bones of her fingers scraping against each other.

"Joey was right," he said conversationally. "You do seem to have lovely breasts."

"Don't," she said, in a high whisper of a voice that couldn't possibly have been her own, "oh don't, please don't..."

His hand closed on her bra and it tore in half.

"Ah," he breathed.

"Mr. Moratelli. Vince, please. I beg you..."

"Joey? Come here a minute, would you?"

The little man came scuttling over. His lips curled up, revealing a yellow grin as he peered at Miranda.

"What'd I tell you? Great tits, right?"

"Excellent tits. Stand up please, Miranda."

She shrank back deeper into the chair. Vince sighed, grimaced and hauled her to her feet.

"Please, don't make this more difficult than it need be."

She dug in her heels but he was strong, far too strong for her to stop him. She struggled futilely as he dragged her along after him, through the living room and down a bright hallway. At a doorway, he paused, shifted position, and shoved her ahead of him into a huge bedroom.

One wall, entirely made of glass, looked out over a perfect blue sea. The other walls were mirrored, as was the ceiling. The sole piece of furniture in the room was a huge four-poster bed, set on a platform.

"I love this room," Vince said, "don't you?"

Miranda began to scream. Vince sighed and shook his head.

"It's a waste of effort, darling. No one can hear you. We're on a private island, surrounded by miles and miles of ocean. You'll only scream yourself hoarse and anger me in the process."

"Me, too," Joey said. "Jeez, Vince, she's hurtin' my ears."

"Do you hear that, Miranda? Do you want to hurt Joey's ears? Stop that noise at once or I'll be forced to let him stuff another rag down your throat."

He meant it, she knew. The thought of being gagged again was more than she could bear. Miranda clamped her teeth into her bottom lip. Her screams died away and became a soft, keening whimper.

"Good girl. Now, Joey, there's a closet in that wall, do you see the outline of the door just in back of that mirror? You'll find some silk scarves inside. Pick some pretty ones. What colors do you like, Miranda? Pink? Blue? Well, you choose them, Joey, one for each wrist and each ankle, and bring them here. Get on the bed, darling."

"Vince," she said, her voice quavering, "Vince, please..."

"Didn't you hear me, Miranda? Step up on the platform."

He started towards her. Quickly, she scrambled backwards, up the two steps on the platform.

"Now, lie down."

"No! No, don't..."

Vince shoved her, hard. She fell onto the bed and he moved quickly, sat down beside her and grasped her wrists while Joey trotted over with four silk scarves.

"Excellent," Vince said. "Take her hands. That's it. Tie them to the posts at the corners of the bed. Very good, Joey. Now her ankles..."

The men worked quickly and efficiently. When they were done, Miranda lay weeping and sobbing with fear, half-naked and spread-eagled before them.

"There," Vince said, standing back and looking down, "that's fine."

"Perfect," Joey said. He grinned, reached down and ran his knuckles over her breasts.

"Now. Joey," Vince said sternly, "what did I tell you?"

"Come on, Vince. We got her all to ourselves for, what, another couple of hours?"

"A day, at least. And we have to take good care of her."

Joey chuckled. "I'll take good care of her, you can bet on that."

"Vince," Miranda whispered, "Vince, please, don't let him..."

"I won't, darling, I promise. But he's right about one thing. We do have time hanging heavy on our hands." He smiled, and her breath caught at the sudden cruelty in that smile. "I wouldn't want you to become bored."

"Don't," she said, as he moved towards her. "God, please, don't!"

She cried out as he bent down and opened her jeans. His hand slid under the denim, his fingers stroking her flesh.

"Lovely," he whispered.

"Vince, please, I beg you..."

"She's beggin' you, Vince. How can you turn her down?"

Vince's smile tilted. He put his other hand over his bulging fly.

"Lovely," he said again, and began to rub himself.

A long, terrible wail rose from Miranda's throat.

"Gag her, Joey," Vince snarled. "And then turn your back."

"Aw, Vince..."

"Do as I say, damn you!"

The little man did as ordered, then turned away, his shoulders hunched. Vince opened his zipper. Whimpers burst from Miranda's throat and he laughed.

"Not yet, darling." Smiling, he reached inside his pants and drew himself out. "See what I have for you?" he whispered, as his hands began to move along his own flesh. "Not now, we have to wait." He groaned as his touch on himself quickened. "But I promise, later, after—after..."

He groaned again, and Miranda shut her eyes as he ejaculated. There was a silence, and then a sigh, and she heard the zipper snicking shut.

"Miranda? Open your eyes and look at me."

She shook her head wildly from side to side, the gag biting into her mouth, the bile bitter in her throat.

Vince's fingers closed on her chin, hard. She gasped with pain and her eyes flew open.

"Remember the picture I sent you, bitch? The one with the knife shoved into your cunt?" His teeth drew back from his lips. "This time tomorrow, I'm going to make it real. Oh yeah, I'm going to put a blade right up where you live, little girl." He laughed and leaned closer, until she could smell his sweat. "But first, we're going to make you a star. That's what all you models dream of, isn't it, becoming stars? Well, tomorrow we'll do it. We'll make you a gen-u-ine video queen."