Page 30 of StoryTeller's Tale

“Think you might have been right, Fang.” Tats throws him a glance.

Lying about what?The safest thing for me to do is to stay dumb. All I know of her is her taste in books, and that brief information on her profile. It gives me fuck all to go on. For a moment, I wonder whether my ol’ lady might be transgender and have a cock like myself. Hell, if that’s the case, no wonder they’re laughing. But in that instance, I’ll have to go along. I’ve got nothing against dicks, but the only one I want to play with is my own.

“You gay?” Limey’s question catches me off guard. It’s so aligned with my thoughts, for a moment, I fear he can read my mind.

“Perhaps he’s a virgin too?”

Knuckles gives the speaker a long look. He narrows his eyes, then examines me carefully. “Well, are you?”

“She’s told them she’s a virgin,”the helpful voice in my ear says, just about the time as I also add up two and two. Hmm. That might make her a clever girl if she’s saved herself from being raped. But if these fuckers believe it, then it would raise her value in any buyer’s eyes.More than the guns are worth?Fuck knows. For a moment, I wonder if I should call her out in the very obvious lie, but then I remember I know nothing about her.

She could be telling the truth.

My thoughts have zoomed through my brain in a split second. Without missing a beat, I respond, “Nah, but my ol’ lady is a good Christian girl. She wants to wait until I’ve put a ring on her finger.”

“Christ.” Tats stares so hard I wonder if I’ve got bird shit in my hair or something. “You’re kidding us, aren’t you?”

Nonchalantly, I shake my head. “Got dozens of other pussies in the clubhouses I go to. Ain’t no bother giving her the time she needs.” I leer and wink. “I reckon she’s going to be worth waiting for.”

Several heads nod. Knuckles looks like he’s received the explanation that at least makes some sense.

“Nice one, Bro,”I hear in my ear.

But nothing’s quite so easy, is it? Knuckles jerks his head toward Tats, and the two of them take a few paces away. They bend their heads and confer quietly. Only a moment or two passes before Knuckles returns.

“Ain’t quite decided what I’m going to do. But I will be magnanimous and let you see your ol’ lady. Foghorn? Trots? Take him to her.”

Two large men that I could easily take, but at the moment see no reason to, come alongside me and grab both my arms. They half guide, half drag me forward and into the door that’s gaping open like it’s the mouth to hell. I could get out of the grip they’ve got me in, in two seconds flat, but don’t bother as they’re taking me to my objective.

My problem? Sheri doesn’t know me from Adam, and I’m hoping I’d be able to pick her out of a line up. She’ll be traumatised, upset, terrified of what’s happening to her. I’ll have no chance to warn her, and with just one word or expression, she could give me away.

Glancing back, I take a last look at my bike, sitting forlorn as though waiting for its owner. Taking in the daylight I might be seeing for the final time, I step inside, wondering whether there’s even a chance I might make it out.

Fuck. Why does one book matter? Why hadn’t I walked on and never picked it up.

CHAPTERTEN

SHERI

PRESENT…

Carole thinks we’re being held in Arizona, but it’s hard to tell. My flesh is covered in goosebumps, and I continuously shiver. I’m not sure whether it’s from fear, or whether the sun doesn’t permeate here.

Where I’m being kept is hell, belying tales from the Bible that tell me that would be warmer.

The air is stale, permeated with the most unpleasant smells. There’s no toilet or proper facilities, and each cage has a bucket which may or may not be emptied, depending on the day’s particular jailor. Being a private person, I’d held off using it until my stomach had cramped. In the end, I, like my companions, had been reduced to relieving myself in view of everyone else.

I’m tired, I can’t sleep, nor can I relax. Even if I did close my eyes, the almost continuous desolate crying and weeping would keep me awake. I’ve shed my own useless tears, but all they did was make my throat and eyes raw and did nothing to improve my situation.

As well as Carole, I’ve spoken to a couple of the other women, but it’s not really worth trying to make conversation. All we can do is commiserate with each other and swap stories of how we were taken. MaryAnne was simply walking home from work one day and was pulled into an alley, Kelly’s car broke down, and a Dominator posed as a mechanic. Angie’s and Leah’s stories were a version of about the same thing. We can only guess at what the future holds, and that, we don’t want to contemplate at all.

I try to stay strong, but I’m hungry, the meagre food and few water bottles our captors supply are only the minimum necessary. My body aches. There’s no bed or mattress, just the rough floor and a thin blanket to lie on. Even a dog would be treated better. I wonder whether it’s to break our spirit, or just to keep costs low, as our time being kept here is probably limited.

When footsteps sound on the steps leading down to the basement, like the others, I retreat to the back of my cage, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I’ve suffered enough comments from them, describing ways they could check my declaration of being untouched, and their suggestions of how is enough to make anyone’s stomach turn.

Has it been that long since our last meal?What do I know? There’s no way of telling time, how much has passed, or whether it’s going fast or slow. But while an unexpected visit might interrupt the boredom, there’s always the chance it signals our time here is done. I might hate this basement and long to be free, but I suspect what comes after will be even worse.

The door bangs open.

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