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Rod Harden, Alison McKenna

Sharae and Melissa

CHAPTER 1

Sharae Stevens sat back and rubbed her neck. It was eleven o'clock at night and she was tired after working late to finish a report for the next day. Shaking her head, she thought about her boss, Keith Cunningham. She could never figure out why Keith was in management. He always made his employees do his work, while he reaped all the glory-and she was the one who got stuck doing most of it. She should be the manager of the department, not him.

Of course, she was stupid enough to actually do his work. No wonder he took advantage of her all the time. Sharae sighed and finished the report, then quickly emailed it to Keith and logged off her computer. She stood up and stretched her five foot five willowy frame.

At twenty-six, Sharae still hadn't married, although she'd been engaged twice. She had blonde hair to the middle of her back, which she usually wore pinned back with barrettes. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds and her lips were full and sensuous.

After packing up her briefcase, she headed for the elevator, punched the down button and waited. When the doors opened, she stepped into the small cubicle, humming. Halfway down, the elevator slowed and came to a stop on the fifth floor. She chuckled to herself. She wasn't the only one working late.

The doors slid open and she looked up to see a man dressed in black step into the car. The sack he carried over his shoulder moved and writhed, twisting against his back. To her horror, Sharae realized there was a person in there!

“Shit!” the man cried. “I thought the fucking building was empty.” He dropped the sack to the floor, and Sharae heard a muffled cry of pain.

“What are you do-” she started to ask, but before she could finish, the man slapped her viciously across the face. Stumbling back, reeling in pain and confusion, she lifted her hands to fend off more blows. Quickly the man grabbed her wrists, twisting her around violently and forcing her arms behind her back.

More muted moans and whimpers emanated from the sack. Sharae tried to pull her arms free, but the man held them tightly pinned with one of his large burly hands. He seemed to be searching his pockets for something. The elevator door slid closed and the car continued on its way.

“Please,” she cried. “You can take my money. Just let me go. Don't hurt me.'

“Shut up, bitch!” His grip grew tighter around her slender wrists. She heard a metallic clink and felt cold steel against her skin.

Despite the man's threatening tone, she continued to try talking her way out of the sudden attack. “You don't have to handcuff me. I won't give you any trouble. Please-” She was cut short when he grabbed her hair and threw her against the wall.

“I said shut up!'

Tears streamed down her face as she cowered in the corner, watching her attacker. He pointed a warning finger at her, then bent down to the sack. He unzipped it, and fished around for something. Sharae caught glimpses of writhing flesh and bands of silver, which she realized was duct tape, as the man pulled out a roll and started toward her.

The elevator came to another stop, this time on the parking garage level. As the doors slid open, Sharae saw it was deserted except for three vehicles. A red Ford Taurus, her own teal Pontiac Grand Prix, and a black Dodge van with tinted windows.

Her eyes darted looking for a way to escape, but there wasn't any. The man's body blocked the way.

“Please,” she whispered. “I won't say anything about this.'

The man's cold sinister laugh made Sharae cringe. “I know you won't. ‘Cause you won't be able to.'

The person in the sack whined again and the man delivered a kick to the midsection. “Shut the fuck up! I didn't forget you.'

Sharae knew she had to make a run for it. She couldn't just stand there and let this… brute kidnap her without a fight. While he was crouched at the sack, she darted to the door, hoping he had slow reflexes.

She almost made it, when he managed to grab her ankle, sending her to her knees. Sharae tried to shimmy away from him, but he was on top of her, wrestling her, trying to pin her down. Despite her useless cuffed hands, she kicked out savagely. Her heel caught him hard in the gut. When he doubled over in pain, she squirmed away and tried to get to her feet again.

Using the wall for support, she managed to stand. Her attacker was up as well and his face was contorted with pain and anger. “You're gonna pay for that, bitch!” he shouted as he rushed at her.

This time, he fended off her kicks and slammed her against the wall. She huffed loudly in pain, as she heard him tear off a piece of tape. She opened her mouth to scream, but found it filled with a foul tasting rag. She tried to spit it out, only to have her lips sealed with the tape. Two more strips were added.

“Mmpphh!” she shouted.

“Go ahead, bitch, shout all you want.” He smacked her across the face again, and punched her in the stomach. She gasped and doubled over. Before she could catch her breath her legs were tightly bound together at the ankles and knees.

He picked her up and carried her to the sack. Whoever was trapped inside had managed to wiggle it several feet away. The man set Sharae down and gave the sack another kick. He looked Sharae up and down. “It'll be snug, but you'll fit,” he said, half to himself.

“Mmpphhh!” she protested again, pulling on the steel cuffs. She looked at the sack fearfully. He intended to put her in there, and she was powerless to stop him.

Chuckling to himself, Preston, slaver for hire, pulled the blonde over and forced her into the sack along with his first victim. As he zipped it closed, he grinned at the fear he saw in her sexy green eyes. He watched his two victims struggle within the constricting sack, then grabbed one end and dragged it over to his van. He opened the doors, and hefted the sack into the back of the van.

Hearing the moans of pain, he briefly felt sympathy for the blonde, but it didn't last long. It was her fault for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Despite that, she was definitely an unexpected bonus.

CHAPTER 2

Sharae lay staring into the darkness of the sack. What kind of madness have I stumbled into? She tugged in vain at the cuffs around her wrists and shifted her weight, trying to find some degree of comfort.

Her movements provoked a sharp yelp of pain from her companion. She tried to mumble an apology through her gag, but couldn't tell if the other woman understood.

They were both doubled over within the confines of the sack, with one's head at the other's feet. The Yin- Yang girls, Sharae thought bitterly, as the other woman twisted herself, giving Sharae a facefull of shoe. Sharae squeaked in alarm and tried to pull away. Good thing she's not wearing stiletto heels.

The other woman mumbled what sounded like an apology. Sharae knew they had to remain still or they'd kill each other. Aloud, she called out, “Try not to move!” It sounded more like, “Hi offa ooff.” She wondered if the other woman would understand.

“Oh hay,” came the muted reply.

Sharae assumed that meant “okay.” She groaned as the van hit a particularly deep pothole, and prayed the trip would be a short one.

The trip, in fact, lasted longer than Sharae thought she could endure. The other woman had been sobbing

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