“But, boss, we–”
“The funny thing is, I can just picture you guys sitting at your desks, the monitors in front of you showing this bitch wandering around the hallways.”
Bitch? Fuck you, shit head.
“What the hell were you doing? Playing Suduko? Words with Friends? Answer me!”
Peter and Robin exchanged another look.
“Candy Crush,” Robin said, and adjusted his moist grip against my elbow.
Maddox shook his head, pulled out his phone, and scrolled. “Is that what I'm paying you for?”
He held up his phone, the surveillance video showing me creeping around behind my housekeeping cart, glancing left and right. Left again. It was obvious I was up to something. I may as well have been wearing a big sign around my neck; I'm Here To Kill Maddox Petersen. Have A Nice Day.
“I knew she was here before you two. But, congratulations on finding my office, guys. Before, you know, I got shot.” He stuffed his phone in his pocket, spun on his heel, and went to the front door. He opened it, paused, and looked back at me.
“I'm afraid I have a date, honey,” he said. “But I'll see you tonight, okay?” Maddox pointed to Peter, then Robin. Then... he left.
“C'mon, Senorita,” Robin said, and pushed me in front of him.
We followed Peter past the bathroom, where my oh-so-clever housekeeping cart still stood. A monument to my foiled plan.
How could I have fucked up this badly? How could I ever have thought I would get away with killing the bastard? Or rather, get the chance to kill the bastard.
We came to a closed door. Peter took out his key ring, and filed through them.
Robin leaned in close to my ear. His pudgy face smelled of sweat and French fries. “You're muy bonitaaaah,” he said, extending the last part of the word, his greasy breath feeling as though it was coating my neck.
I swallowed and kept my eyes focused on the door.
For a moment I pictured what must be behind it. A gray room comprised of cinder blocks. A bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, swinging above a metal chair. Or one of those steel tables the morticians use. Bars on a shoe-box sized window.
I couldn't have been more wrong. Again. Me and wrong. Partners in life.
Maddox's office den was a five-star hotel suite. King size bed, giant flat screen above the electric fireplace, a dazzling display of silk roses on a table that overlooked the view of the city far, far below.
“You like it?” Peter said, twirling his key ring around his finger, looking at nothing but my cleavage. It was proudly displayed, seeing as my shirt was still thoroughly unbuttoned. His brow suddenly furrowed in concern. “Uh-oh,” he said, and put his finger in the gap of my bra and wiggled it around. “They're not hard anymore.”
“Maybe she only gets wet for Petersen,” Robin chortled.
“You want to find out?” Peter asked him, still wiggling his finger between my breasts.
Oh, God, no, I pleaded to myself. Like I didn't know this was coming. I bit the inside of my cheek, and this time, I did shut my eyes. It was like everyone always told me. Everyone except Rebecca. I couldn't do anything right.
“We'd get in trouble, bro. You and I know better than anyone that Maddox has cameras fucking everywhere.”
Peter pursed his lips together, and nodded. “Yeah,” he sighed, and pulled out a device from his pocket. It looked like a garage door opener. “Unless I do this,” he said, and pushed a button on the side.
I heard something like an electronic switch, somewhere in the ceiling, and saw the lens on the above-bed camera close its eye.
Maddox's bed was a massive four poster, five feet above the ground, and custom built for naughty games. There were rings on each of the four corners, and one placed in the middle of the headboard. This is where I'd be spending the night. It was a pretty jailcell than the one I was expecting, for sure. That didn’t mean it was the one I would have chosen.
I felt bile, raw and ripe, rise up my throat. A part of me seriously hoped I would choke on it until there was no breath left in me.
When Peter put one of his keys in my cuff, and I felt the manacle fall away, that's when my fight came back.
I was not going to be trapped like a bug ready for the fucking. The term 'sex slave' flew through my mind, and I pried myself away from Robin's sweaty grip, stumbled away from him, and ran like hell for the door.
It slammed in my face.
“C'mon, buttercup,” Robin said. “Don't make this any harder on yourself than it has to be.”
Peter laughed, most likely in regards to the word 'hard'. Oh, these two were pieces of work, that was for sure. What a couple of goony tools like these fart heads were doing under the employment of the prestigious Petersen & Stiller was anyone's guess.
Me, I didn't have time for guessing. Peter was already coming for me, and Robin was unlocking the manacles on the bed frame. He was on all fours on the mattress, his butt crack ripe for the world to see, and there was a trail of perspiration beading on the small of his back. Let me clarify. Beading on the hairs on the small of his back.
I dodged to the left, just out of Peter's grasp, when I saw my escape. Well, not escape, exactly, but at least a temporary reprieve. A bathroom. I scrambled across the floor like a rabid animal, dove for the door, and… almost made it. Just almost.
Peter caught me by the dangling cuff. He wrenched me away from the door, and held me in a terrible bear hug, my back to his chest.
I bicycled my legs in the air, twisting and turning like a wildcat in a trapper's net. It was a strange
