Authors: Sarah Greyson
Tags: #The Unit 2
S t r o n g e r
(The Unit 2)
Copyright © 2014 by Sarah Greyson
EBook ISBN: 978-0-9904123-4-2
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the copyright holder. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Photo © Marisa Shor
Editing by Julie Harthill Clayton
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Lola was lost in her own world as she moved her hips to the sensuous Latino beat. Alone, she attracted men, but on the dance floor, she was ruthless. She felt the man pressed up against her rear although she never turned around to see what he looked like. She was there to dance. Some would consider her a tease; she would never go home with this man or any other man at the club. She never did. She just wanted to dance, to let herself go to the beat of the music. She moved her hands suggestively over her head and held them in the air while she gyrated her hips and moved her feet to the carnal song. The ballad screamed sex and many couples looked like they were having it right there on the dance floor. She moved against the man behind her and felt his hardness press against her. With the way she moved, it was hard to imagine at twenty years old she was still a virgin, but it had been ingrained in her to wait until she was married. Her first act of rebellion against her father should have been to have sex with as many people as possible, but she wanted to wait for the right man.
“I’m saving you,” Jessica shouted into her ear. Lola opened her eyes for the first time during the song and saw her best friend standing before her on the dance floor.
“From what?” Lola asked with a smirk playing on her lips.
Oh, how she loved to tease
“Come on,” Jessica responded grabbing her hand and leading her off the dance floor. Lola felt the man groan against her, but didn’t turn around to look at him. She followed Jessica to the table where she found Samantha aka “Sam” and Monica waiting with drinks in hand. Picking up her vodka-cranberry she took a nice, long swallow. She needed a glass of water, or she would have a killer hangover in the morning.
“Excuse me. Can I get a water please?” Lola asked as the waitress passed. The waitress nodded and disappeared into the crowd of people. She couldn’t wait to tell the girls about her lunch with that snob Shelty. The snob desperately wanted to be part of their group, but no one wanted to add Shelty as a member. It was fine with the four of them. They were each down-to-earth despite all growing up filthy rich. Lola’s father was the CEO of a major airline company and had more money than she ever had to worry about, but he kept her under his thumb. He sheltered her from any dangers the real world possessed. She was treated like a princess kept under guard in her tower while God only knew what was happening in the real world. He wouldn’t even allow her to watch the news for fear of corrupting his princess. Sam’s father inherited his money from his father; they were old money and of the four, Sam was the most frugal. Shopping with Sam had always been a trip. She only went to the sale racks even though she could afford to drop four grand on the latest handbag. Sam’s frugalness was what Lola admired most about her. That and they shared the same dream: to escape from under their fathers’ thumbs. To be free, independent women ruled by no man. In her first act of freedom upon moving into the dorms at Harvard, Lola purchased a fake ID which fooled even trained police officers. It was with that little treasure she was able to frequent all the Boston hotspots.
“Grant is good,” Monica said admiring her fake ID. She couldn’t believe he had made it in under a week.
“That’s why they are so expensive. He’s the best,” Lola replied. Changing the subject, Lola shouted to her three friends huddling at the table, “You’ll never believe what that bitch Shelty did today.”
“Why do you even hang out with her? Just ignore her like I do,” Monica replied. “We all know what a spoiled, little brat she can be.” Monica took a sip of her Ketel vodka martini. She may be down to earth, but she never skimped when it came to her alcohol.
“We were sitting there and she raised her voice and yelled to get the waitress’s attention, like she owned the place. Everyone was disgusted at her obnoxiousness. She has no manners, I swear.” Lola bellowed through the music. “Then she went on to order broiled boneless Mahi-Mahi with fresh lemon on the side. ‘If I find a bone, I will send the whole entree back,’” Lola said pinching her nose to create her best snooty impression of Shelty. “Her broccoli had to be done to perfection, a crisp green, or she would be sending it back. And, for an appetizer, she ordered a Zen Plate at one hundred fifty dollars. She is the most pretentious woman I have ever met. I will not be hanging out with her again no matter what Daddy says,” Lola huffed.
“You’re much better off slumming it with us,” Jessica said as a bright smile lit her face. Just because they were rich and privileged, didn’t give them the right to treat others the way Shelty did. They had good manners and actually cared about others’ feelings.
“One more dance and then we’ll call it a night. It’s already after 1:00,” Lola begged her three friends at the table. One by one, they finished their drinks and followed Lola onto the dance floor. As they approached, several men did as well and asked for dances. They were incredibly good looking, and each of them grabbed a partner. Lola moved her body against the man’s with her eyes closed, absorbing the beat. She felt his hands on her waist and noticed them creep higher until they were right under her breasts. She permitted it and kept on dancing. The backs of his hands were now brushing the underside of her breasts. He pulled her closer, and she could feel his breath against her neck as he buried his head into her long, golden blond hair that hung down to the middle of her back. She could feel the sweat drip down between her ample bosoms. Her killer curves were keeping her dance partner quite interested, making her feel confident and sexy.
All of the sudden, her eyes popped open as the hairs on the back of her neck started to prickle. Her body was covered in goose bumps. She could feel two holes burning into her. Someone, somewhere meant to do her harm. She could feel it. Frantically, she looked around trying to spot the danger. The club was crowded, preventing her from seeing who was staring at her. Turning, she thanked the man for the dance and tried to pull away, but his grip tightened on her and he wasn’t letting go. She caught his eyes as dread crept up the back of her throat. She had been so busy searching the crowd, she failed to notice the danger right in front of her. “With your killer body and looks, my finder’s fee just tripled,” the man said more to himself than to her. He held her deathly tight; she couldn’t move, no matter how hard she struggled against him. “You’re going to come with me, and you’re going to be quiet about it, or my friend over there,” he motioned, “will kill your three girlfriends,” the man said turning his eyes in the direction of his friend. Her eyes followed and locked onto the man in question. He smirked and waved at her. She stood frozen, watching as his gaze found Jessica.
The man held her tightly by the arm and pulled and pushed her through the crowd of people. She was too afraid to make a noise to notify security. If anything happened to Sam, Jessica, or Monica because of her, she would never forgive herself. She had always felt safe and secure in Boston, and never felt threatened in Cambridge at Harvard University. Sure, most of the people who went there were rich, but she always felt safe. Boston had a good police presence, which dramatically increased after the bombing at the Boston Marathon. She moved quietly beside the man. He was a quite attractive Latino man with a large frame and muscles visible through this button-down shirt, and at first she felt no warning bells go off when he approached her. That was always her tell; what her gut said about someone. She was rarely wrong.
He must be really good
, she thought as they moved their way past her friends. They were busy dancing and having fun. Terror gripped her as they slipped past them unnoticed and all hope of help was lost. They would surely go crazy at the end of the night when they couldn’t find her. She only had her cell phone, which was in her back pocket, her debit card, and her fake ID, also in her back pocket. The man pushed open the door to the club and tightened his grip on her arm.
“Very good,” he said to her with frightening sincerity. He patted her down and found her cell phone, ID, and debit card.
Great, now he was going to know her name, if he didn’t already
What did he want from her?
Perhaps he knew who she was and was planning to ransom her father.
What would happen to her now?
He forced her down the block to an alleyway where a dark blue cargo van was parked. He opened the side door and looked around. Pushing her inside quickly, he crawled in behind her never letting go of her arm. When she was seated in the van, he pulled out rope and duct tape. With precision and speed, he had her hands tied together behind her, and secured to a metal hook jutting up from the floor of the van before she had time to blink. Next, he duct taped her feet together at the ankles. Finally, he ripped a piece of duct tape and placed it over her mouth. She sat in the back of the van, bound and gagged for several minutes. Her abductor shut the side door and got in the front passenger’s seat.
They must be waiting for someone
. Another few agonizing minutes passed. All she could think about was praying to God his friend hadn’t harmed her friends. She was strong; she would make it out of this. Tugging and pulling on her bonds was useless and only chafed her wrists. The fear was immense and overpowering, she didn’t know who this man was or what was happening; she was terrified for her friends. Facing the back of the van, she heard the driver’s side door open and felt the van shift as another man climbed inside the van.
“What do ya think?” the driver asked the passenger.
“At least ten, if not more. She’s a knockout. If it is determined that she’s a virgin? Twenty…easy,” the passenger assured the driver. “Do I know how to pick ‘em or what? All that long, blond hair and she smells so good, like honeysuckle. Her body rocks! You can tell she takes care of herself. I felt her arms and her body; she definitely works out…a lot.”
She could feel the bile rising in the back of her throat. The more the men talked, the worse it got. She couldn’t get sick; she would choke to death. She did her best to choke the vomit back down. Sweat was trickling down her forehead, and it was getting harder to catch her breath.
Where were they taking her? What are they talking about?
It was at moments like this she wished to God her father hadn’t sheltered her as much as he had. At least she knew her friends were safe. There was no way the driver had enough time to kill all three of her friends and make it to the van as quickly as he did.
The passenger crawled into the back of the van. Lola cowered. She wasn’t sure what he planned on doing. He pulled out a syringe. He gently moved the hair from the side of her neck and pushed her head to the side. He plunged the needle into the carotid artery. As she faded into unconsciousness, her last thought was that she needed a plan.
“You better slow down, or I’m gonna have to carry you outta here,” Tony predicted as his friend nursed his fifth double scotch in less than three hours. “It’s their wedding, man. Do you really want him worried about you all night?”