Buying the Virgin

Chapter 125: The Girl Who Was Hunted - Chapter Forty-One

MICHAEL

Easing forwards, I rock, sliding in and out, gradually, slowly, a little deeper every time. She seems okay.

I glance at James, who has a better view of her than I do. He is watchful but seems unconcerned.

You okay, Babe?

I think so, yes.

It feels great….

At first, she works my cock head with her tongue and lips, but then, as gradually I work deeper, she

simply takes me. Pushing at the back of her throat, I am acutely conscious, that perhaps now, she

might be uncomfortable, might gag.

But she doesn’t.

“Just relax….”

Oh God, but she feels good. Penetrating further, as I squeeze into her throat, it tightens on my cock-

head. And now, her tongue massages my shaft.

Ooohhhh…… wow…….

It is utterly, indescribable….

I’d like to extend the moment, but I’m already poised to come, my balls tight with pressure. Seeing

myself, pushed inside her, my groin pushed against her face, cock sheathed in her mouth, it’s too

much.

Pulsing, I spill into her throat, shooting my full load deep inside. It’s so tight, so good. And, groaning, I

shoot once, twice, and then a third time into her before it is too much and, with a gasp, I pull away.

As my head clears, she’s not moved. “Good?” she asks.

“Oh….” I stroke her face. “You have no idea….”

*****

CHARLOTTE

And yet again, I scan photographs, looking for faces. Not yet knowing who the police ‘spy in the camp’

is, Will Stanton, the Police Commissioner has provided the information to me directly, no

intermediaries, and I am searching images of people known to be associated with Lawrence Klempner

and his activities. Beth, keeping me company, is also looking. After all, captured by them herself for a

while, perhaps she might notice something I miss.

Many of the photos are very old, drawn from files which have been collecting dust since the time of the

original investigation into Blessingmoors. Some are taken from other investigations into similar criminal

activity. Since Klempner and his gang have tendrils extending much further than simply the old

Blessingmoors children’s home, I am being asked, yet again, to scan some hundreds of faces, now

from many parts of the world. The investigation has become international. I begin to wonder just how

big this is, and how much money is involved.

And yet, with so much at stake, given that I am to be witness in a trial against some of the criminals,

why was I not simply murdered? Why was Klempner so keen to capture me? Because he knew my

mother? Or claims to have done so?

It seems bizarre.

“I’m hungry,” says Beth. “How about you? We could go to the restaurant. It’s not as though we’d be

leaving the building. Would that be alright, Michael?” She glances around. “Where is he?”

“Having a shower, but I’d rather carry on with this, anyway.”

“I could order something from room service then?”

“Sure, whatever you like.”

Beth raps on the door of the bathroom. “Michael? You want to eat?” After a moment. “I don’t think he

can hear me over the shower.” She orders a light meal for three, just sandwiches and a drink. “They

said it shouldn’t be more than ten minutes. I ordered for Michael as well.”

“Fine.” I don’t look away, wearily watching face after face cross the screen.

Then, I see the familiar, and my stomach freezes. Jabbing at the pause button, I halt the slide-show,

staring at the image in front of me.

And now I know who Will Stanton’s spy is.

“Beth….”

And at that moment, the door buzzes. “That’ll be the food,” she says. As she unclicks the lock, the door

slams open, men burst in, and before she can make a sound, Beth is seized, a hand pushing Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

something over her mouth. She tries to scream, to fight, but after a few moments, goes limp.

And one of the intruders, I know; Corby, the ‘police’ officer’ who bungled my first interview, and whose

face now stares out of the screen of my laptop.

“Hello again, Jennifer.” he snarls.

I stand, trying to back away, but trapped between the table and my chair, my legs tangle and they are

on me. Screaming, I try to call out for help; “Micha….” but before I can get the words out, a soft pad is

pressed over my mouth and nose, with a sweetish chemical smell.

Struggling, I try to not to breathe, but my vision blackens at the edges and eventually, my body, gasping

for air, betrays me, forcing me to draw breath. Everything wavers and….

*****

I wake in some small dark place, being jolted by movement….

A car boot?

I have a thick headache. Nausea churns my stomach. And I can’t move. My ankles are bound together,

taped I think. My wrists too, behind my back. And my mouth is taped tight, I cannot scream or cry for

help. Close by me is the heat and scent of another human body... Beth?

Trying to speak through my taped mouth, I can only make inchoate sounds, no speech, but there is a

reply, and, yes, even through the gag, it is Beth’s voice.

Bounced around in the dark, I can only lie helplessly, wondering what is to come.

*****

MICHAEL

About to step into the lounge, just a towel around my waist, I remember that Beth is there with

Charlotte, and take a minute to pull jeans instead. I’ve seen the looks she gives me….

No need to tempt fate….

Still towelling my hair, I step into the lounge, then stop….

Something’s wrong….

The apartment door is open, swinging wide. Chairs, and the table, are knocked to the floor, and there is

a faint, sweetish, chemical scent of…. something…. in the air.

The women are nowhere in sight.

Thoroughly alarmed now. “Charlotte? Beth?” Then shouting…. “Charlotte? Beth? Where are you?”

Jeez!

Jabbing at my mobile. “James. Charlotte and Beth are gone! Are they with you?”

“No. They’re fucking not! I thought you were supposed to be keeping an eye on them?”

Pacing up and down the room. “I was in the shower. When I came out, about a minute ago, they were

gone, and there’s signs of a struggle. Where’s Richard?”

“He’s here…. raising the alarm as we speak.”

“Oh, Shit!” I freeze in mid-stride as I register the screen of Charlotte’s laptop. “James. We know who

the police spy is. He’s among the faces Charlotte was looking through. It’s Corby.”

“Corby? Who.… Oh, fuck! That police officer that interviewed her? The one that tried to go after me?”

“Yes, him.”

*****

And helpless, James and I, and Haswell, must wait for news; any news.

“Wonder why Corby’s first act was to try to attack you? Trying to get you prosecuted over the business

with the auction?”

James shrugs. “Perhaps to take Charlotte’s defender out of the picture?”

“She has two defenders, and they knew that….”

He looks at me, pointedly. “They came after you with guns. Discredit one. Murder the other. Isolate

her?”

“Why is she so important to them?”

“Her testimony at court is likely to put a lot of people in prison, quite likely for good.”

“Okay, so she’s an important witness. But, that being the case, why haven’t they simply murdered her?

They’ve had plenty of opportunities.”

Richard sweeps in. “Will’s on his way. He says he has information for us.”

*****

BETH

Wheel crunch over gravel and a pause. There is the whine of…. Hinges? A gate? Large doors? Then a

brief movement and the hum of the car engine stops.

The clunk, clunk of car doors opening and closing, then the scrape of keys right by us. The boot opens

and light floods, blindingly over us. Charlotte’s eyes are calculating, her face white.

Roughly handled, we are lifted out and carried through from a shed-cum-garage area into what looks

like a private house. It’s rather old, with beamed ceilings, and cracked lime and horsehair plasterwork.

But it is so ordinary. We could be anywhere. And it would all look perfectly normal, were it not for the

reception awaiting us.

Still bound and gagged, wrists, ankles and mouths taped, we are carried through into a very large

room, before being dumped down, sitting next to each other on a shabby couch. The room is huge,

with a vast open roof-space, as though it has been a barn or shippon. Perhaps we are in some

deserted farmstead?

Klempner is there, waiting and watching, arms folded. He is well dressed, in a suit, polished shoes and

a clean white shirt. A cold smile playing over his lips, he is certainly pleased with himself.

There is a domineering edge to his stance; the man in charge, with a hard-wired arrogance that nothing

is going to quench.

I can’t put my finger on it, but something about him is familiar.

Who does he remind me of?