Kidnapped

Chapter 20 - What's in a Name?

I’m jolted awake by a heavy pounding on the bedroom door, each thundering knock rattling the flimsy window frames and sending dust drifting down from the ceiling. The dim light seeps through a cracked window, casting a hazy glow over the room and the crumbling walls around us.

My heart leaps, adrenaline flooding my veins as a familiar voice cuts through the silence, sharp and demanding.

“Hey!” My captor’s voice is annoyed, almost agitated, as it booms through the thin wood. Instinctively, I shrink into myself, pulling the covers up over my shoulders, pressing against his brothers side in an attempt to disappear.

His brother wraps his arm around me for just a moment, almost as if steadying me, before he shifts, leaning down and murmuring, “Stay here,” his voice firm but low, with a strange gentleness that sends a flutter through me.

“Vince!” The shout comes louder this time, more impatient. “Open the fuckin' door!”

Vince. The name rolls over my thoughts, grounding me in a way I wasn’t expecting, even as anxiety claws at my insides.

I watch him move, untangling himself from me with an ease that feels both abrupt and oddly careful. He rises from the mattress, adjusting his boxers casually with one hand as he heads to the door. My gaze catches on the shift of his muscles under the dim light, as he runs a hand through his hair.

Something about the roughness of his movements, the quiet strength, stirs a feeling I don’t expect, a tiny flutter buried under the fear. He glances back at me, his eyes flickering with something unspoken, almost reassuring.

Then, with a fluid motion, he unlocks the door and positions himself just enough to block the view into the room. He keeps the door cracked, a sliver of space just wide enough for me to hear.

“Well?” My captor’s voice creeps into the room, cautious but eager, like he's waiting for a verdict. A flicker of unease lingers beneath his tone, barely masked by forced confidence.
"How was it?"

Vince lets the question hang in the air, rubbing his jaw, eyes flicking back toward me. His gaze lingers too long, making my skin crawl, but his expression stays unreadable.

Finally, he lets out a short, unimpressed laugh, shaking his head. "Honestly?" He exhales, rolling his shoulders like he's shaking off something tedious. "Pretty disappointing. Thought I was in for a fight."

He lifts his hand, flexing his knuckles in the dim light. "Didn’t last five minutes before she passed out."

Something shifts in the air, a beat of hesitation. I hear my captor exhale through his nose, too sharp, too forced.
"I told you, man," he says, voice tighter than before. "She was a virgin. You gotta—" A pause. "Gotta ease into it."

His words falter for a split second before he presses forward, like he's convincing himself as much as Vince.

"If you work her up just right…" He trails off. The end of the sentence never quite comes. Instead, he lets out a strained chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "Tightest chick I've ever had."

But there's something off in the way he says it. Like the words taste bad coming out. Like he's forcing them.

Vince watches him for a long moment, and I swear I see something unreadable flicker across his face. He shifts his weight, stretching the silence between them until it’s unbearable.

"Alright," he finally says, too casual. "I'll hit it again tonight. Maybe I’ll actually get something out of her this time. Who knows?"

My captor shrugs slightly, “There you go,” he says, “Youll be thanking me tomorrow morning, trust me."