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, the ink on his knuckles standing out 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, laced with an almost twisted eagerness for approval. “How was she?”

Vince lets the question hang in the air, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully as he throws a casual, almost dismissive glance back toward me. His gaze lingers a beat too long, and I feel the heat creeping up my cheeks beneath the covers. Finally, he lets out a short, unimpressed laugh, shrugging as though the whole ordeal was hardly worth his time.

“Honestly?” His tone is flat, barely concealing his disdain. “Pretty disappointing. Thought I was in for a fight.” He lifts his hand, flexing his tattooed knuckles in the dim light, as if remembering a time when he didn’t have to deal with… this.

He runs a hand over his knuckles like he’s remembering something. “She didn’t last five minutes. Knocked out cold before I could even get off.” He says, and my stomach drops. "Hardly even touched my cock."

A low, anxious sound escapes before my captor says, “I told you, man—she was a virgin. Gotta ease into it. Trust me, if you work her up just right…” He trails off, voice dropping with a hint of anticipation. “You’ll have the ride of your life. Tightest chick I've ever fucked." He says.

I hold my breath, my heart pounding in my chest, waiting, eager for Vince’s response. He shifts his weight, and I can almost feel him calculating his next move, the air thick with tension. “Alright,” he finally says, his tone dripping with casual indifference. “I’ll hit it again tonight. Maybe I’ll actually get something out of her this time. Who knows?” He chuckles, low and rough, like he’s trying to sell the act hard.

My captor laughs, a dark sound that feels like a punch to my gut. “There you go,” he says, pleased. “Youll be thanking me tomorrow morning, trust me."

“Yeah, yeah,” Vince mutters, sounding tired, almost exasperated, but there's a flicker of something in his voice that I can’t quite place.

His brother slaps him on the back, "she still cuffed? How far is the nearest store man? You dont have any food in your fridge."