Chapter Eight
October 23rd, 11:42 PM
"MMMM!!!" Erin said. "MMMMMPH!!!"
Jackson's filthy hand stroked her chin, her cheek, pushed its way under the lower edge of her mask, moved back around her head, stroked her hair, patted the dome of her head, and came back to her cheek.
"I just love those sounds," Jackson. "Don't those little 'mmms' just beat all, Clayton?"
"Yeah," Clayton said.
Erin shut her eyes and pulled her wrists and ankles, desperately feeling for any kind of give. Nothing. She'd been tied up before. But whoever had bound her this time was clearly an expert with rope.
Jackson noticed her struggling. "Nah, you ain't gettin out of this, Blue Lynx." He placed his hands on her hips and squeezed. He ran his tongue out of his mouth, slowly licking his lips, made a big show of it all. "You might as well just relax."
"Gross," thought Erin. But what could she do about it, about any of this? She was completely helpless. Gassed, beaten, tied up tightly, hanging from a rafter in a barn that no one in the city even knew about. Trying to do anything-- struggling against the ropes, or attempting to shake of Jackson's wandering hands-- only seemed to inspire laughter and even more gross stuff. She needed to keep focus, she knew that, she was telling herself that. But her fear and disgust and the pain in her arms and head and body kept distracting her. What she finally kept thinking about, each time she came up with any sort of a plan, was this: The Blue Lynx is a prisoner.
And then she remembered. Margot! Erin had sent that Emergency Message... right? Margot could do this! She just had to get here, and find a way to get past these thugs, and untie Erin, and then...
Erin grimaced. Margot had no experience actually fighting crime. Even if she found the place, even if she had brought a decent weapon, and even if she had the element of surprise, how could she defeat these men who had defeated the Blue Lynx? Erin admitted that she had been cocky, reckless, stupid. She had victory in her grasp before she went on that long tangent about truth and justice. But she also had to admit, sadly, that these guys were clever. The gas trap in the basement had fooled her completely. They were clearly aware that they weren't huge, strong men. So they had relied on trickery. And they tricked Blue Lynx, and now here she was.
"This is a pretty, uhh, skimpy outfit," said Jackson. He slid two fingers up Erin's hips, her side, toward her breasts.
"Yeah, pretty... What's the word? Revealing," said Clayton.
"It almost makes you wanna reveal some more," said Jackson. He lightly placed both hands on her body, just above her breasts, and stuck the forefingers of both hands underneath the elastic of her spandex V-neck.
"MMMM!" said Erin. "MMMM! MMMPPH!"
Jackson pulled back the elastic, slowly, looked inside Erin's costume, his eyes brightening. He saw Erin's ample breasts encased in a silky, lacy burgundy bra.
"Well I'll be," said Jackson. "I'll be."
Just then, there were three hard, deliberate knocks at the door. Jackson released Erin's costume and it snapped back to her body. Erin hung her head and sighed underneath the tape. Jackson pointed at Clayton.
"Dammit man, get the door," he said. "That's the boss."
Clayton nodded and ambled over to the barn doors. He fumbled with a lock, pushed the handle, cracked it open. And Erin watched as through the door, in a dark suit and tie, hair slicked back, strolled Brent Hammerson.
"What... The?" thought Erin.
"Goddamn boys," Hammerson said, clapping his hands together once. "You said you'd tied her up. But you didn't say you gave the the full-on bondage treatment."
He set his hands on his hips and looked at Erin, scanning from her masked face, down her spandex-clad body, and ending at her tied ankles. And then he did the process in reverse. And then he did the entire thing once more. And he smirked a smug, diabolical smirk.
"You said that stupid gas trap worked?" he asked Jackson.
"Yeah Boss, yeah," Clayton said. "You said it wouldn't, but, yeah."
"I can elaborate," said Jackson, straining each syllable of the last word. "This bitch here attacked us and knocked us out. But then she went down in the basement, you know, entered the wrong code. The gas came on, and she went lights out. We woke up and came downstairs and saw Blue Lynx waiting for us. So we, you know, knocked her out again and brought her here and tied her up."
"Just like that, huh?" said Hammerson, sarcastically.
"Pretty much," said Clayton, tugging at his groin.
"Well I must say, she is, by far, the sexiest visitor we've ever had here on the farm," Hammerson he. He strolled over to Blue Lynx, walked around her, looking at her back and ass, and then came back to face her. "But just what the hell was the city's favorite superheroine doing out in the country?"
Hammerson brought up his hand quickly and, with a single deft movement, ripped the tape from Erin's lips. Erin squealed in pain, then coughed, and then spit. Hammerson raised his fingers to Erin's chin and gripped it with a dainty touch, pushing it up slightly so that he could see Erin's eyes in the light.
"Blue Lynx? What were you doing out here?"
"Ugh," Erin said, trying to think of something. "Going hunting. And I found some pigs, alright."
Hammerson smiled a mirthless smile. "Young lady..."
He plunged his fist into Erin's unprotected stomach. Erin wheezed in pain, brought her ankles up in shock, and let momentum carry them back down and around in a low circle.
"Perhaps you don't know who I am," Hammerson said. "But let's just say I'm a powerful man. And powerful man deserve respect. Especially from little upstart vigilantes."
Erin coughed. "Oh, I know who you are. Brent Hammerson. Speaker of the House. Total douchebag."
A flash of panic shot through Hammerson's expression, but it quickly settled back to its smug, self-satisfied state. "Ha, so you do know. Very well." He placed his hand back on Erin's chin. "You still haven't answered my question."
Erin looked at Hammerson in his dark, dead eyes, and then back at Clayton and Jackson, who were watching the situation unfold with clear amusement. What was this operation? Did Hammerson control the drug empire in the city? It was always pretty obvious to her that she was a friend of drug interests, a supporter. But the kingpin himself?
"I got a tip about a drug house in the forest," Erin said. "I'm a curious girl."
"Indeed you are," Hammerson said. "And I guess that's what superheroines do, right? They just happen upon information about drug cartels, and then they happen to know where to find one of my best suppliers."
"I'm the real deal," Erin said. She found herself able to smile for the first time in a long time. It was a grim, painful smile, but it was something.
Hammerson returned the gesture. "Who's your source, Blue Lynx?"
Erin's smile grew broader, her gaze darkened. "Why the hell would I ever tell you?"
Hammerson sighed. "Because I don't really have to ask." He slid his fingers from Erin's chin to the bottom edge of her blue mask. "I can just take off this little mask and see who you really are."
"Don't!" Erin said, not thinking twice. Hammerson and the two thugs chuckled.
"You really wouldn't want that, would you?" Hammerson said, now walking his fingers up the bridge of Erin's nose, and scooting the tips around her mask's eye holes. Erin tried to shake off his hand, even tried to bite his wrist. Hammerson just grinned.
"What makes you so damn protective or your secret identity, hmm? Do I know you or something?" Hammerson said. "You some girl I used to know? I've gotten around."
Erin gritted her teeth. Hammerson might not recognize her as Mayor Steele's daughter. But if he ever again saw her, he wouldn't forget Blue Lynx's face. And besides that, there was a pretty good chance that Hammerson would know Erin-- that he had seen her before at some city picnic, or something. And if Hammerson did recognize her, then the consequences for her, for her father, and eventually for the city, would be dire. It would surely mean, at the very least, the end of her crimefighting career.
"Tell you what," Hammerson said, dropping his hands to his sides. "I won't unmask you. I'll even let you go. But only if you promise me something."
Erin sneered. "What?"
"Work with me," said Hammerson. "Join my team. Help Clayton and Jackson here. Embrace a life of crime."
Erin shook her head, smiling, but almost sadly. "I would never do that," she said, slowly.
"Fine," Hammerson said. "Have it your way."
And immediately, he was back on Erin, gripping her throat with his right hand, exploring her face with his left, bringing his body close enough to touch hers. He brushed Erin's mask with patient strokes, watching the bottom edge of the mask peel up and away from Erin's face with each successive go.
"No..." Erin thought, feeling the mask leaving the upper part of her cheeks, feeling her face exposed. She wriggled, moaned, shook wildly, but there was no escape.
"Let's see who you really are," Hammerson said.
Suddenly, a series of hard, sharp taps came at the window, like machine gun fire. Hammerson stopped, looked over, and Erin followed his gaze. She saw, standing in the dark, barely illuminated by the light of the barn, Margot, waving her arms, phone in one hand, yelling.
"The FUCK?" Hammerson screamed. He separated from Erin and ran to the window. He looked out, but Margot was nowhere be seen. Hammerson pounded the window next to the wall.
"GODDAMMIT! WHO WAS THAT?" he yelled. "The press? Bitch!" He turned back to Blue Lynx. "You know about this?"
"It could be," Erin smiled, "That I have a little reporter friend. Someone I know at the paper."
"DAMMIT, GODDAMMIT!" Hammerson yelled. He stomped around, waving his arms, gesticulating at Clayton and Jackson. "One of you, dammit, get that bitch! Go get her!"
Clayton opened the barn door and ran into the night. Hammerson was still stomping around, huffing and puffing.
"I gotta get the fuck out of here," Hammerson said. "I can't be seen any longer." He ran his fingers through his slicked-back hair. Beads of sweat had formed along his forehead.
Jackson shrugged. "Alright then, so what do I do about Blue Lynx?"
"Anything, shit, I don't fucking care," Hammerson said. He moved hastily toward the barn door. "No, wait. Yeah. Just..."
"Feeling the heat a little bit, Hammerson?" Blue Lynx said, grinning.
"SHUT UP!" Hammerson screamed. "Just shut up! No, Jackson, unmask her. Do that, and take her picture, and send it to me."
"Like, in the mail?" Jackson asked.
"Fucking e-mail it to me, goddamnit! However you gotta do it. Just do it, and then get rid of her."
"Like, you mean, kill her?"
"Yes," said Hammerson, opening the door, and stepping outside, "Just fucking kill her."
On to Chapter Nine
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