Anonymous Encounters(42)

"Uhh, what have you done?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"Come on Valerie," I said grimly. "What's this about? Why did you lead us here?"

The blonde closed her eyes and drowsed her head wearily, but I wasn't about to be deterred.

I shook her roughly, insistently this time.

"Come on," I ground out. "What do you know about the Adams?"

After a few more coughs, she managed to say a few words.

"John and Jane," she rasped. "Don't trust them."

"We know that," I said sarcastically. "But why? And how the fuck do we get out of here?"

She nodded her head wearily towards a mess in the corner.

"Don't trust my parents either," she said faintly. "I've been trapped," she said, her voice trailing off.

What the fuck? This was new. But I looked more closely at the pile of  recycling in the corner and realized that it wasn't just a random series  of boxes. One of the boxes, which had probably once held a giant  flat-screen TV, was cunningly assembled so that it provided a shelter of  sorts.

In the meantime, my brother strode over and kicked the flimsy shanty,  revealing rags interspersed with food and a saucer of water.

"Blake," he ground out. "She's been kept here like a dog."

Oh shit. So Valerie had been imprisoned by the Adams in their garage,  locked in slovenly, inhumane conditions. But it got worse. The girl  coughed again.         

     



 

"My parents," she said weakly. "Don't trust them. Not just them, no one in my family."

This was just getting more and more twisted. We'd attended the Gordons'  pool party earlier this year and although we hadn't met the parents  themselves, we'd met their daughter, the ebullient and boy-crazy  Chrissy. Chrissy also happened to be Callie's best friend. Oh shit, was  our girl in danger upstairs?

"Valerie," I rasped, my voice urgent now. "Tell us if Callie's in trouble. We need to know."

The blonde coughed again, her body jerking on the concrete floor, but I could tell she was slowly recovering.

"My parents," she said wearily. "My sister. They're running drugs in San  Francisco, Canterdale is a distribution point. The cocaine is shipped  in with school supplies, and Chrissy picks them up before they flow  through a network of couriers."

Shit. This was starting to make more sense. The drugs came through  Canterdale before Chrissy, the golden girl, picked up the loads,  transporting them to her parents' home. The Gordons in turn acted as  distributors, saturating San Francisco with junk.

"But what about the Adams?" I asked urgently. "What's their role in this?"

"The Adams are small-time distributors," wheezed Valerie. "My parents  cut them in after their son got hooked. The Adams didn't care about  their son," she said bitterly. "They just cared about the money they  could make."

Damn, but St. Francis Wood was some fucked-up neighborhood. Picture  perfect on the outside, but as deadly as a viper's nest on the inside.  Actually, why was I surprised? Parents who didn't give a shit about  their kids were de rigeur in rich enclaves.

But my brother and I were still trapped in this dank basement, with our girl upstairs.

"How do we get out of here?" I asked grimly. The color was coming back to the blonde's face.

"There's no way," she said sadly, shaking her head. "Trust me, I've been  living here for two years, I've checked every nook and cranny. You got a  fix for me?" she asked hopefully, her hands beginning to shake.

I shook my head with disgust but also sadness. It was clear that Valerie  was treated like an animal, drugged so that she lost consciousness, day  passing into night, again and again and again. They must have let her  out that one day to talk to us at study hall, bribing her with more  drugs, keeping her on a leash using her addiction. Bryan and I were  going to have to bootstrap our way out of this shithole.

I tried to shift the blonde into a more comfortable position on the floor, cushioning her limp body with some dirty rags.

"It hurts, I know, but you're going to be fine," I said grimly. "Just hang tight. We'll be back."

But she just shook her head wearily, her body in the throes of a spasm now. "Don- don't- leave me here," she whispered.

"We won't," I promised, and locked eyes with my brother. It was time to make a break.





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Callie




Jane Adams glared at me with venom, her look pure evil.

"You think the cops are going to come for you now?" she jeered. "Your  so-called heroes are trapped in the basement with triple-reinforced  locks, you might as well give up."

I shook my head stubbornly.

"You don't know Brian and Blake," I said quietly. "You don't know them at all," I emphasized.

The older woman cackled again.

"What is there to know? Undercover cops are the worst of the lot, they  get assigned to the easiest beats because they're unfit to do anything  else," she shrugged. "They're not alpha males. Try beta zeros instead."

I shook my head in denial again. Maybe Brian and Blake were cops, I  could believe that. They'd always seemed mature for high school but I'd  always attributed it to their gritty New York roots, a life of  hard-knocks. I refused to believe that they were the runts of the  litter, the ones that no one wanted.

"You'll see," I promised. "Brian and Blake will surprise you."

And as if on cue, we heard a series of noises emanating from the  basement. There were some grunts, some moans, and then a long ahhhhh of  ecstasy.         

     



 

"What is that?" squealed the old woman, her withered face crunching in disbelief. "What the fuck?"

"Like I said, you don't know them," I said ominously.

The moaning continued with an unmistakable series of harsh grunts, then the sound of flesh slapping rhythmically.

"Oh god," moaned a male voice, "Yeah, right there, in my ass!"

Jane Adams' eyes almost popped off her face. I could see the thoughts whirling through her head.

"Is it? Could it? No, not possible," she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

But the next interlude from the basement made it clear there was something raunchy happening.

"Hit it hard brother," growled a voice. "Hit it, oh yeah, just like that, unnnnf."

And I realized the strategy. Bryan and Blake were engaging in some hot  twincest to lure the enemy to the door and unspring the trap.

And it was working. Jane Adams, all of seventy years old, got up  unsteadily, her face a mask of unabated lust, her withered form animated  with a tense energy.

"My years are limited," she warbled as she teetered towards the  basement. "I've got to see those two gods having sex in my house," she  practically panted.

Limping towards the door, she reached out with an arthritic hand, a green laser on the knob.

Just then, an old man burst in from another room, his face frantic.

"Jane, don't!" he shrieked, but it was too late. The scanner had  detected her fingerprint and the lock popped open with an audible click.  The elderly man threw himself against the entryway but Bryan and Blake  moved too fast. The door burst open and my two alpha males came rushing  in, their nude forms muscled, hard and still erect from the fucking.

"Get away from her," roared Bryan as he dragged me to safety.

"You two are disgusting," snarled Blake as he threw a punch at the elderly man.

There was a ruckus and more screaming, but Jane and John Adams were  subdued in thirty seconds flat, Blake's massive form looming over them.  He had them trussed up and laid them out like hogs on the floor of their  own living room, although Jane Adams' eyes still flickered hungrily  over his naked form.

"You were fucking your brother," she panted, her eyes eating up the sight of his erect cock.

"Shut up," Blake hissed. "You're a drug dealer, who's going to believe you?" he snarled.

"Jane," cried her husband. "Why are you focusing on that now? Where's Valerie? Call the Gordons."

But Blake and Bryan were having none of that. After depositing me safely  in an armchair, Bryan ran back into the basement, coming out fully  dressed with a blonde in his arms. She was in bad shape, crumpled in  pain, her hair matted and greasy. I also didn't miss the track marks on  her arms and legs, the red streaks painful jags of lightning.

"Look what you've done to this girl," hissed Bryan. "You motherfuckers, treating her like an animal," he cursed.

"She's a junkie!" squealed Jane. "She brought it on herself!"

"Addiction is a disease," growled Bryan, "She needs empathy and rehabilitation, not incarceration in your homemade prison."

"Her parents didn't care," protested John Adams from the floor. "They  gave her to us, otherwise Valerie would jeopardize our business."

I gasped involuntarily, peering closely at the girl in Bryan's arms.  Holy shit, it was Valerie Gordon, Chrissy's older sister. Hadn't she  been at the pool party just last semester? I shook my head, furiously  trying to remember. Why hadn't Chrissy said something if her sister was  missing? This was making no sense.