Obsession: Girl Abducted

Before she could find her phone, he reached a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out the gun he’d purchased just for her. Aiming it back toward her in a much-practiced gesture, he said, “Put your bag and jacket in the front seat. Don’t try anything stupid.”

“Oh, my god,” she whispered, her eyes glued to the gun.

“Do as you’re told,” Mark said, his voice firm. “I’m not stealing your things, don’t worry. I’ll keep them safe for you. Hand them over and I’ll explain everything.” He waved his gun for emphasis, his eyes flickering between the road and the mirror.

“Who are you?” Alana asked, still whispering, but she handed her Louis Vuitton bag and leather jacket over the seat.

He reached into her bag and rummaged until his fingers closed over her cell phone. Pulling it free, he opened his window and dropped it onto the road, noting with satisfaction in the rearview mirror that it was immediately run over by the car behind him.

“Hey!” Alana cried. “What the hell? That was my phone!”

“Relax. You won’t be needing it anymore. I am your savior, Alana. I’m taking you away from the strife and chaos of your life. We’re going to a safe haven where we can get to know each other, without all those agents, producers, directors and paparazzi harassing you every hour of the day and night. I am setting you free, my love.”

He looked triumphantly in the mirror as he waited for her response. Naturally, she wouldn’t understand yet, but in time, she would appreciate what he’d done for her—for them. At the moment, however, she looked horrified—there was no other word for it.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he soothed. Oh, it felt delicious to say that! “I won’t use this”—again he pointed the gun again at her—“unless, of course, you make me.”

She made a small whimpering sound that went directly to his cock.

Glancing from the road to her face in the mirror, he continued, “I’m Mark, as I told you earlier. You don’t know me, but I know you. I’m your biggest fan.”

I really am her biggest fan. Not like that asshole Rutherford who just wants to get into her pants.

“I’ve seen all your work,” he went on, smiling. “Even that dreadful shampoo commercial you did back in the early days of your career. I know where you live. I know your daily schedule. I know where you eat. I know who your friends are. I know who your family is and where they live and what they all do for a living.”

As Mark spoke, Alana looked more and more frightened. This irritated him. She ought to be flattered to know he was so interested in her and her life.

“A stalker!” she blurted. “You’re a stalker, oh my god, oh my god.” Her normally husky voice rose, ending on a squeak.

“No name calling, little girl,” he replied, stung by the unfair term. They were over the bridge now, heading northwest. “Just pretend you’re Catherine in The China Hunt. I’ll be Garth Blackstone.” It hadn’t been one of her more famous films, but Mark loved it. It was romantic, but more importantly, she got kidnapped and tied to a chair. There was an implied whipping, though the audience didn’t get to see it. Her screams in the film had been heart-wrenchingly real. He had watched that scene so many times there wasn’t a detail that escaped him.

He glanced back at Alana, amused by her look of confused fear as she took in what he’d just said. After all, Garth Blackstone hadn’t been the “good guy.” He was the abductor who had plans to murder Catherine if his demands weren’t met.

Alana began to cry quietly, large tears welling and spilling over. “Please, don’t hurt me,” she begged sweetly. “Please, take me back home. Please.”

Again his cock fought with him, straining against the fabric of his polyester uniform. He loved the terror in her eyes and the way her voice cracked with fear and pleading. But he also loved Alana, and didn’t want her to suffer too much. At least not like this. Not yet.

“I am taking you home, darling. To our home. I’ve been working and saving for two years for this. I have it all arranged so I can work from home. I’ll never leave you alone again, my beloved. No more lonely nights for you. No more endless work schedules with all those vultures profiting off your talents.”

Alana continued to cry, her head now hidden in her hands. Mark was annoyed. Wasn’t she listening to him? “Stop it at once. I don’t like that crying. I just gave you wonderful news.”

Twisting back for a second, he touched the top of her bowed head with the hard metal of the gun.

Alana jumped and jerked her head back with a cry.

Again facing forward, Mark glanced angrily into the rearview mirror. “Your face is a mess. I told you to stop that damn crying.” She was ruining her pretty face with the mascara-streaked tears and the ugly expression. He’d have to focus on something else. A brilliant idea popped into his head. After all, the windows were tinted—no one could see in. “Take off that sweater,” he commanded. “And your bra too.”