Kidnapped By Johnnie and Jake

The Devil's Tango

Jake was driving, Kaycee was in the front passenger seat, and Johnnie and I were in the back. We were speeding in the darkness of night down some long, deserted, country road, surrounded by dry mud, dead trees, and tumbleweed, which spanned as far as we could see.

"Fuck. I didn't shoot her," said Johnnie.

"She said someone else is leading behind the gang, anyway. Even if you would've shot her, it probably wouldn't have made much difference," I said. And then I noticed his stomach. It was bleeding so much that his entire shirt was soaked. "Oh, my God, he's bleeding out!" I yelled, lifting his shirt to see the damage. I couldn't even see the bullet wound because of all the blood.

"I'll be okay. I don't think the bullet hit anything important," said Johnnie.

"How do you know that?! Jake, you need to get him to a hospital."

"Hell, no," said Johnnie.

"We can't take him to a hospital, Brooke," said Jake. "Afterwards, they'd arrest him instead of discharging him."

"That's why you guys shouldn't do this. You should be more careful. Is it really worth it if your lives, and everything you've gained from this gang, are at risk of being lost every day?!" I complained.

"We were helping you worthless bitches," Jake snapped.

"Because of what you got us into," I countered.

"Enough," Johnnie moaned, grasping at his wound.

I looked at him; his pale, structured face was pulling an expression of pain and agony. And that expression was beautiful. In that moment, to me, pain felt like the strongest emotion, and it was fuelling me; I wanted to be consumed by it.

I was consumed by it. I watched the muscles in his body tense up as they tried to deal with it. I wanted him to inflict the pain he was feeling onto me.

I pressed my hands onto his wound to minimise the bleeding, and he winced.

Even though he didn't deserve my compassion, I had an overwhelming urge to care for him. Perhaps it was because he'd just risked his life to save me, and, as a person, I just couldn't be ungrateful for it. Or...maybe he was just beautiful.

I was a woman, but every inch of every cell that completed him were those of a man's. The muscles in his body were stronger than mine, every bone in his face more powerful. I admired each part: his pale, effortlessly bony jaw, his sharp lips embellished with a silver ring, and his black hair which fell into his eyes.

I guess he saw me zoning out, because when I looked back at his eyes, he was staring at me intensely. He pushed me onto my back and climbed on top of me, struggling through the pain. His lips met mine harshly.

The warmth of his body encompassed me as we made out. He smelled dark, like amber perfume, tobacco, and a little alcohol in his breath.

But, soon, Jake stopped the car and switched the engine off. Johnnie lifted himself up from me by putting his hand on the car windowsill behind me. "Motel," he breathed.

He got up and followed Jake and Kaycee out of the car, walking down the dark path towards the motel building entrance. I followed behind him, my nether region aching with desire.

He quickly paid the gruff man at the front desk for a room, and then walked down a run-down corridor towards it. As soon as I approached him, he unlocked the door and pulled me inside.

Instantly, he began to rip both of our clothes off. He threw me onto the bed and kissed slowly up my thigh, the coldness of his piercing stinging my skin, making me tremble. I breathed softly and held onto his hair, letting him take over my body. He felt my pussy with his tattooed hand, and then my boobs.

"Fuck me," I whispered.

He moved up, so that he was on top of me,  aligned, with his sweaty face inches from mine, and his bloody gunshot wound pouring warmly onto my skin. I wanted to drown myself in his blood.

"Tell me you love me," he murmured.

I said nothing, just looked at his desperate face.

What was I doing?! How had I let my sexual hormones dictate me like that?!

This was my best friend's murderer, the man who had held a knife to my neck, the man who had ruined my life!

Was I that weak? I'd never thought I was so easily seduced. I'd always mocked Kaycee for sleeping with guys so easily, but now I was doing something worse than all of her one-night-stands put together. Sure, she'd had sex with Jake, but Jake hadn't murdered Peppa, and Jake hadn't cut her with a knife.

Johnnie slapped me for the second time since knowing him. "Tell me," he demanded, then holding me down.

In one way, I wanted to watch him suffer. I wanted to watch, with satisfaction, as he got what he deserved—his karma for killing Peppa. I wanted to see him beg for mercy. I wanted him to beg for the love I would never give him.

But, in another way, I wanted to tend to his wounds. I wanted to treat him like he was mine, bow down, plead on my knees before him for him to give his whole heart to me, never to leave me. I needed him. He was my guardian, my protection.

But, in that moment, I made my decision.

"How could I ever love someone like you?" I croaked, still in shock from being slapped.

Johnnie entered me and began thrusting. I moaned, but then stopped myself. I couldn't do this. Morally, it was completely wrong.

"Johnnie," I moaned, but he only thrusted harder, making my whole body move up and down.

I clawed at his bare, tattooed arms, piercing my nails into his skin.

He winced at first but then pulled his arms away in pain.

With his arms off me, I took the opportunity to move out from underneath him, and get off the bed.

"You bitch!" he yelled, standing up, too, but on the other side of the bed.

I needed to get to the door, but he was closest to it. I ran around the bed and tried to get past him, but he grabbed me from behind, his arms circling around my waist and pulling me into him. I kicked, and tried to elbow him, and luckily, I hit his gunshot wound. For a moment, his grip loosened, and I managed to get away. I ran to the door, at first struggling to undo it, but then I opened it and I left the room, darting down the dark hallway.

Over my panicked breaths, I heard Johnnie's footsteps follow, and when I glanced behind my shoulder, I saw that he was holding a knife in his already bloody hand.