Chapter 2

Bart Masters had been driving since dawn and he was tired. The long trip from Atlanta had seemed to go on forever, and the constant fretting and complaining of the two men he traveled with had done nothing to soothe his jangling nerves or calm the throbbing ache at the base of his skull.

There had been no question, of course, about staying in Atlanta any longer. The heat had simply become too intense on all sides, and there was nothing the three men could do except get the hell out while the getting was good. To remain there would have been worse than foolish. It would have been lethal.

They had known from the beginning that they were bucking hard odds when they joined up with Benny Mosconi as freelance guns. Mosconi was going up against the Andreotti family in an effort to topple "Spooks" Andreotti, the regional kingpin of organized crime, and he needed all the young guns he could gather to even the odds out even slightly. The risks had been high, sure, but the pay was reasonably good and they literally had the world to win. They had signed on with Mosconi.

Ten weeks of bloody gang warfare in and around Atlanta had done much to take the edge off their little adventure, and with the passage of time it became increasingly obvious that they were not about to win anything from Andreotti except a six-foot hole in the ground. Mosconi had fielded thirty-five men against the vastly superior enemy forces, and by this time last week, only eleven of those gunmen were still alive. From there it was downhill all the way, with no street corner or alley in all of Atlanta a safe haven for Mosconi and his dwindling band of urban guerrillas.

Masters and his two companions had actually been with Mosconi when the end came. Christ, he was standing right there beside the very car they were driving now when the lead started flying, turning him into an unrecognizable pulp before he hit the ground. Two of the car's windows had been all shot to hell before they could screech away from the curb, and there were some suspicious brown stains across the rear seat which vividly told of Benny Mosconi's violent passing.

And yeah, Atlanta was too hot to handle, for sure. A hundred guns were hunting them on the streets, and by now the cops would be in on the search as well. Flight was inevitable, and the direction didn't seem to matter a hell of a lot, so long as they picked up speed and covered ground in a hurry.

Masters had picked the country road totally at random, tired of Jed Wilson's snoring in the back seat and sick to death of Tom Watson's repeated asking about when they could stop for coffee. The little back road, not even paved, had seemed ideal for their purposes, and Masters had driven past several rambling rural homes before choosing one to stop at, again making the selection at random.

He stood now on the porch of the house he had selected, sweating in his expensive suit and cursing softly at the heat, wondering whether he should repeat his knock or try to jimmy what looked like a genuine antique lock on the front door. Jed Wilson stood beside him, rocking slowly back and forth on the balls of his feet, whistling tunelessly to himself. Tom Watson sat behind the wheel of the car, with the engine running quietly and a sawed- off shotgun hidden in his lap. Just in case.

Masters had decided to try knocking once more, and was raising his fist when he heard the faint sound of approaching footsteps from inside the house. After another moment's hesitation, the front door swung slowly open, and he found himself facing a beautiful young girl.

Masters let his eyes rove appreciatively over the girl's cherubic face and ripe young woman's body. She wore simple clothing, possibly hand-me-downs, but her breasts and hips swelled amply against the garments, and the man could feel his pulse quickening at the mere nearness of her. He idly wondered how old she was, then shrugged it off, deciding that if things went well he would have plenty of time to find out first hand.

"What do you want?"

The girl's question was blunt and to the point. It reminded Masters that he had been staring at the girl for almost half a minute without saying anything. He cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed, and not wishing to give a bad impression before he had a chance to completely judge the situation they were facing.

"Uh, my friends and I have been driving all day," he began lamely, warming to the lies as he continued. "I think we must have taken a wrong turn, or something. We seem to be lost, and we're just about out of gas. I wondered if you might have some we could use? We'd be glad to pay you for it."

The girl's face was without expression as she shook her head in a casual negative. "We don't have any gas," she said simply.

Master's mind raced ahead, anticipating the setback. "Well, uh, maybe your father could tell us where to find some, okay? We really need that gas right now."

Again she shook her head, putting auburn waves of hair in shimmering motion about an angelic face. "I'm all alone here with my sister," she answered unwisely. "But I know there's nobody selling gas within ten miles of here anyhow."

Masters relaxed visibly as he learned that the girl and her unseen sister were alone within the old house. It was a perfect setup, if only they could get inside without serious trouble at the outset. He cast a sidelong glance toward Wilson beside him, motioning with one hand behind his back at the same time, signaling Watson to shut off the engine of their car.

"Listen," Masters said after a long moment, putting on his best smile for the occasion, "We were supposed to be meeting somebody in Savannah about now, and I can see we're not going to make it on time. Would you let me just use your telephone for a minute, to change the appointment? I'll pay all the charges, of course."

The girl thought it over briefly, casting her eyes from one man to the other there on the porch. At last she nodded simply, stepping backward and flipping up the loose latch on the screen door as she did so, motioning for Masters and Wilson to come inside. Masters nodded his thanks, gracing her with another of his charming smiles. As he passed through the doorway, he heard the driver's door of the car close tightly out in the driveway. Watson was joining them in the house.

"The telephone's right over here," the girl said, leading them across a dingy living room toward a smaller kitchen, pointing toward what looked like an antique wall phone to the right of the open kitchen doorway. Masters ignored the phone, intent at the moment on watching the way the girl's tight young ass-cheeks swayed and moved inside the confining fabric of her short, tight skirt.

The screen door slammed noisily and Masters flicked a glance back over his shoulder, confirming that both Wilson and Watson were now inside the house as well. He relaxed further, knowing that the biggest hurdle had been successfully negotiated.

"We won't be needing the phone after all," he said, some of the phony charm dropping from his tone. "And neither will you."

The girl turned back to face him directly the curious, questioning expression on her pretty child's face changing to one of surprise, then horror, as she realized vaguely what was happening. Tom Watson had withdrawn the stubby shotgun from inside his billowing jacket and was holding it casually now in one hand, the twin deadly muzzles pointing somewhere between the girl and the ramshackle stairway which led to the second floor of the old house. He was smiling vaguely.

"Wha... wha... what do you want here?" the girl asked, her voice breaking with fright as she spoke.

"A little shelter and rest," Watson told her, cocking one eyebrow and smiling suggestively at her. "Some comfort and loving care. That's all."

He snickered lowly as the girl began to tremble, glancing fearfully from one of the men to the next, biting gently at her full lower lip to stifle a sob.

Penny Tucker listened to the soft murmur of voices drifting up the stairs as she slipped into fresh clothing. She had hurried upstairs to her bedroom while Melanie moved to answer the knock at the door, and now, as she finished dressing, she made ready to descend the stairs again and see who it was who came calling at that unusual hour of the afternoon.

Penny left her bedroom and moved quietly down the corridor toward the head of the stairs once again, ears cocked and straining to pick out as much as possible of the discussion being conducted below. She moved cautiously, almost on tiptoe, until she caught herself at it and felt foolish for trying to sneak up on visitors in her own home. She shook herself out of the strange mood and walked briskly to the stairs, starting down them at a confident, even pace.

She was halfway down the staircase when she saw the three men and the squat, ugly shotgun leveled at her stomach. She froze there, halfway between floors, frightened eyes darting back and forth from her trembling younger sister to the trio of men who had carried out the armed invasion of their home with such cunning and stealth.

"Come on down here, little lady," one of the men said softly, his voice demanding, authoritative despite the almost jocular tone he employed.

Penny found the speaker with her eyes, noting that it was not the chubby shotgunner, but rather the lean man who stood nearest to Melanie, beside the kitchen doorway.

Penny began to slowly descend the rest of the staircase, finding her courage and her voice long enough to voice the questions which were uppermost on her troubled mind at the moment.

"Who are you? What do you want here?" she asked, fighting to prevent her voice from cracking with tension and fright.

The lean man spoke again, acting as the apparent leader of the little band as he took it upon himself to answer for them all.

"Like I was just telling the little girl here," he began, jerking one thumb in Melanie's general direction, "we need your hospitality for awhile. We need to rest up temporarily, and we can't afford to be disturbed, if you get the drift."

Penny nodded slowly, reaching the bottom of the narrow stairs. She thought she understood their problem, all right. These men were wanted by the law, beyond a doubt, and probably not from around there if she was any judge of clothing and deportment. They were city men, and they reeked of trouble. She and Melanie could do no better than to play along with their wishes, within reason, and hope that they would soon decide it was safe to be on their way once more.

Penny was startled out of her private thoughts by the lean man's voice, and her eyes snapped toward him. She was relieved to find that he had not addressed himself to her, but to the third member of the group, ordering him to take their car and drive it around behind the house, out of sight from the access road in front.

"Now, little lady," the stranger continued, "the first thing we're going to want is some food. The little girl here can take care of that, and Tom here will keep her company." His nod indicated the shotgunner as he continued speaking. "In the meantime, I want you to show me around the house, just to make sure we've got no surprises in store for us."

Penny nodded dumbly, unable to think of any verbal response. She watched as Melanie filed off into the kitchen, casting one last worried glance over her shoulder as the man called Tom followed behind her. The lean man was approaching Penny at the same time, gesturing toward the staircase she had just descended. As he swept his arm wide through the air, Penny was startled to notice the butt of a pistol protruding from his belt beneath the jacket he wore.

Penny turned and began to climb the stairs once again. The man was close behind her, and she could almost imagine that she could feel his eyes following her, lingering over the ripe curve of her tight-clad buttocks like a physical caress. Without turning to face him she could tell that he was literally undressing her with his eyes, and she suddenly felt naked and ashamed there before him.

They reached the top landing of the stairs, and Penny half- turned toward the man, gesturing along the short upstairs corridor. "These are bedrooms," she said simply, explaining. "And there's a bathroom down at the end of the hall on the right."

"I'll need to take a look," the man said, smiling thinly as she shot him another curious glance. "Just to be on the safe side," he explained after a long, uncomfortable moment.

"Okay," Penny said, nodding obediently, leading him off along the hallway to look at the farthest rooms first. She cast a quick glance behind her as he followed, noting that he kept one hand slightly raised, always within easy reach of the revolver he wore in his belt.

"That's the bathroom," she said simply, pointing to a door which stood half-open on their immediate right. The lean man edged forward, pushing the door completely open with the toe of one foot, waiting a long moment before he ducked his head inside the bathroom to peer around.

"Okay," he said, sounding relieved and satisfied. "Next."

Penny sighed expressively, shrugging with resignation as she moved to obey the command. She noticed the discomforting way in which his eyes fastened upon her large breasts, watching intently as they moved beneath her blouse with the motion of her shrug. She suddenly felt cold, as a little chill of grim premonition raced the length of her spine.

She opened a second door, motioning for him to look inside as she did so. "This is... was... my mother's room," she said.

"Where is she now?" he asked, suspicion heavy in his voice.

"She died," Penny said simply, refusing to bare the details of her private grief to this invading stranger.

"Okay," the man said dispassionately, galling her with his coldness. He was already moving down the hallway, waiting for her to open and explain the next door in line.

"My sister's room," Penny said by way of explanation, again watching and waiting for the satisfied little nod before proceeding down the corridor beside the lean man.

They briefly examined a half-empty linen closet, and then they were standing before the last door in line, almost back to their starting point at the head of the stairs. It was the door to Penny's own room, and she told him so, turning the knob easily and pushing the door inward to reveal the empty interior of the chamber beyond.

The man moved-forward, impulsively and unexpectedly, brushing against Penny and forcing her as if by accident into the silence of the bedroom. She stood apart from him, silent and afraid, as she watched him taking the room apart with his eyes, examining every detail. She felt soiled somehow, as if the cruel stranger had been looking inside her very soul instead of merely examining the rather shabby contents of the room she had occupied alone since adolescence.

"So this is it, eh?" he asked, some new and undecipherable tone in his voice, almost taunting her. "This is where you do your thing, eh, baby?"

"I sleep here," she said blandly, initially uncertain of where his line of talk was leading them.

The man chuckled dryly, evilly. "Yeah, sleep. And what else, huh? Do you dream here too, baby?"

"I don't understand you," she said, meaning it.

The man seemed not to have heard her.

"Yeah, I'll bet you dream, all right," the man said, almost to himself, chuckling deeply again. "I'll bet you have some dreams here, for sure."

Penny said nothing, remaining still. She noted with some considerable discomfort that she had begun to tremble again.

"What kind of dreams do you have up here at night, all alone? Eh, baby?"

The man did not wait for an answer, but continued speaking, moving closer to her all the while until he was standing right beside her in the room.

"You ever have some of them real hot dreams, baby? Some of those dreams that get you all juiced up and squirming in the night? Wet dreams? Huh, lady?"

Penny felt a single tear blossom at the corner of one eye and trace a glistening path down her cheek. The man was touching her now, lightly, slipping one muscular arm about her shoulders and drawing her tightly against him as he continued the taunting, inciteful line of rhetorical questioning.

"I'll bet you must have every stud in the county sniffing around after you, looking as good as you do," he said, his voice heavy with lust now. "I'll just bet every cock in miles is up and twitchin' every time you pass by."

Penny remained grimly silent, choking back the sob which rose unbidden in her throat.

"You dream about those big, hot cocks, don't you baby? I'll just bet you do. You dream about 'em until that tight little box of yours is all wet and ready for action. I can almost see it now. I can almost smell all that sweet love honey from here."

Penny Tucker was trembling violently, deathly afraid of what this evil, lecherous man had in store for her. And yet, at the same time, she was even more alarmed to note the beginning of another, contradictory, frightening change within her body. Not all of the shivering sensations which racked her young frame were entirely unpleasant, and some of the tingling feelings might even be described as pleasant, under different circumstances of course.

Awed and ashamed, Penny felt the cherry little nipples of her breasts begin to stiffen involuntarily, of their own accord, chafing against the flimsy restraining material of her tight bra. At the same time, the old familiar watery sensation had begun anew between her legs, complete with the wavering little tendrils of budding passion fanning upward from her tremulous little cunt, racing to ignite the flames of passion throughout her torso.

Oh, God, she cried inwardly, I simply can't let my body betray me this way! It's... SINFUL!!...

Penny at once recognized the contribution of her mother to that little warning voice, and the knowledge, somehow, served in fact to blunt and deflect the thrust of the warning. She knew that it was wrong, unnatural for her to respond to the filthy words of this man who had come as an armed intruder into her home, but at the same time, she found herself rebelling instinctively against the idea that her body's natural reactions were in any way sinful or unnatural.

Penny Tucker was shocked out of her mental dialogue and debate by the sudden touch of a man's hand upon the soft, pliant curve of her left breast. She jerked back instinctively, seeking escape, but the hard circle of the stranger's arm held her fast as his free hand began its taunting rotary massage of her captive mammary flesh. Penny could not control her sobbing now, and she squirmed ineffectually in his tight grasp, weeping and twisting in a vain effort to free herself.

The man noted the erect and excited condition of her nipple as it spiked outward through her clothing, prodding against the palm of his slowly rotating hand. He laughed softly, deep in his throat, as he stepped up the pace and strength of his milking, massaging caresses. He was clearly enjoying her discomfiture, savoring the storm of contradictory, conflicting emotions which were even at that moment raging inside the young woman's tender captive body.

The man changed his tactics, releasing her breast from his rotating palm, and captured the stiffened bud of her little nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He slowly rubbed the taut little stem of erectile flesh in his grasp, noting and appreciating the reactions of his sexy young captive as she sobbed aloud, twisting vainly in a hopeless effort to escape from the strong circle of his arms.

Penny Tucker was quickly becoming lost in a raging sea of mixed sensual emotions, almost totally at the mercy of her increasingly traitorous young body. Her aching breasts and trembling little cunt were crying out for her to surrender, to participate wantonly and willingly in whatever this cruel man might wish to do with her, but at the same time, other portions of her heart and mind cried out to her that she must fight, rebel and resist his lecherous advances. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gradually felt herself losing that all-important internal battle for self-control.

The man's demanding hand momentarily left her straining breast flesh, fingers slipping upward to attack the little buttons that held her blouse closed in front. She gasped and trembled furiously in his grasp as he began slowly, tauntingly undressing her, unbuttoning one button at a time to slowly reveal the milky swell of her cleavage.