Chapter 11

Julie was given the task of taking Jim's food to him and feeding him. The meat and potatoes were cut on the plate before she was allowed to take it from the kitchen, and then Pete went in and sat across the room from them while she fed Jim. She felt heartsick at the humiliation Jim must be going through, having to be fed by his wife while someone sat and watched the process. She tried to hold her robe closed at first, but it was no use. She couldn't hold the plate and feed the food to Jim and stay covered, too. He looked at her, and his eyes seemed dead. He made no protest against being fed, but he didn't seem to enjoy the meal, either. He just sat and ate what was given to him. From time to time Julie would hold the cup of coffee to his lips, and he would sip from it.

Through all this, Pete sat staring at them, cleaning his nails with a steak knife he had taken from the kitchen. He had taken to carrying the knife in addition to the rifle. Max had switched the rifle to him in return for the shotgun. When the plate was empty, he got up and walked forward.

"You can leave the plate here for now," he said. "Get it later." He bent down and examined Jim's bonds, grunted with satisfaction. "You and I are going into the bedroom for a little while right now. It's fun-and-games time."

Julie glanced involuntarily at Jim. His eyes were dead. They gave her the creeps. She had never seen eyes quite like them before, and she thought that the absence of any emotion at all was more frightening than it would have been if Jim had been looking at Pete with flashing rage. She thought that it was good that Jim was tied now, because if he could get loose he would probably kill Pete. Pete would kill him with the rifle, but she had a feeling that Jim would reach Pete and kill him before dying. And she didn't want Pete dead at the price of her husband's life, she told herself. That was too high a tariff to pay for one dead hoodlum.

"Yes, sir," she said, looking away from Jim. She got up, hugging the robe about her demurely. Max had let the girls put on robes again, because he said it was boring looking at naked women after a while.

When they were in the bedroom she turned toward Pete, ready for his hands, steeling herself against the repellent touch. What she got was a complete surprise.

He hit her in the belly with his fist. It was a harder blow than she had ever felt. She hadn't known that pain could come so suddenly and so strongly. Julie doubled over her hands, and stepped back. Pete tossed the rifle to the small bed and grabbed Julie by the hair. He pulled her upright and punched her in the face. He didn't hit her as hard this time, probably because he didn't want to damage her face. Still, it was painful. Julie let out a little yelp and tried to pull away. She lifted her hands to cover her face from any subsequent blows, vaguely conscious that the robe had fallen open. She didn't care, at the moment.

Pete let go of her hair and grabbed her hands in his. He pulled them down. "Now, now," he said. "If you cover your face up, how do you expect me to hit it? That's cheating." He let go of one of the hands and, before Julie could raise it again, he hit her, a slap this time. It stung badly.

"Please!" she cried, the words tumbling out in a garbled almost incoherent fashion. "Please, Pete, what have I done?"

"You little bitch! You're mine. Max traded you to me for your little sister. She's his. You don't go to bed with nobody but me, you understand?" He slapped her again, then hit her in the belly with his fist once more. Julie doubled over again, and he let her drop to the floor. She choked back the vomit that rose in her throat. All she could think of was that she hoped he wouldn't hit her again. Then she looked up from the corner of her eye, afraid to let him see her looking, and noticed the bulge at the front of his pants. He was excited! This kind of thing made him horny. She wondered how much more of it he'd go in for before he worked himself up enough to rape her.

He grabbed her hair again and pulled her up. Julie came to her knees, her robe hanging open, and grasped his legs, partly for support and partly to keep him from hitting her again. She could feel his hands on her shoulders, trying to pry her away from his legs. She clung to him, crying against the front of his legs, "No, please, I'm sorry, Pete, please, no more. I'm sorry!" Pete rammed his fist against the side of her head so hard it dazed her for a moment. And it knocked her a little away from him. When her clinging arms brought her forward again, she felt the bulge of his pants against her face, and it gave her an idea.