caught

Jill felt a dull throb in her wrists, her shoulders aching from being **** into an unnatural position.

Then light.

The top of the box cracked open with a mechanical screech, and brilliant white light spilled in, stabbing into her eyes like needles. She winced, shutting them tight. Even through her eyelids, it was overwhelming.

Rough hands gripped her by the arms. Big hands. Calloused. They didn’t hesitate they yanked her out like cargo, and she tumbled out of the box, bare skin meeting cold concrete.

The air outside hit her like a slap. It was cool, dry, and sterile, a far cry from the sweaty darkness inside the box. Her body shivered violently. She curled instinctively, she instinctively tried to cover her chest but the handcuffs stopped her.

Her skin tingled under the sudden exposure. She was completely naked no uniform, not even her boots. Every inch of her felt ****. Humiliated.

Focus, Jill. Breathe.

Her training told her to assess. Observe. Analyse.

But nothing in her basic with the Met no hostage scenario, no self-defence drill had prepared her for this.

She blinked furiously, forcing her eyes open. The light softened, her vision stabilizing. She felt the handcuffs being taken off and her arms held in place by strong hands.

Seven men.

One stood directly in front of her—white, mid-forties, greasy ponytail, silver rings on every finger. Two flanked her hold her in place a massive, bald black man with arms like tree trunks and a wiry, nervous-looking guy who looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Behind them, four others loitered near the building's exits, clearly on guard.

Jill's mind raced. Warehouse. Concrete floor. High ceilings. Fluorescent lights. Industrial shelving. Possibly a dockyard. She noted a faint smell of salt water.

Silver Rings stepped closer. He didn't ask questions. Didn't speak. His hands moved straight to her chest.

He cupped her breasts like he owned them, thumbs grazing her nipples.

Jill flinched and tried to jerk away. He didn’t let go.

“Mmm,” he murmured. “Full. Firm. Yeah... she’ll fetch a good price.”

Her cheeks burned not from modesty, but rage. The nerve. The absolute nerve, but something else between her legs wanted more.

Then his fingers pinched. Hard.

The spark of unwanted pleasure that pulsed through her made her knees buckle. Her mind screamed no, but her body responded anyway an involuntary flicker of heat low in her belly.

She hated it.

She swallowed the bile in her throat and **** her voice out, cracked but laced with venom.

“You have no idea who you're fucking with,” she hissed. “I'm a police officer. When they realise I’m missing, you'll be fucked"

The men burst into laughter, all except the jittery one. He looked away, uncomfortable.

Silver Rings leaned in, lips close to her ear. “oh, no one is looking for you, sweetheart.”

Then he straightened and barked orders.

“You four front and back doors. No one in, no one out.”

The guards moved immediately. That told Jill what she needed to know: he was the boss.

He turned to the others. “Let’s get her secured. Over there.”

Jill followed his gesture. A table. Metal. Padded, but stained. Chains hung from each corner. Leather restraints. Nearby, a set of manacles hung from the wall beside what looked like a stable post.

Her stomach dropped. Her breath caught.

“Get her on the table. Terry, Trevor help me.”

The black man stepped forward. “Yeah, boss.”

Jill lifted her chin. “Terry?” she said, eyes narrowing. “That’s your name? Sorry, mate. That’s not exactly gangster as fuck.”

Terry paused. “What the hell did you say?”

She smirked. “Could be worse. Trevor?”

The smaller guy groaned. “Goddamn it, Jackie! You said you’d stop calling me that.”

Jill laughed, despite herself. “Jackie?” Her voice dripped with mock delight. “Are you guys in a boy band or a **** ring?”

She didn't see the slap, but she felt it. Her head whipped sideways, hair flying. The sting bloomed across her cheek, but it was worth it.

Jackie leaned in, voice like gravel. “You’re going to regret that, bitch. When we’re done, there’s a buyer lined up. Wants a big-titted English cop with attitude.”

Jill stared him down. “So… what’s the line up? You? Then Terry? Then Trevor? That’s your big scary gang bang plan?”

Terry chirped. “Why do I have to go last?”

Jill scoffed. “You okay with Jackie’s spunk still warm inside me when it's your turn? Sounds kinda gay.”

Terry’s face twisted in disgust. “Hell no.”

Jackie snapped. “Fine. She’ll suck me off while Terry fucks her.”

Jill raised an eyebrow. “Still sounds gay. You two gonna make eye contact while you fuck me, blow kisses to each other, sound more gay, and what's Trevor going to do Jerk off and wait to see who comes first so he can have a go, no that's super gay?”

Trevor stepped back letting go of Jill. “Okay, I’m out. I’m not doing this again, I've still got an itch.”

Jackie’s head whipped toward him. “You little shit”

But it was too late.

Jill moved fast.

She brought her knee up hard into Jackie’s groin. He folded instantly, groaning. She twisted, dragging her nails down Terry’s face ripping into flesh. He screamed, hands flying to his eyes.

Trevor tried to grab her arm, but she slammed her forehead into his face. Crunch. Blood sprayed. He dropped.

She didn’t wait.

Jill sprinted for the door.

The guards were still reacting to the noise when she crashed through the glass-panelled door, sending both sprawling. She kept running, adrenaline surging, the cool concrete burning her bare feet as she moved.

The corridor opened onto a dockyard. Shipping containers. Cranes in the distance. Water.

She scanned. Options. Escape.

Then she saw it.

A dinghy. Small. Outboard motor. Tied loosely to a piling.

She didn’t hesitate.

Jill leapt aboard, grabbed the pull cord, and yanked. The engine sputtered… then caught.

“Come on, come on…”

She untied the rope, kicked away from the pier, and gunned the throttle. The engine whined, then steadied.

The shouts behind her faded with every foot she gained. She looked over her shoulder once just once and saw chaos. Jackie limping, the guards fumbling.

Then the wind hit her face, and salt spray stung her cheeks.

She was moving. She was free.

But it wasn’t over.

Not yet.