You present your case. They have a counter offer.

"She looks like she has something to say," the man who has remained in the background says quietly.

"I bet she does," scarface laughs. "Oh Please don't kill me! I'll do anything!" he says in falsetto mockery. "You're going to do anything bitch. Anything and everything. By the time we're done with you every hole in you will be aching."

"It won't hurt to hear it then, will it? Take the gag out," the other man orders. Scarface shakes his head and obeys, sneering at you.

"Speak your piece bitch. I love to hear frightened cunts beg, so make it good."

You take a breath, willing yourself to be calm, knowing that your life depends on what you say.

"I'm worth more to you alive than dead," you say calmly. "I'm a prosecutor, a deputy district attorney. I can be a source inside the office for you. Let you know what strategies are, what witnesses are important. And you can feed me information that can prosecute your enemies. Secure them jail time, even execution. I'd be your person inside the office. You'd know everything that goes on."

"Shut up," Scarface sneers, reaching forward to put the gag back into place.

"Let her talk," the other man says quietly. "Intriguing idea sweetheart. But what about our little problem here?" He taps the documents in his hand meaningfully.

"I'll give you all the sources. Every one of them. They're no good to me now. I could be really useful to you. You must see that." You try not to plead and beg, sensing that it would weaken your case, but you're willing him to agree. Anything that would buy you time and get you out of here.

"It has possibilities," the man says, stepping away from you and pulling out a cell phone. He turns his back and makes a call, his voice too quiet to hear.

"You're a persuasive bitch, I'll say that for you," Scarface says, eyeing your lush body with cruel eyes. He reaches out and squeezes one ripe tit, making you groan deeply, your belly fluttering with forbidden need.

"Your husband wasn't kidding," the gangster laughs, landing a smack across your ass and making you whimper and writhe.

"I love it," you moan. "Spanking makes me crazy. Oh God Yes!" you add with a squeal as he smacks you again.

"Alright, that's enough for now," the older man says sharply as he puts away his phone. "I want her coherent, not panting for cock. Not yet anyway. I talked to my people and they like the idea, but they have a few, what do say, concerns. First, we gotta have all the names and contacts. Second, what's to stop you breaking the deal once you're back out on the street? Why wouldn't you just tell what happened? Then we got all kinds of problems we don't need."

"I wouldn't! I made a promise! I wouldn't betray a promise!"

"Sure, sure, a promise. But you know, my people would feel a whole lot better about this if they had some kinda hold on you....Oh hey there Mr. Saunders, thanks for coming back."

"You said it was important," you husband replies, looking puzzled.

"Yeah, see your wife here, she's trying to make a deal to save her ass, saying she'd be our source in the District Attorney's office, feeding us information and stuff like that."

"You can't trust that sow," you husband says with scorn as he looks at you. "She'd rat you out the minute she got out of here. Just stick to the plan and everything will be cool."

"Yeah, that's what we were thinking. That she'd rat us out. Unless we had some kind of hold on her. Something she couldn't get out of."

"Nothing would be certain," your husband says. "Trust me, I know. Just **** her and **** her or whatever until you get what you want, then kill her."

"It would be certain if it was big enough," the gangster says, stepping to your side and putting a gun in your hand before gesturing to your husband. "There you go sweetheart. Kill him. Kill him and we got a deal. Get yourself a 9mm divorce and let's be partners."