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DESCRIPTIONThe movie starlet, the pop singer, the tennis pro...rich, powerful, and spoiled. Their privilege means nothing when they are kidnapped and taken to a remote island. There they are trained by vicious captors to be pony girl sluts, every aspect of their lives under strict control. Fitted with remote controlled choke collars, miles from civilization, will anyone ever come to their rescue? Or are they fated to live out their lives as pain sluts?EXCERPT“Don't try nothing stupid, bird,” he said, grabbing her other arm. Tami only shivered and sweat, trying not to cry as he bound her wrists together, palms facing each other. She couldn't see what he used to render her helpless, but it was painful and had no give whatsoever.“You're hurting me!” she cried as he pulled her arms up behind her shoulder blades. She hissed as he bound her wrists to her neck, leaving no slack. Tami had to maintain that painful position or choke herself.“I know,” Percy said, brushing a hand through her hair. “I know, pet. I'm going to hurt you a lot more. A lot more.”Percy's hand ran up her thigh, tearing her skirt away from her stocking clad leg. Roughly, cutting her with the fabric pulled thin, he tore her pantyhose and then her panties, wadding them into a ball.Tami sobbed, pleaded as he shoved the mass of her ripped underwear into her mouth. Now she did see what he used to bind her wrists. It was a thin metal wire, much like one would find in a piano. He used the spool to wrap her face, not caring that it was horribly painful. Tami couldn't close her mouth, and it hurt to even try to speak.Percy used his knife to cut away Tami's red sweater. He hooked a finger on her bra, between her heavy breasts, and tore it away as well. Her fat tits bounced as they were freed of their prison.“Aww, what a great set we have here, hey?” he said, grabbing her breasts in his iron paws. He pulled her in close, biting on her nipples as his hands deformed her tits into purpled distorted shapes. Percy raked his pierced tongue across her most sensitive flesh, and all she could do was whimper into her gag. Even struggling a little against her bonds cut her skin and choked off her air.Percy reached down between her legs and grabbed her pussy, stretching it apart and pulling the lips to their breaking point. Tami screamed, eyes gone wide, as he attached a heavy clover clamp to her outer labia. Hell. This was hell. Maybe she could leap out the window and kill herself. It would be better than this…Once he was done attaching a clamp to the other side of her pussy, he squeezed her clitoral hood between thumb and forefinger. Tami was in terrible pain, but the sudden stimulation made her traitor body respond. Her clit began to swell, even more so when Percy flicked his tongue across it.“That's it,” he said, rubbing his thumb in a circular pattern over her skin “let's make the little girl nice and swollen.”The band down the hall played on, while she suffered at the hands of a psychopath. It didn't seem fair. Not that anyone could have heard her anyway. Her own panties made for an effective gag, as she could barely hear the plaintive whimpers for mercy she uttered. Percy pulled her pussy lips apart by yanking on the clamps, all the while licking her swelling clitoris. The combination of pain and pleasure prevented an orgasm, instead keeping her on the knife's edge between. It was its own terrible form of torture.
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Published by Lot’s Cave
Kidnapped Celebrities in Pony Hell, © 2017, by Kristine Lichtlider
All Rights Reserved
Cover by Morgaine Wrightman
All Characters In This Book Are Age 18 Or Older
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the Lot’s Cave website and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Lot’s Cave Novel
“I don't like this gig, Richie,” Adriana said, flipping open her six thousand dollar black Gucci purse. Her movements were like her words; Curt, clipped, and aggravated. “I don't like it at all.”
She took out her compact and examined herself in the mirror. Her deep olive skin glowed with youthful luster. Pouty red lips colored deep red pursed as she examined her cosmetics. She tilted the mirror down, checking her tight bodice and short skirt for imperfections. Adriana pressed the lipstick to her lip, but her limousine hit a pothole and she streaked a line across her face.
“Damn it, Richie,” she said “I thought I told you to fire this asshole driver!”
Adriana fixed her gaze on the man sitting across from her. He wore a dark blue suit a few sizes too large, skinny chicken neck thrusting out to support a head which seemed, like his clothing, oversized. Smiling, he poured a shot of vodka and put some lime in it while Adriana wiped her face.
“I did fire him,” Richie said “this is a different asshole driver.”
“Well, I'm Adriana fucking Rios,” she said harshly, crossing her arms over her small but firm breasts and pouting. “My show on the Brisney channel won an Emmy! I was the youngest female artists EVER to have a number one hit last year when I was seventeen! And while dumb bimbos left and right are letting their tits and cunts get spread all over the internet, I'm being smart.”
She held up her smart phone, a sleek affair with a pink kitty case.
“No nudes in here,” she said “no bank info, either.”
“What's your point, darling?” Richie said, handing her the drink.
“My point,” she said, snatching the drink and downing it in one go “is that I'm A LIST. I don't deserve to be doing my own makeup in the back of a two year old Limo driven by a blind stupid twit.”
“Cindy and your usual makeup and wardrobe crew are already at the venue,” Richie said, “you only have to go like ten feet from the car to the door.”
“Yeah, and the paparazzi will be there, snapping pics and tomorrow on the internet I'll be a laughingstock. No thanks.”
“Okay, okay,” Richie said, pouring her another drink. “Hey, check it out.”
She followed his pointing finger to see that they were approaching a bridge, stretching out over the muddy Mississippi. The river reflected the light from St. Louis's skyline.
“Yeah, so what,” she said. “Ooh, there's the Arch. Whoop de fucking wow. It's ugly.”
Richie shrugged. They rolled into the city and approached the stadium where her concert was to take place. But when they sped past it, Adriana rolled her eyes.
“Richie,” she said, “the dumbass just missed the turn. The venue is that way.”
She pointed behind them, but Richie was playing on his cell phone. Enraged, Adriana threw her shot glass at him with vehemence. It bounced off his forehead and fell into his lap. Richie slapped a hand over his face and yowled.
“What the hell?” he said, rubbing his forehead.
“We missed the turn!” Adriana said. “Tell the driver we missed the damn turn!”
“Oh, shit,” Richie said, turning about in his seat. “Hey, asshole, you're going the wrong way.”
The driver didn't react, his face inscrutable. As Adriana leaned forward in her seat, she noted that he was big and beefy, with lustrous blonde hair sticking out from under his cap.
“Hey, He Man,” she called out mockingly “turn the FUCK around. Now!”
“This is the right direction, Ja?” said the driver, his grin toothy and menacing as it was reflected in the rear view mirror.
“Richie,” Adriana said, panic rising in her chest “I want out of here! Tell him to stop!”
“Buddy, you're not going the right way,” Richie said, sticking his head up into the driver compartment.
“But I am, Ja?” said the man in his thick German accent. “You see, you thinking I go the wrong way because the arena is back that way, Ja? But Adriana Rios's destination is not the arena. At least, not that one.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Richie said, growing red with anger. Adriana shrank in her seat, reflexively crossing her legs so her panties would not be on display in the short skirt. Suddenly she didn't like the way the driver was looking at her.
She didn't like it at all.
“She's going to be someone's property,” the driver said “probably a Middle Easterner, but that's really just a stereotype. A lot of Americans are into the bondage, yes? And they pay top dollar for special acquisitions.”
Adriana's heart pounded harder, and she had trouble breathing. The way he said that, like she was a piece of merchandise, terrified her beyond belief.
“That's it, buddy,” Richie said, squirming into the front seat. “You're gonna stop right now-”
Faster than a striking snake, the driver's hand lashed out and clamped around Richie's neck. The little man tried to pry the grip away from his throat, but failed. As his face turned purple, his struggles grew more desperate. He pounded away with stiff shots to the driver's shoulder and torso.
Through it all, the driver remained calm. He was singing a ditty in German that sounded like a lullaby. In horror, Adriana watched as Richie's eyes turned red, the vessels exploding, and then he stopped moving altogether.
“There we go,” the driver said, letting go of Richie. Her manager slumped to the side and the driver turned his head for a moment to regard her. “Allow me to introduce myself, Ms. Adriana Rios. My name is Sven, and I will be your driver, abductor, and rapist this evening.”
Adriana screamed and tried to open the door. She would leap out even if it meant getting road rash. The door refused to yield, and she tossed her lithe and petite frame against the window again and again.
“Take it easy, sweet muschi,” Sven said with a chuckle. “Don't hurt yourself. Just relax while I park us under this bridge conveniently away from any traffic cameras.”
Adriana screamed for help, using her legs to kick and flail away at the window. Her big toe smashed the glass at an awkward angle and throbbed with pain, but she was in too much of a panic to care at the moment.
The limo slowed to a stop under a desolate, overgrown brick span that arched over the Mississippi. Obviously the bridge had not been in use for some time. Sven climbed out of the driver's seat and walked around to the back, his feet crunching in gravel.
Adriana plastered herself against the opposite side, tears streaming down her face. Too late, as the door flew open and Sven grabbed her ankle, did she realize she could have climbed into the front seat and escaped.
She kicked hard at him, but he seemed unfazed. With an alarming acumen and practiced ease, he took hold of both her ankles and flipped her onto her belly.
“I don't have my usual toys,” Sven said with a sad tone “so I have to make do. I'm sorry, Muschi, when I get you back to the compound I promise to share everything.”
“Let me go, please,” Adriana said, “I don't want to die!”
“Who said anything about that?” Sven said. “You're worth too much money to kill. Do you know how hard we had to work to arrange this?”
He put his knee in her lower back. Gasping, she twisted and arched, but could barely draw breath let alone break free. He caught one of her arms and dragged it behind her back.
“NO!” she screamed. Stubbornly, she forced her free arm under her own body, resisting his attempts to pry it loose. He easily held her other wrist in his grip, and the sheer power in his hand was terrifying.
“Give me the other hand, Muschi,” Sven said. “We don't have time for this. We only bribed one shift of the police, Ja? They change shifts soon, and then we might have problems.”
“NO!” Adriana screamed. She renewed her efforts, twisting and fighting, sweat breaking out on her body, but she couldn't dislodge the big man from her back.
“Give me your other hand,” Sven said menacingly. His hand grabbed her ponytail and yanked her head back. She gasped, struggling in his grip, fearing her neck might break.
“Okay,” she choked out past the pain “okay, please don't hurt me.”
She pulled her arm out from under herself and placed it behind her back, where he could reach.
“Good girl,” Sven said. Cord slid around her wrists, binding them together behind her. Sven next crossed and bound her legs. Then he left her, lying on the floor of the limo bound hand and foot. She heard him open the trunk as she struggled fiercely.
Her wrists burned from the rope as she tried to get free, but no matter how she twisted she couldn't slip out. She pulled her hands around to her front as much as she could, trying to see if she could loosen the knots. They were far out of reach of her straining fingers. She tried to bend over and use her teeth when the trunk slammed and Sven came back to the passenger compartment of the limo.
“Here we are,” he said, tossing something black and cumbersome onto the floor next to her. It was so heavy it shook the limo on its shocks when it landed. Adriana squirmed away as best she could when Sven climbed back int with her.
“Wha-what is all of that?” Adriana said as she stared in horrified fascination at the rubber bundle. There were strange belts, thin chains and clips, oxygen tanks and scuba gear.
“This is how we're going to fake your death,” Sven said with a grin. He grabbed something from the pile, a small leather strap with a ring set in the middle. Adriana shivered as he held it out in front of her.
“Say 'aah,” he said, holding it toward her face.
“No way!” Adriana said, shaking her head. “I'm not putting that in my mouth!”
“We can do this the easy way,” Sven said. His hand thrust out and snagged her ponytail. She whimpered as he used it to drag her close. “Or we can do it the hard way. Either way, this is going in your mouth, Muschi. Best to do it the easy way, Ja?”
“Okay,” Adriana said quickly, squinting her eyes. “You're ripping my hair out! Please, I'll...I'll do it, just stop!”
“Oh, you're going to be so trainable,” Sven said, smiling. “You respond well to...”
He twisted his wrist, pulling her up off the floor by her hair.
“Pain,” he finished. He released her and held the ring in front of her mouth. Adriana wept silently, but opened her mouth. It banged against her teeth and she grew alarmed. Sven straddled her waist and clamped a hand over her neck.
“Hold still,” he said harshly. Adriana opened her mouth again and he thrust the ring into place. She groaned as it stretched her jaw wide. Using the strap, he belted it tight behind the back of her head.
Sven grew still, silent, his gaze running up her bare legs to the hem of her short skirt. Adriana screamed, an inarticulate animal sound because of the ring gag. He reached out with both hands and suddenly seized her breasts, molesting them through the thin fabric of her shirt. She gasped as he caught her nipple between thumb and forefinger, crushing the delicate flesh.
“Does it hurt, muschi?” Sven said. Adriana nodded, tears streaming down her face. “Good, I want it to hurt.”
Adriana gave in to full sobbing, chest shaking and snot spilling from her nose. In her despair, she didn't even resist as Sven used a pair of scissors to cut her top away. He snaked a finger into the waistband of her skirt and pulled it down over her shapely thighs and calves before discarding it on the seat.
“You have a magnificent ass,” Sven said, fondling her bottom through her see through panties. Using his pinky, he pulled them aside enough to bare her twat. Adriana stopped sobbing, though tears still dribbled down her face. This was it. He was going to make good on his threat and rape her.
Sven unbuckled his pants and let them drop to his knees. He fumbled his engorged cock out of his boxers and flipped Adriana onto her stomach. Lifting her upper torso onto the car seat, he positioned himself behind her.
“Mmm,” Sven said, thrusting his fingers into her pussy. “So soft, yet so tight!”
Adriana squealed as he shoved his fingers deeper. He spread her thighs apart, though her ankles remained bound. She arched backward and struggled fiercely as his cock slid inside of her, ramming its bulbous head all the way in.
“Oh Ja,” Sven said, grabbing her ponytail and yanking her head back hard. “You are such a good fuck! Your pussy is so tight, your ass so nice as it slides all over my balls.”
Adriana's eyes were wide, her face covered in sweat and mucous. Drool streamed out of her forced open mouth to stain the upholstery. Sven slammed his hips into her so hard the entire car shook.
“Fuck,” Sven said, pulling out of her with a wet pop. “I can't come inside you, Ja? But I have a use for the spunk.”
He twisted her head around by the ponytail enough to catch his full load right in the face. It spattered mostly on her forehead but dripped over her eyes and into her open mouth. Adriana let out a strangled, desperate cry of impotent rage and despair. Afraid to get his jizz in her eyes, she kept them shut and shook with a new round of sobbing.
“Now we get you ready for your swim,” Sven said. “And I get ready too.”
Sven put on a wetsuit, which Adriana observed after she carefully opened her eyes. His jizz was everywhere, warm and sticky and she had no way to clean herself with her hands bound.
“Your turn,” Sven said as he slid a rubber sheath over both her bound arms. It tightened with a belt around her elbows, forcing them together painfully. Adriana whimpered as he repeated the process with a sheath on her legs, covering them to mid thigh.
Adriana could only sit and cry while Sven forced a rubber hood over her head. It covered everything but a small spot for her mouth. She panicked when Sven forced something into her mouth, afraid he would choke off her last outlet for air.
“Relax, Muschi,” he said soothingly “it's a breathing tube. You don't want to drown in the river, do you?”
She stopped struggling and allowed him to buckle it in place. The rubber phallus tickled the back of her throat but at least she was getting air.
“We're going to drive into the water,” Sven said, his voice sounding distant and muffled under the stifling rubber hood. “After we pass by some traffic cameras, Ja? We ditch Limo and swim to my employer's boat. Well, I will swim, you will be dragged by your hair behind me. Welcome to your new life, Ms. Adriana Rios.”
Adriana was overwhelmed, and soon found herself swooning into oblivion.
Luna Lopez kicked her long, shapely leg up over her head, mocha skin glistening under a glaze of sweat and glitter. The men gathered around her stage, for there were several dotting the warehouse sized strip club, dropped their jaws in awe. None of the usual whoops or hollers, or lewd comments. They were enraptured as she stood on one leg naked but for leather cuffs on wrists and ankles and a collar on her neck, like a crane balancing in a stream.
She watched as their gaze went from the top of her clear high heels, past her smooth, toned calves and thick thighs to the wide open twat cradled between generous hips. Luna dropped into a sitting split and threw her arms up in the air as the song reached its crescendo. Now the men applauded, whistling and howling and she just knew if any of them could get away with it they'd rape her right there on the stage.
Luna suppressed a shudder. Now was not the time to show the marks her true feelings for them. The club's MC, an old bouncer named Knuckles, built her up as was his purview.
“Gentlemen—and Lady,” Knuckles said over the PA “give it up for the lovely and talented Luna!”
He dragged out the last syllable of her name, tone dripping with lechery. It was totally faked, because Luna knew he was as queer as a three dollar bill. She loved Knuckles; all the girls did. He tried to make sure that they were safe from the creeps and was even known to take in strippers with no place to go.
“Make it rain, people!” Knuckles said. Tens, fives, and twenties rained down onto the stage. Luna scooped them up, trying to study the marks without making it seem so. She liked the looks of the balding middle aged white man in the ill fitting cream colored suit. He looked like a good target.
She was stunned when a bill flitted into view, Benjamin Franklin's face becoming visible by degrees. Luna, on her hands and knees collecting money, looked over her shoulder to see the man who had thrown the big bill.
Woman, it turned out. Sitting at the bar, resting her chin in one gloved hand, sat the most beautiful woman Luna had ever seen. Her golden skin bespoke an Asian ancestry as much as her thick and lustrous midnight black hair. Eyes the hue of sun kissed limestone blazed at Luna, made even more intense by her choice of heavy deep purple mascara. Ruby red lips glistened as she parted them in a smile. Those mesmerizing eyes stared pointedly at Luna's rear.
Blushing, Luna realized that the woman could see her pussy and asshole spread wide. She quickly adopted a kneeling position, to hide her bits as much as possible. The woman offered up another one hundred.
Now she was torn, because if she refused the woman's offer it would blow her cover. Not that it would throw up a red flag that said 'Luna Lopez is an undercover homicide detective' but it would have marked her as strange. And she really needed the mark in the cream suit to believe she was a stripper/hooker.
Pasting on her best faux smile, she started to rise, reaching out for the bill with her hand.
“Thanks, sweetie-” she said.
“No,” the woman said, retracting the bill as Luna was halfway to her feet. “Stay on your knees.”
Luna froze, her heart hammering in her chest. This was a bit unusual, though not unheard of. Some marks liked to make the dancers work for their big tips. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at the cream suit mark. Sweat stood out on his brow, and his lips quivered with his barely contained lust. Keeping the disgust off her face was a struggle, because she just knew he had a hard on.
Still, he was clearly hooked on her now, and she could play that up. Maybe that weird woman was a blessing in disguise. And hey, another hundred couldn't hurt, low as a cop's salary was.
So she sank back to her knees, cocking an eyebrow and tilting her head to the side in an inquisitive manner.
“Good girl,” the woman said. There was something about the way that the strange woman said it that caused a pang to run through her spine down to her twat. Gasping, Luna squirted, just a little. “Now, crawl over here.”
Luna did as she was bade, eyes locked on the woman's gaze. She didn't have to fake a smolder. Not that Luna had ever been, or planned to be, with another woman. It was just something fun to fantasize about, like being courted by a prince or taken captive by a viking.
Soon she was inches away from the strange woman, taking in her scent of mint and spice. Now that she was closer, Luna could see the red and black latex dress the strange woman wore. It was styled like Mandarin Chinese finery, but with a slit up past her hip, making it obvious the woman wore no underwear. Her Dolce handbag was colored to match her ensemble, and her hair was pinned out of her face by a pair of enameled pins.
“Ah-ah-ah,” the woman said as Luna reached for the hundred with her mouth. “If you want something, you have to ask for it nicely.”
“Let me have the money,” Luna said, tiring of this game.
“That's not polite,” the woman said, pursing her lips in a mock frown. “Try again.”
Luna felt the eyes of the cream suit suspect boring into her. If she didn't play along, she'd lose the fish already hooked.
“Please,” Luna said “let me have it.”
“Better,” the woman said, brightening. Luna felt disturbed by the fact that the Asian latex clad lady's opinion meant so much to her. “Almost there, I think. I want you to say “Please stuff that money up my pussy, Ma'am.”
Luna's eyes went wide. It was true that many of the dancers would allow a patron to basically finger fuck them on stage in order to receive a large bill. Most women wouldn't allow that for less than five hundred, though a thousand was the urban legend 'correct' amount to offer.
She had to make the middle aged pervert in the cream suit think she was a whore who would do anything for money. It had nothing to do with the woman's weird, velvety voice or the way she was staring so intensely at Luna.
“Please stuff that money up my pussy, Ma'am,” Luna said, surprised at how deep and sultry her voice came out.
“Good girl,” the woman said. Very lightly, she reached out with her gloved hand and caressed Luna's chin. The contact was electric, and Luna felt her nether lips spasm and release a bit more fluid. “Now, stand up, spread your legs, and put your hands behind your head.”
Luna did what she was told. The Asian woman stood up gracefully, balancing on heels more extreme than her own. She peered up at Luna's wide open, shaven twat like it already belonged to her.
“Here we go,” the woman said, sliding the bill up inside of Luna. She gasped, legs gone rubbery, high heels scrambling for purchase. The woman withdrew her hand, gloved fingers covered with Luna's pussy juice. The woman, making clear eye contact with Luna, shoved her fingers in her mouth and carefully sucked off the moisture.
“Coming to the stage next, Sinful Cindy!” said Knuckles. Luna gasped. The mark! Where did he go? Forgetting the woman for a moment, she cast her gaze all about. She spotted him, heading for the men's room. Probably to jerk off.
That gave her a few moments to get prepared. After their dance routine, the girls were expected to wait tables. This would be the opportunity to ensnare the suspect.
With reluctance, Luna turned to face the strange woman who'd just gotten to third base with her. But the woman was gone, vanished like smoke.
Luna ran back to the dressing room, money held tightly in her fist. She quickly stuffed the money in her purse and left it on the table. It was an unwritten rule that any girl who stole from another would be subject to fierce physical retribution from the entire stable of dancers. Sliding into her waitress uniform—just an apron to give her pockets to carry pen and paper—she returned to the lobby just in time to see the cream suit pervert coming out of the bathroom.
He sat down at Cindy's stage, seemingly intrigued but vaguely disappointed. Luna sidled up to him and stroked his arm.
“Hey there, handsome,” she said, pouring it on thick. “Want to get out of here and get a lot more than a lap dance?”
The man licked his lips, new sweat breaking out on his forehead. He nodded, allowing her to take him by the arm and lead him away from the stage.
They passed by milling patrons, nearly naked wait staff, and burly bouncers as other dancers gyrated on stage. Luna decided that she was done with the club. If only the chief hadn't found out she'd worked as a dancer to pay her way through the Academy. Then he wouldn't have had this brilliant idea in the first place.
“Do you have a car, sweetie?” Luna said, grabbing a trench coat off the coat rack and draping it around her naked body.
“Su-sure,” he stammered, barely able to speak. Luna looked him over in the better light of the parking lot. He fit the profile of the School Girl Strangler; White, middle aged, with a slovenly personal appearance and poor social skills. All she had to do was get him talking…
Luna's cell phone rang, and she cursed. It was a brand new cell, and only one person had the number besides herself; The precinct chief.
“Go bring your car around, stud,” Luna said, managing not to choke on the word. “I'm gonna take this call real quick, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, walking toward his vehicle, but staring over his shoulder. He nearly stumbled over a curb in his focus.
Luna tapped the screen and held the phone to her ear.
“Hello?” she said.
“Detective Lopez,” said the voice on the other end. It belonged to Chief Warren, her direct superior and not one of her biggest fans. “You need to come into the station. Now.”
“What?” Luna said. “But I have a lead on the School Girl Strangler! I have to get-”
“The School Girl Strangler's been caught,” Warren said, an edge to his voice. “About an hour ago, a man was picked up on a public urination charge. While in custody he confessed to being the strangler.”
“What?” Luna said, shaking her head. “Are you sure?”
“He knew details of the crimes we never released to the press,” Warren said. “Also, his blood type and shoe size fits the perp. It's him, Luna. I'm...sorry your efforts in the field have proven fruitless.”
“You and me both,” Luna said, deciding the Captain didn't need to know about the hundreds in her purse. “All right. I'm heading for home, then.”
“Actually, I need you to run by the station,” Warren said. “It's about another matter.”
“Oh shit,” Luna said. “When you say that I get in trouble. Who complained about me this time? Was it Jeffrey? Because he grabbed my ass and that's why I gave him a black eye-”
“Jeffrey got what he deserved,” Warren said. “That's not the issue. I need you to come in.”
“Can't it wait until morning?” Luna said, staring at her phone for a moment. “I mean, Christ, it's two in the morning. Why are you even still in the office? You're gonna have a heart attack, chief.”
“I already had two,” Warren said gruffly. “Detective Lopez, I want you to know that I am on your side.”
“On my side?” Luna said. Sudden realization dawned on her, and her blood went cold. “Wait, I'm being fired, aren't I?”
“Suspended,” Warren said “Just suspended, for now, until the city council has time to review the case.”
“I don't have to ask which case,” Luna said, sighing and rubbing her nose.
“No, I'd imagine you don't,” Captain Warren said. “Of all the people in LA you had to rear end Reinhold Musselhugger.”
“I was in pursuit,” Luna said “you know that!”
“Yes, but we thought suspending you—with pay I might add—would be a show of good faith, that we take this investigation seriously. Luna, no one thinks that you acted irresponsibly that day.”
“Except the Governor,” Luna said ruefully. “Fine. I'll come turn my badge and gun in tomorrow.”
“Luna, I'm sorry,” Warren said.
“Yeah, I'm sure you are,” Luna said hotly “thanks for being sorry. Thanks for making me show my ass to half of Hollywood for three weeks on a stakeout that turns out to be pointless. Oh, and thank you for knuckling under and throwing me under the bus.”
“Luna, wait-” he said, but she chucked the phone to the pavement as hard as she could. It skipped across the ground, cracked screen still glowing with power. She left it where it lay and stalked to the employee parking lot of the club.
But when she got behind the wheel of her modest sedan and tried the key, there was no response.
“Oh, come on,” she said, slamming her hand into the steering wheel. “Can this day get any worse?”
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