Car theives accidental captives (MMM/FFF)

[tiedgirlie]

The hum of the BMW X5’s engine was a soothing constant as Claire Duval navigated the winding backroads. Her manicured hands gripped the leather steering wheel, the faint scent of her Chanel perfume mingling with the crisp February air seeping through the cracked window. Beside her, her daughter Sophie scrolled idly on her phone, earbuds dangling, her glossy blonde hair catching the late afternoon light. At eighteen, Sophie had inherited her mother’s sharp cheekbones and her father’s stubborn streak—a combination that made her both striking and headstrong. They were late for a charity gala, the kind of event where their wealth was both a shield and a spotlight, but Claire wasn’t worried. Not yet.

The screech of tires came without warning. A battered van swerved from a side road, cutting them off so sharply that Claire slammed on the brakes, the BMW lurching to a stop inches from its rusted bumper. Sophie yelped, her phone clattering to the floor. “Mom, what the hell—”

Before Claire could respond, the van’s doors flew open. Three men spilled out, faces obscured by ski masks, movements quick and predatory. The leader—a wiry figure with a jagged scar visible beneath his mask—yanked open Claire’s door, a gun gleaming in his gloved hand. “Out. Now.”

Claire’s heart thudded against her ribs. “Take the car,” she said, voice trembling but firm, her years of boardroom negotiations kicking in. “Just let us go.”

The scarred man barked a laugh, cold and hollow. “Oh, we’ll take the car. But you’re the bonus.” He gestured to the others, who dragged Sophie from the passenger seat. She screamed, thrashing as a meaty hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her cries into desperate whimpers.

“Don’t touch her!” Claire lunged toward her daughter, but a rough hand seized her arm, wrenching her back. The scarred man pressed the gun to her temple, the metal icy against her skin. “Move, or she’s dead first.”

They were herded toward the van, the asphalt biting into Claire’s knees as she stumbled. Sophie’s muffled sobs cut through the air, her slim wrists twisted behind her back as one of the men—broad-shouldered and silent—bound them with coarse rope. The fibers dug into her skin, the knots pulled tight enough to make her gasp. Claire’s arms were next, yanked backward with bruising force. The rope bit into her wrists, looping around and cinching until her fingers tingled. She tried to twist free, but the scarred man grabbed a roll of duct tape from the van, ripping off a strip with a harsh tear.

“Quiet,” he snarled, pressing the tape over Claire’s mouth. It sealed her lips, the adhesive tugging at her skin as she fought to breathe through her nose. Sophie’s wide, panicked eyes met hers as the same treatment silenced her—a strip of silver tape plastered across her trembling mouth, her muffled cries now barely audible.

Blindfolds followed: thick strips of black cloth tied tightly over their eyes, plunging them into darkness. Claire’s world shrank to the pounding of her pulse, the ache in her bound wrists, and the faint, ragged sound of Sophie’s breathing beside her. Hands shoved them into the van, their bodies crumpling onto the cold metal floor. The doors slammed shut, and the engine roared to life.

The drive was a blur of jolts and turns, each bump jarring their restrained limbs. Claire’s shoulders burned from the awkward angle, the ropes chafing her skin raw. Sophie pressed against her, trembling, her bound hands brushing Claire’s arm in a futile attempt at comfort. The men spoke in low, guttural tones—snippets of greed and menace filtering through the haze of fear.

“BMW X5? That’s a nice haul,” one said, his voice thick with a smoker’s rasp. “But these two? Rich bitches like them? We’re talking ransom.”

“Millions,” the scarred man agreed, a hungry edge to his words. “Long as they don’t piss us off.”

Claire’s stomach twisted. This wasn’t planned. They were car thieves, not kidnappers—ruthless opportunists who’d stumbled into something bigger. And that made them unpredictable.

The van lurched to a stop. Rough hands hauled them out, the air now damp and stale, heavy with the scent of mildew. They were dragged forward, stumbling blindly over uneven ground until a metal door creaked open. The space beyond felt cramped, the air thick and oppressive. Claire’s knees hit concrete as she was shoved down, Sophie collapsing beside her with a choked sob.

“Welcome to your new home,” the scarred man sneered. Claire’s blindfold shifted slightly, enough to glimpse a sliver of their prison: a small, windowless cell, its walls streaked with grime. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows. The broad-shouldered man crouched beside them, securing their ankles with more rope—tight loops that grazed their skin, anchoring them to the floor. Sophie squirmed, her bound legs kicking weakly, but a sharp yank on the knots stilled her.

The scarred man loomed over them, his shadow swallowing the light. “Sit tight, ladies. We’ve got calls to make.” His tone was all business now, the cold calculation of a predator sizing up its prey. The door slammed shut, the lock clicking with finality, leaving Claire and Sophie alone in the suffocating dark.

Claire strained against her bindings, the rope cutting deeper with each twist. Her wrists were slick with sweat, her fingers numb, but the knots held firm. Beside her, Sophie’s breaths came in shallow, panicked bursts, her body shaking against Claire’s side. The tape over their mouths trapped their screams, their blindfolds stealing any hope of a plan. They were helpless—rich, yes, but stripped of everything that wealth had ever promised them.

And in the silence, broken only by the distant murmur of their captors, Claire realized the truth: this was just the beginning.

[Terry45]

Great writing. Hope the next part is up soon.