But Alizeh stepped in smoothly. She suggested that we create a playroom for the children, as well as a dedicated nursery, and even a “quiet space” for the mothers to breastfeed. It’s worked wonders. We no longer have kids underfoot all the time. Instead, the main spaces of the Lodge have returned to normalcy, and dare I say it? It’s sexy to live there again. The hard poundings continue as they always have, even if it’s ultimately going to add to the baby head count.
But we admire Alizeh for her tactful ways, and her gentle demeanor. It seems that sometimes, you don’t need to be a tyrant to get things done. Instead, with her sunny smile and optimistic approach, she’s mediated between two difficult groups and brought harmony back to our home.
So yes, we love being with her. We want to keep her, in fact, and ask her to become ours. We want her to move out of that tiny spinster’s room, and to move permanently into our suite. We want to caress her curves day in and day out, and to have her grow big with our children. Hopefully, that’s what she wants too.
But why hasn’t she picked up her phone for a day now? Torrent and I pull into our parking space at the Lodge and practically bolt inside.
“Where is she?” I pant as we run to our suite. Alizeh is nowhere to be found. Her keys are gone, as are her purse and phone. Where could she be?
I send her a text:
Sweetheart, we’re back. Where are you?
Normally, she would text back something saucy immediately, but this time, my phone stays silent, which only ramps up our anxiety. Where the fuck is she? Like madmen, we check the various public spaces of the Lodge: the pool, the gym, the sauna, and even the garden out back. No Alizeh. Then, we decide to run by her room. Why not? Torrent and I are in a panic now.
When we get there, it’s clear she was just here. The door is unlocked, which is worrisome, and the items on her desk are scattered about. An accidental touch to her mouse brings her laptop to life, and we see the message from her father. Oh shit. That jackass Mike wants to see her. She must be with him. This is bad news.
Blazing down the highway, we race to the trailer park where Michael Marron lives. To be honest, our feelings towards him are ones of pure disgust. What kind of coward would sell out the club? But we mask them from our sweet love, because he is her father, after all.
Signs direct us to Mike’s trailer, and it looks normal, at least from the outside. It’s old and dilapidated, but that’s not a crime. We get out of our car, and approach with caution. Thank god, there’s not the smell of weed or meth in the air.
But as we approach the trailer, suddenly, we hear it. There are slightly muffled squealing sounds coming from inside, in addition to Mike’s belly laugh.
“All yours,” he says jovially. “Do with her what you like.”
Torrent and I share a look. Her? Is that Alizeh? Within seconds, my friend has literally torn the door off its hinges with his bare hands. When Torrent’s pissed, it shows.
We step inside to a horrifying scene. Two thugs stand over the nude, lush body of Alizeh on her dad’s couch. She’s got a gag in her mouth, and her eyes are wide and rolling with fear. One leg is tied to coffee table, and the other tied to the couch itself. Her sweet thighs tremble, and her big breasts bounce with fear.
But the worst part is Michael Marron. Her dad is literally watching his daughter about to be violated. He sits on a chair by the side, rubbing his belly while lifting dollar bills to his nose and inhaling deeply, like it’s a drug.
“Yeah!” he squeals. “Whee! Wait a minute, who are you? This is private property, and what did you do with my door?”
We storm inside. Torrent immediately goes to Alizeh’s side and begins untying her while I walk straight to Michael Marron and deliver a punch to the face. The old man’s head swings to the side, and then he slumps in his chair, unconscious. A trickle of blood flows from his nose, but I don’t give a shit. Let him wake up covered in blood. It’ll teach him a lesson.
Then I dispatch the two goons. It doesn’t take much, actually. They look to be about seventeen years old, and I merely stare at them. The two boys clatter down the steps of the trailer and go running, their white asses flashing as they try to pull up their pants. Like the idiots they are, they forget their masks. Their faces are being captured by cameras all over the trailer park. Plus, there are plenty of fingerprints, given that they weren’t even wearing gloves.