Ransom
Poor lady, how she was going to know that this announcement for a job interview was a trap to kidnap and ask for ransom for her. Tightly bound and gagged She is completely helpless, listening to everything her captors plan to do with her if they refuse to pay the requested ransom and can do absolutely nothing to avoid it. Will she be rescued in time to escape her cruel destiny?
The evening sun cast a warm glow over the bustling city street, illuminating the red brick building where a neon sign flickered to life: "Jenkins & Sons Accounting." Inside, a young woman named Clara hurriedly checked her reflection in the small mirror of her clutch. She had arrived early for her interview, eager to make a good impression.
She smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, the fabric sticking slightly to her damp palms. It was a tight fit, but she'd read somewhere that red was a power color. The black pantyhose and high heels were borrowed, a last-ditch effort to appear professional despite her financial woes. She took another deep breath and stepped through the glass doors, her heels echoing through the lobby like a drumroll announcing her arrival.
A stern-looking man in a rumpled suit emerged from the shadows, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. He introduced himself as Mr. Jenkins, the founder's son, and offered her a seat. The chair was cold and hard, the leather sticking to her thighs. Clara felt a trickle of sweat run down her spine, the air in the room thick with tension and something else – a hint of menace that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She began to recite her rehearsed speech, her voice shaking slightly as she outlined her skills and experience.
Mr. Jenkins' smile never reached his eyes as he listened, his gaze lingering on the plunge of her neckline. When she finished, he leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and said, "You know, Clara, we're looking for someone... special." His voice was low, a dangerous purr that sent shivers down her spine. "Someone who's willing to go above and beyond for the company. To make sacrifices."
Before she could respond, the door behind her burst open. Two burly men in black masks barged in, guns drawn. One grabbed her by the arm, yanking her out of her seat, while the other slapped a piece of fabric over her mouth. Panic bloomed in her chest, her eyes wide with terror. She struggled, trying to scream, but the only sound that came out was a muffled whimper. They dragged her into a back room, the smell of dust and fear thick in the air. Mr. Jenkins remained seated, his smile widening as he watched the scene unfold.
Her hands were bound behind her back with ropes, each one biting into her skin like a serpent's fang. They forced her onto a chair, the wood digging into her thighs, and secured her ankles together with more ropes. The men didn’t speak, moving with a chilling efficiency that spoke volumes of their experience. Clara’s heart hammered in her chest, the beat a frantic crescendo in her ears. They left her alone in the room, the only company the distant sound of footsteps and muffled voices. Her thoughts raced, trying to make sense of this nightmare. Had she walked into a trap? Was this really about a job, or something much more sinister?
The minutes ticked by like hours, each one heavier than the last. Then, the door opened again, and the two men re-entered, Mr. Jenkins trailing behind them, his expression now one of cold amusement. He leaned against the desk, his arms folded over his chest. "You see, Clara," he began, "this isn't about your accounting skills. This is about your... flexibility." He paused, letting the word hang in the air like a noose. "Your willingness to do what it takes to keep the company afloat."
The men approached her, one holding a phone with a live video feed playing on the screen. Clara's eyes went wide as she recognized her mother's living room. The other man held a piece of paper with a series of numbers scribbled on it – the ransom amount. Her stomach lurched, and she realized with dawning horror that she had been kidnapped.
Mr. Jenkins leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "We've sent your dear mother a little video message. She'll be expecting our call soon." His voice was a sinister whisper, a promise of pain. "If she doesn't pay up, well, let's just say we'll have to find other ways to make her understand your value to us."
The weight of the situation settled on Clara like a heavy blanket of dread. Her mind raced for a way out, but she knew she was in deep trouble. The only thing she could do was wait and hope that her mother would somehow find the strength to save her. Until then, she was at the mercy of these monsters, bound and gagged, a pawn in a twisted game of power and greed.
She smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, the fabric sticking slightly to her damp palms. It was a tight fit, but she'd read somewhere that red was a power color. The black pantyhose and high heels were borrowed, a last-ditch effort to appear professional despite her financial woes. She took another deep breath and stepped through the glass doors, her heels echoing through the lobby like a drumroll announcing her arrival.
A stern-looking man in a rumpled suit emerged from the shadows, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. He introduced himself as Mr. Jenkins, the founder's son, and offered her a seat. The chair was cold and hard, the leather sticking to her thighs. Clara felt a trickle of sweat run down her spine, the air in the room thick with tension and something else – a hint of menace that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She began to recite her rehearsed speech, her voice shaking slightly as she outlined her skills and experience.
Mr. Jenkins' smile never reached his eyes as he listened, his gaze lingering on the plunge of her neckline. When she finished, he leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and said, "You know, Clara, we're looking for someone... special." His voice was low, a dangerous purr that sent shivers down her spine. "Someone who's willing to go above and beyond for the company. To make sacrifices."
Before she could respond, the door behind her burst open. Two burly men in black masks barged in, guns drawn. One grabbed her by the arm, yanking her out of her seat, while the other slapped a piece of fabric over her mouth. Panic bloomed in her chest, her eyes wide with terror. She struggled, trying to scream, but the only sound that came out was a muffled whimper. They dragged her into a back room, the smell of dust and fear thick in the air. Mr. Jenkins remained seated, his smile widening as he watched the scene unfold.
Her hands were bound behind her back with ropes, each one biting into her skin like a serpent's fang. They forced her onto a chair, the wood digging into her thighs, and secured her ankles together with more ropes. The men didn’t speak, moving with a chilling efficiency that spoke volumes of their experience. Clara’s heart hammered in her chest, the beat a frantic crescendo in her ears. They left her alone in the room, the only company the distant sound of footsteps and muffled voices. Her thoughts raced, trying to make sense of this nightmare. Had she walked into a trap? Was this really about a job, or something much more sinister?
The minutes ticked by like hours, each one heavier than the last. Then, the door opened again, and the two men re-entered, Mr. Jenkins trailing behind them, his expression now one of cold amusement. He leaned against the desk, his arms folded over his chest. "You see, Clara," he began, "this isn't about your accounting skills. This is about your... flexibility." He paused, letting the word hang in the air like a noose. "Your willingness to do what it takes to keep the company afloat."
The men approached her, one holding a phone with a live video feed playing on the screen. Clara's eyes went wide as she recognized her mother's living room. The other man held a piece of paper with a series of numbers scribbled on it – the ransom amount. Her stomach lurched, and she realized with dawning horror that she had been kidnapped.
Mr. Jenkins leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "We've sent your dear mother a little video message. She'll be expecting our call soon." His voice was a sinister whisper, a promise of pain. "If she doesn't pay up, well, let's just say we'll have to find other ways to make her understand your value to us."
The weight of the situation settled on Clara like a heavy blanket of dread. Her mind raced for a way out, but she knew she was in deep trouble. The only thing she could do was wait and hope that her mother would somehow find the strength to save her. Until then, she was at the mercy of these monsters, bound and gagged, a pawn in a twisted game of power and greed.
