I’ll add ‘dragging a Gimp by the hair’ to my ‘successful ways to intimidate someone’ list.

A hundred credits richer, I return to the hotel room, skipping up the steps and pushing past the last of the families that are still meandering the corridor. They all stare at me as I reach the door, possibly still in shock. I twist the doorknob and slip back into the room, giving them all a friendly wave goodbye. I close the door behind me, and let out a satisfied sigh.

Disaster over.

Spike’s still sitting in the chair, tapping away at his phone. I fish out the credits from my pocket. The flexible, green, translucent plastic they’re made of crumpling beneath my hand as I toss them onto the table.

“I solved two problems today and the sun’s only just gotten up. What’ve you done today?”

Spike lazily gets up, stretching his limbs and cracking his neck as he walks towards the table. He takes out his card from his pocket, tapping it onto each note. The “50” displayed in the center of each fades and disappears off the bills, as the money’s deposited directly into his account. He crumples them up, and throws them into the trash bin.

“You caused two problems, though. So I’d say they don’t count.” Spike says, placing his hands in his pockets and nodding towards the bathroom door. “Alright, we needa talk about what we should do about the madame over there.” He says, pointing his thumb towards the bathroom door. “Her husband just send me a message. He’s hopping on his jet now, says he’ll be here in two hours. We needa keep her locked up, and safe, until then. Get some liquid into her, in case she dies before he gets here. God knows when the last time she had anything nourishing.”

I nod, putting my hands in my pocket. At least the mission is almost done.

I can almost taste that buffet.

“I heated her up a can of soup while you were messing around with the gimp. Should be enough to keep her going until the client gets here. Shall we check up on her?”

“Yeah, sure. Hopefully that shower mellowed her out a bit.” I say, picking up the key to the door from the table as I walk towards the bathroom.

I slip the key inside the lock, turning it as I twist the door open. The door swings inward as I flick on the light switch next to it, the single bulb lighting up the room. This is the only room in the suite that doesn’t have a window, making it perfect for keeping the Mrs.

She’s lying in the bathtub, blinking away the sleep from her eyes. Still naked, gagged and cuffed, she lets out a groan as her eyes adjust to the light.

At least she’s clean.

Spike and I threw her in the tub last night, kicking and screaming behind the gag as we turned on the shower head above her. After a few minutes, she quietened down and accepted her fate, as the lube still clinging to her body was washed down the drain.

“Good morning, ma’am. How was your night? Comfy?” I ask, as I stroll towards the bath. She glares daggers at me, as I sit on the edge of the bathtub. She tries to talk, the gag doing its job well yet again as she drones on and on. I pull out the keys to her cuffs from my pocket, swinging it by its keyring.

“Well, that’s great to hear. We’ve cooked you up some breakfast. Fresh tomato soup, provided by our dear chef Spike here.” I say, gesturing towards Spike. He gives her a short bow, then crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. I look back to the Mrs, hunger written across her face almost as much as anger is.

I smile back at her.

“Now, if you’re good, we’ll uncuff you and you can slurp it down on your own. I can guarantee that you needa replace your liquids. Get some nourishment in your body. Your husband’s on his way now, should be here in about two hours. So we just needa watch you until he makes his appearance.”

She looks to the key I’m currently swinging, hope glimmering in her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure those cuffs are hurting something fierce. Not to mention the gag. That must be uncomfortable.” I say, as I get up from the edge of the bathtub. I cross my arms, looking down at her.

“So, I’m giving you a choice.” I uncross my arms, holding out my closed hand, the key to the cuffs nestling safely inside.

“You can cooperate, and enjoy that tomato soup” I say, as I uncurl my hand to show her the key nestled within it.

“Or,” I say, snapping my hand shut yet again, “we can keep you like this, locked up and gagged in this here tub, until your husband arrives and drags you off to who-knows-where. No soup. No stretching. No nothing.”

She looks down in contemplation. After a few seconds of deep thought, she looks back up at me, resignation on her face.

She nods.

“Alright, I’m trusting you here.” I say, as I lean over to uncuff her. She turns her back to me, raising her arms up as high as they can go in order to make the job easier for me. I slip the key inside the cuffs, twisting them open. I hear a click, as the first cuff comes loose. She slips her hand out, bringing her arm in front of herself and clenching and unclenching her hand, trying to bring some circulation back into it. A red mark outlines where the cuffs were, the skin there rubbed raw from its harsh metal.

“Don’t you dare betray my trust, ma’am, or these go right back on. And you might have a few new bruises, to boot.” I say, as I unlock the last cuff, taking the set and slipping them in my pocket. The Mrs starts massaging her wrists, while I untie the gag from around her head. I hand the gag to Spike, his sock now ruined beyond repair. He tentatively takes it, still moist, and walks away towards the bin.

She looks up at me, the exhaustion she’s feeling starting to show, the bags under her eyes heavy and betraying just how little sleep she’s been getting. I glance at her wrists, the skin red and raw. I let out a hiss, knowing exactly how sore those cuff burns must be.

“You might wanna get some lotion for that. I’ll go grab you some while you eat. Lemme just help you outta that tub.” I say, offering my hand to her.

She tentatively takes it, and I pull her to her feet. She wobbles a bit as the lack of food and water catches up to her.

“Thanks.” she says, her voice raspy and hoarse.

“No problem. See, we’re not the bad guys.” I say, as I help lead her out the tub. “We’re just doing our jobs.”

She lets out a short laugh. “Your jobs? Is that what you call this?” She stops and looks me in the eyes, her lips curling into a snarl. “Normal people call this kidnapping.”

“And normal people call what you’ve done theft, adultery and beastiality.” Spike says from inside the kitchen. He’s sitting behind the round dining room table, a lit smoke in his one hand and his phone in the other. “Be happy that your husband sent us, and not a lawyer.”

I turn back to look at her. She’s got her nose turned up, mouth still curled into a snarl. She’s somehow looking down at Spike from over her nose, even though he’s easily taller than her even when he’s sitting. He gives her a wink, and looks back down at his phone. He sweeps his hand towards a bowl and a spoon sitting on the table, directly opposite him. “Eat up, and stop arguing. You don’t have the energy.”

“Ignore him, he’s just a grumpy old man.” I say to her. “Though he does have a point. You needa eat. Sit down and get started on that soup, I’ll find you some lotion for those wrists.”

She looks up at me, her eyes narrowed as she tries to read my expression. Suspicious of my kindness.

They usually are.

After a moment she nods, and slowly shuffles towards the table. She sits down in a chair and picks up the spoon, tentatively dipping it into the soup and taking a sip. I hear her gag as she tries to force the nasty stuff down her throat. I turn to go to my room to find some lotion, the sounds of Spike chuckling following behind me.

“Best damn soup you’ll taste this side of the continent…” I hear him quietly mutter to himself.

I give a silent prayer to the Mrs, knowing exactly what she’s going through. I dig through my bag on the floor, finding a small bottle of hand lotion I keep in case of emergencies just like this.

I walk back into the common room, lotion in hand. I swear, you could cut the tension with a knife. The Mrs’s entire concentration is on ingesting that soup, while Spike stares at his phone screen, lit smoke still in hand. He appears calm to the casual observer, but I’ve known him for long enough to see that his muscles are slightly tensed, ready to jump up at a moments notice.

I sigh, and walk up to the table. I pull out a chair and sit down in it, directly in the middle of Spike and the Mrs. I pass her the lotion, her silent gaze the only thanks I get. I sling my arm around the headrest, cross my leg over the other and lean back. Spike offers me the open pack of smokes, still staring at his phone. I take one and light it, calming my nerves and doubts at having the Mrs unrestrained at the table.

“So… We have two hours, might as well learn to get along before then. How about we go around the table, introduce ourselves.” I say, tipping my smoke, the ash falling into the ashtray.

The Mrs shoots me a glare. “Not a chance in hell, weirdo. I couldn’t care less about either of you, and the sooner I can forget about you two, the better.” she says, pointing the spoon back and forth between Spike and I.

Spike looks up from his phone and raises his eyebrow at me, giving me a ‘what did you expect?’ look. He reaches into his pocket, fishing out his card and dropping it onto the table in front of me. “Jack, take the card and go buy the Mrs some clothes. I want her decent for when the client comes.”

The Mrs looks up, grinning at Spike. “Why? Do I bother you?” She asks, putting down her spoon and resting her arms on the table, leaning forward a bit. “Does my nakedness make you awkward? Are you feeling uncomfortable?”

Spike looks up from his phone, raising his eyebrow at her. “Ma’am, your nakedness doesn’t phase me in the slightest.” He looks back at his phone, tapping something on the screen.

“Don’t try to lie to me. All you men are the same. All you want is sex. All of you just want my body.” She says, her voice rising before falling to a whisper. “That’s all they ever want.”

Spike puts down his phone, letting out a frustrated sigh as he pinches the bridge of his nose, scrunching his eyes shut in frustration. He relaxes, opens his eyes, leans forward and looks the Mrs directly in the eyes. “Look. You know what we do, right?” He asks her.

She lets out a short laugh, “Yeah, you guys fucking kidnap people!”

“We bring back runaways and thieves, just like you.” Spike says, pointing his finger at her.

“People exactly like you. Same situation, same looks, same nakedness, same attitude. We get called to pick them up from their weekends out and drop them back off at home. Unharmed to a certain degree, untouched beyond what we found them like, and in one piece. If we hurt you severely, we don’t get paid. If we kill you, we don’t get paid. If we sleep with you, we don’t get paid.”

He takes another drag from his cigarette.

“Some of the girls we pick up are much, much more attractive than you could ever hope to be. Some are not. All of them, including you, have one thing in common that puts us agents completely off of people like you.”

“And what’s that?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in her chair, pouting.

Spike leans back in his chair and gets comfy again. He picks his phone back up and looks down at it, tapping away at its screen.

“None of you are worth the money.”