Ok, I finally have time to reiview this. As I said above, there is not too much to change though!


“Ahhh,” Steve heaved a sigh of contentment. He and Fran met for dinner once or twice a month, exploring new restaurants and catching up on their lives. Tonight, he had suggested a small, family-owned, Italian restaurant; it had been a good choice. The seafood pasta had been excellent, and Fran’s wine selection, inspired.

Steve reflected on their relationship. Having lost their parents when Steve was twenty-seven and Fran only twelve, they had formed a closer bond than was common among siblings so widely separated by age. As a result, Steve’s protectiveness seemed more appropriate for a father than for an older brother.

Now twenty-one, Fran was in her last semester of college. She was a business major, and she had spent most of dinner offering a lively analysis of the restaurant, pointing out the benefits of owning a family business.

“What sort of business shall we start, Sis? Shall we be bodyguards, or bounty hunters?” Steve joked. Four years out of the Army, Steve worked as a security spe******t (I've tried to correct this twice, but the programming won't let me. Steve worked as a security special-ist...well, you get the idea) for a government contractor.

“Come on, Steve. You know you’d rather do either of those things than shuffle paper for Gorman & Associates. I appreciate the fact that you took this job so you could help me through college. I’ll graduate in less than two months, and then you won’t have to do work you despise.”

Immediately contrite, Steve said, “No, honey. That’s not what I meant. You know I’d do anything for you. Shuffling paper for old Gorman isn’t that much of a hardship.” He grinned. “Especially since you’re the one with the brains. You’ll take on Corporate America, and within a few years, you can support me. I’ll take up fishing, while you toil in the rat race.”

The rest of the evening was full of comfortable bantering, as the two siblings exchanged news and made plans for their next outing.

They had parked on different streets, so Steve hugged her and they parted at the restaurant door. Turning left, he whistled as he strolled down the street toward his truck.

He was already in motion, turning on his heel, before he consciously registered her scream. Pelting around the corner, Steve took off after Fran.

Two men had her by the arms, and they were forcing her toward a white van, parked in the street. Steve plowed into them at speed, driving all four of them to the ground. Recognizing him as the greater threat, the men released Fran and leapt up, facing Steve.

Rolling to his feet, at bay, he ordered, “Run, Fran!”

With one agonized look in his direction, she obeyed, running for the restaurant and, hopefully, help.

Steve eyed his opponents, reluctantly concluding that they knew what they were doing. They flanked him from either side, leaving him unable to confront one without losing sight of the other. Selecting the larger target, Steve kicked out with his right foot, aiming for his opponent’s knee. He connected, and the big man grunted. As he spun around in an arc, seeking his next target, something hard collided with the base of his skull. The world went dark.

* * *

Steve inhaled, then wished he hadn’t. His head felt like the featured instrument at a drummers’ convention.

“He’s coming around now,” said a deep, scratchy voice. A light stabbed Steve’s eyes, ratcheting the pain up several notches, then darkness descended again. Steve groaned, and tried to roll over. Unsuccessful, he discovered that his arms were bound behind his back. Further investigation revealed that his legs were also confined.

Gathering his faculties, Steve determined that he was bound, blindfolded, and lying on his back on a hard surface. His head hurt like hell. Searching for a cause, his memories of the fight came flooding back to him. He groaned. “Fran…”

“Well, Steven,” a quiet, cultured voice addressed him. “I’m glad you could rejoin us. We need to have a conversation, but I think I’ll let my associates tend to you a bit, first.” you don't need the comma after bitA pause. “Call me when he’s ready.” Steve heard sounds of a chair sliding across a floor, then clicking footsteps receded receding, a door opening, then closing.

More footsteps approached, and these were heavier, slower. Steve tensed. A hand touched his shoulder, pressing him firmly against the floor. “Take it easy. I’m not going to hurt you,” said the deep, scratchy voice.

A pair of hands unbuttoned his shirt cuff, and began rolling up his sleeve. “I’m going to give you something for the pain. You’ll feel a sharp stick,” the scratchy voice said.

Steve considered arguing, but it was too late. He felt something cold and wet brush against his upper arm, and then a sharp pinprick. “Ow!” he said.

The voice chuckled, then hands rolled down his shirtsleeve, leaving the cuff unbuttoned. The sound of fading footsteps, followed by the opening and closing of a door, assured Steve that he was alone, at least for the moment. With no outside distraction, his headache reasserted itself, pounding in time to his heartbeat. Steve tried to adjust his position, relieving the stress on his bound arms. In time, the pain in his head receded, as did his awareness.

* * *

Steve awoke to rough hands on his arms, shaking him. As his head rolled back and forth, the drums began beating again. “Uuhhh,” he groaned.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” a clipped tenor trilled.

The hands shook him again.

“Hunhh. Ahh, stop it. I’m awake,” Steve muttered.

“You better be. The boss wants to see you.”

“I’d like to see him, too. Will you get this blindfold off me?”

“Not yet. Drink this.” A straw nudged Steve’s lips.

“What is it?”

The tenor sighed. “Does it matter? You’re going to drink it, one way or another.”

Steve thought about that, assessing his situation. Bound, hand and foot, blindfolded, with a pounding headache. Yep, he thought, the man’s right. I’m in no position to argue about the small stuff. Whatever he was being offered wouldn’t kill him. If they’d wanted him dead, he wouldn’t have awakened.

“Okay. I’ll cooperate.” The straw was again brought to his lips. Steve tentatively drew on it, and discovered…water. Greedily, he sucked on the tube, slaking his dry mouth. When it was withdrawn, Steve sighed.

“Now, what?” he asked, as he heard a door open and close.

“Now, you move,” said the scratchy voice, approaching. Hands tugged at his legs, the bindings loosened, then were removed. you don't need the "were" here

“Flex your feet and move your legs,” the voice commanded. Steve did as he was told, gasping at the pain of returning circulation. He used the time to assess his situation. He lay on a wooden floor, somewhat dusty, but with no smell of mold or dampness. A tiny trickle of light made its way around the edge of his blindfold, so he tentatively assumed it was daytime. He had no idea how long he had been out, and his paramount concern was Fran. If he had been missing for long, she would be frantic.

His captors allowed a few minutes for Steve to exercise his cramped limbs before the tenor said, “We’ll help you up.”

A pair of hands grasped each arm, pulling Steve to his feet. Lightheaded and woozy, his unsteady legs wouldn’t hold him, and he nearly went down. Strong arms supported him as he caught his balance. His stance gradually firmed, his head beginning to clear.

“Move.” The hands urged him forward, and he took a stumbling step, then another. He was first led out the door, then apparently down an echoing corridor.I don't need you need the word apparently, though I know what you were trying to achieve here. Maybe saying " then down what seemed to be an echoing corridor" might work better. Turning right, he heard the sound of another door opening, and he was chivvied through another doorway. Steve was brought to a halt and turned around.

“There’s a chair behind you. Sit,” said the scratchy voice.

Gingerly bending his knees, Steve lowered himself until his thighs encountered a hard surface. Sudden pain lanced through his arms and shoulders as his hands were abruptly drawn up and back, then lowered. Steve realized he was seated on a straight-backed chair, his arms behind the chair back. Hearing a click, he tried to raise his hands and discovered he was now, somehow, attached to the chair.

Fingers laced themselves through his thick hair, abruptly pulling his head backward. Cold metal glided against his exposed throat.

Steve froze.

“Good. I knew you were smart,” said the tenor. “My partner is going to tie your legs to the chair. And while he does so, you are going to be very, very still, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Steve breathed, barely moving his jaw.

Cords were wrapped around Steve’s legs, tightly attaching them to the chair legs. When he was immobilized, the knife blade was removed from his throat, and his head was released. Well, he thought. I guess that removes any ambiguity about whether they are serious or not. Steve didn’t really doubt it. The two men who had attacked him had handled themselves like pros.

“Do you need to piss?” asked the scratchy voice.

Steve wondered if they were taunting him. Why would they ask such a question after tying him to a chair? The fact was that he did need to piss…badly. Deciding that he had little to lose, he said, “Yes.”

A hand brushed against his abdomen, startling him. A tugging on his jeans followed, then he felt and heard his zipper being lowered. Taking a deep breath, Steve tried not to flinch as a hand reached into his fly, and pulled his penis free of the clothing. He felt a smooth, hard edge against the bottom of his cock, then the scratchy voice said, “Okay. Go ahead.”

Steve had spent too many years in the army to be piss-shy, and he really needed to go. He sighed, listening to the flat splatter as his stream splashed against a plastic surface. When he was finished, a hand shook his penis, tucked it away, then replaced and adjusted his clothing. Steve sat in silence, tense, wondering what would happen next.

The sound of a door opening and approaching footsteps brought Steve’s head up, alert. His instincts told him that the real threat had now arrived. This was confirmed when the two men near him both retreated, apparently exiting the room, a door closing behind them.

“I assume that you’re the reason I’m wearing this blindfold,” Steve said, seizing the initiative.

“Quite right,” said the low, female voice that Steve remembered hearing upon first waking.

“I didn’t realize I was such an intimidating threat,” Steve taunted.

“Let’s say that, having read your record, Sergeant, I prefer not to take any chances,” the woman responded.

Shit, Steve thought to himself. Aloud, he said, “I see. What about my sister? Is Fran okay?”

“Ah, yes. Your sister. We will come to her, shortly. For now, rest assured, she is unharmed.”

“What do you want with her? Or with me?” Steve asked.

“Originally, we wanted nothing from you. In fact, my extraction team didn’t know of your existence. An unfortunate oversight, as it turned out.”

“What do you want with Fran?” Steve ground out, between clenched teeth.

“Your sister is a commodity. A commodity which my buyers will pay handsomely for,” the woman said. “She is comely, well-educated, and American. There is a market for such girls…and I am a businesswoman.”

“Fuck you!” Steve began, only to find his head jerked back by his hair, the cool, sharp blade of a knife at his throat. Apparently only one of his captors had departed, after all.

“No doubt,” she agreed, apparently unruffled. “However, as I implied, the situation has changed. I am no longer nearly as interested in your sister as I am in you.”

“Why is that, exactly?” Steve asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

“Come, Sergeant Yates. Don’t be coy. You spent your last three years in the Army as a Drill Instructor stationed at Ft. Jackson. Can you not imagine a use I would have for your talents?”

“You arrogant bitch!” Steve yelled, disregarding the knife at his throat. “I will not kidnap girls for a pack of white slavers!”

“Of course not,” the woman agreed. “Nor would I trust you to lead such an operation.”

“Then, what? What do you need me for?”

“To train the girls once we have them in custody.”

Steve laughed, in spite of himself. “You expect me to train them to be good wives and mothers?”

“No, Steven. I expect you to train them to be obedient sex slaves.”

Steve sat in stunned silence, grateful he was sitting down. Knowing the danger he was in, he censored his initial response. Unfortunately, his second thoughts weren’t much better. “Go fuck yourself. There is no way I’ll do that. Slit my throat and be done with it.”

“I will, if I have to, of course. However, I doubt that will be necessary. Steven, have you forgotten about your sister, so quickly?” you can do without the comma after sistershe asked with exaggerated patience.

Steve bit back his reply, the fear he had held at bay, until now, crashing over him. She had the trump card, and she had just played it.

“What’s the deal?” he asked, defeated.

“It’s quite simple, really. You will work for me as a slave trainer…and, when she graduates, your sister will work at Corporate Headquarters, as a management trainee. If you decline my offer of employment, my associate will slit your throat, and my extraction team will take your sister to one of our training facilities, where she will be trained as a sex slave, then sold to the highest bidder.”

Slumping in his chair, Steve surrendered. “You win. Me for her. But only on the condition that she stays safe.”

“Of course. Her safety is now in your hands. If you cooperate, she need never know of our arrangement. Our headquarters is located in Montreal, and the corporation there is a quite legitimate financial institution. She will be given a good job, but she will be kept under surveillance, so please don’t think about any heroic attempts to rescue her. As long as you obey, Francesca will be safe.”

“What do you want me to do?” Steve asked, dully.

“First, you will call your office and quit your job. Then, you will meet your sister and tell her you have taken a new job. It starts immediately, and you will be out of town for the next two months, attending a training seminar.”

Steve’s heart leapt at the prospect of seeing Fran. He would find some way to let her know she was in danger, tell her to leave town immediately. She could go to his old Army buddy, Roger. He would look after her.

As if aware of his thoughts, the woman cut in. “Before your plans to save your sister become too advanced, you will meet her under the following conditions: first, the meeting will be conducted at the open quadrangle outside her dormitory. Two separate sniper teams will be in place. Both teams will have orders to kill her if anything does not go according to plan. Second, a tracer will be implanted on you, and you will wear a wire. If anything should happen to the reception of the wire, she will be killed. If you deviate from your instructions in any way, she will be killed. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” Steve said, his heart sinking.

“Good. My associates will prepare you and handle the logistics. I look forward to a long and profitable association, Steven—and so should you.”

The threat was implicit in that last statement. He was now as much a slave as the girls he would be forced to train--and Fran would be held hostage to his good behavior. His only chance to keep her safe lay in his obedience to his new owners.

Satisfied, the woman rose, issuing instructions as she turned to leave. “Release him. He knows the stakes now, and he will cooperate. Get him a phone and a wire. I want him to see his sister this afternoon. Make sure he is on a flight tonight.” With that, the unknown mistress of his fate took her leave.

* * *

Steve followed orders. He was untied, and the blindfold removed. When his cell phone was brought to him, he placed a call to his employer, quitting without notice, claiming a family emergency.

Next, he called Fran. She was frantic with worry, but he calmed her down, saying he had spent the night in the hospital, and was about to be released. He arranged to meet her outside her dorm at one o’clock.

Steve discovered the knife-wielding tenor was a small, Asian man, named Eddie. He had a ready smile, and moved like death on two feet. His second captor returned. A big, black man, with a shaved head, named Pete. Pete brought with him the wire equipment and a medical bag.

“Lower your pants,” he ordered without preamble.

Steve considered arguing, then sighed, and did as he was told. The time for resistance would come, but probably not for quite a while. Not until they were sure of him. Until then, he had little choice but to submit. He exposed one hip, as directed, and Pete gave him an injection. No explanation was provided.

“Okay, zip up your jeans, fasten your belt, remove your shirt, and turn around,” was the next direction.

Silently obeying, Steve heard a sound he interpreted as that of tape being torn into strips. A small, hard box was secured at the base of his spine with the sticky strips.

“Raise your arms.”

Steve lifted his arms, and felt a cool, plastic wire snake around his torso. It was quickly taped in place, leaving a microphone nestled under his left collarbone.

Pete then handed him something that looked like a plastic teardrop, approximately one centimeter in diameter. “Put this in your ear. You’ll be able to hear me or Eddie during your meeting. We’ll tell you what to do and say.”

When the equipment had been tested, Steve was told to put his shirt back on.

“Hands behind your back,” Pete commanded.

Steve raised an eyebrow at that, but complied. As he felt the cold steel of handcuffs grasp his wrists, he said, “What’s this for? We’ve already established that I have no choice but to go along with the program.”

“If you’re smart, that’s true,” Pete responded. “But you might decide your best bet is to take out Eddie and me before we get to the rendezvous point. The boss lady wants you alive, so I’d just as soon not give you a chance to get killed.”

Steve acknowledged the sense of this, since he had been thinking of overpowering his guards, and then hoping he could get to Fran before the sniper teams did.

He shrugged his shoulders, and docilely followed directions, walking ahead of his captors out the door, turning left, and retracing his steps down the echoing corridor. Maybe split the above sentence into two?Instead of being returned to whatever room he had originally been held in, however, he was told to stop in the hallway.

Eddie approached him with a piece of black cloth in his hands. “Kneel,” he ordered. Steve hesitated. It went against the grain to submit to his captors, but the thought of Fran in their hands made him bend his knees. When Steve had knelt, Eddie unfolded the cloth, holding up a black bag, which he then fitted over Steve’s head, effectively blindfolding him and hiding his features at the same time.

Pete and Eddie pulled him to his feet, then hustled him out a door, down four steps, and into a waiting vehicle. Hands still cuffed behind him, Steve was placed on his side on the metal-covered floor, and told to be quiet.

Steve lay on his side, hands cuffed behind him, unable to see anything through the heavy black cloth concealing his face. His two captors rode up front, in what was obviously a utility van similar to the one he had seen before—was it only yesterday?

Since he didn’t know where he had been taken, he had no way of calculating how long the drive to the campus might be. And that was all the time he had to figure some way out of this mess.

Keeping Fran safe was the most important thing, and if the only way to do that was to surrender to the slavers’ demands, he would do it. But, if there was a way to keep both himself and his sister out of their clutches, he would find it.

Steve’s stomach churned as he thought about the risks. The woman had been brutally clear. While she wanted his services, she would sacrifice both Fran and him if he didn’t cooperate. Clenching his fists, Steve felt the first hot sheen of sweat spring up on his neck and torso.

Even though Steve’s hands would be released for the meeting, the wire he was wearing would constrain him as though he were bound. No. The risks of trying to save them both were just too great. He would have to concentrate on convincing Fran that the cover story was true, that everything was all right. It meant sacrificing himself to the slavers, but it was Fran’s best chance to remain free.

Steve took a deep breath and relaxed his neck and shoulders. Now that the decision had been made, he fell into the relaxed readiness he had learned to maintain before a mission. By the time the van pulled to a halt, Steve was prepared to do what he must.

One of his captors worked his way to Steve through the equipment littering the back of the van. “Sit up,” Eddie ordered, taking Steve’s upper arm and pulling. Once he was upright, Eddie removed the cloth sack covering his head. The bright light stabbed his eyes, kicking his headache into high gear.

He only had a moment to notice the electrical consoles to his right, when the rear door of the van opened, and there stood Pete. “Let’s do a final com check,” he said. Pete assured himself he could clearly hear anything Steve said, and that Steve heard his orders through the ear bug he wore.

Eddie unlocked the handcuffs, saying, “You know what’s at stake. The sniper teams are already in place. If you fail, your sister is dead.”

Steve nodded. “I know. I won’t fuck this up.”

“Good. It’s time. The quadrangle is around that brick building, on the left. When the mission is completed, you will be instructed to return here to the van. Your sister will remain under the snipers’ sights until I notify them that you are here and properly secured. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then get going.”

Steve turned his back on the van and his captors. Orienting himself, he recognized Fran’s dormitory. As he headed for the left-hand corner of the building, he reflected on the irony of the warm, sunny day. Such a beautiful day—and he was going to lose both his sister and his freedom. Squaring his shoulders and pasting a smile on his face, he rounded the corner.

She was waiting for him. Wearing jeans and a pink T-shirt, Fran paced back and forth in front of the dorm entrance. Impatiently, she checked her watch, then jerked her cell phone out of her pocket and began dialing.

A pang of remorse struck him at the thought of the lies he must tell. In the years since their parents had died, he had never once lied to her. Stepping firmly on his conscience, Steve began his performance. “Hi, Sis.”

Fran turned around and ran to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I was so worried, Steve. Where have you been? I ran to get help, but when I returned, you were gone. I’ve been calling your cell phone all night. I didn’t want to call the police until I heard from you.”

“I know, Fran. I appreciate your confidence in me.” He grimaced. “I guess I won the fight, but lost the war. We traded some shots, and then one of them clobbered me in the head. I blacked out. When I woke up this morning, I was at the hospital. It took me a while to talk my way out of there, and get to my phone. I didn’t mean to worry you,” he apologized, placing one arm around her shoulders and squeezing.

“Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine. Just got a lump on the back of my head. The doc said I’d be ship-shape in no time.”

“Well,” Fran huffed, “Just don’t do it again. You scared me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But the experience did crystallize something for me. Come here. Let’s sit down at the picnic table.”

“What is it, big brother?” Fran asked, an edge to her voice. “I know that tone in your voice. You’ve got something up your sleeve. I’m not sure I can stand any more surprises right now, so out with it,” she demanded, hands on her hips.

Holding up his hands in mock surrender, Steve smiled and said, “Okay. Okay. I’ll give. You see, I’ve had a job offer. I’m been mulling it over in the back of my head for some time, but last night’s adventures kinda made me see things in a different light.”

Fran frowned. “Job offer? What kind of job offer?”

“A good one, Fran. Working for a big company. I’d be a field agent for them, not stuck behind some desk, pushing papers. I hadn’t wanted to mention it to you until I’d made a decision, and, well, now I have. I’m going to take the job.

“You were right, last night.No need for the comma after right I hate working in an office, with all the oversight and bureaucracy. I need to get back to doing something I know how to do.” Steve paused, a steel band around his heart as he fed Fran these lies. Keeping a smile on his face was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

“Well, then, tell me about it,” Fran said, excited.

“That’s the problem, honey. I can’t. It involves my security clearance. The only thing I can tell you is that this is a good opportunity for me, and it starts immediately. I have to leave tonight.”

“Tonight?” Fran asked, open-mouthed in shock.

“Yes, honey. I know it’s short notice, but that’s the deal. And I’ll be out of touch for about two months, going through some specialized training.”

“But, why now, Steve?” she asked, clinging to him. “You’ll miss my graduation.”

“I know, honey, but it can’t be helped.”

Steve damned the whole situation. He was saving Fran, literally, from a fate worse than death. And all he could see was the hurt in her eyes. Her disappointment with him. She felt he was letting her down…and he was. He should have been able to find some way out of this. But his hackles had been at full alert ever since he rounded that corner. He couldn’t see them, but he knew the snipers were there. He could feel their gun sights like a cold trickle down the back of his neck.

“It’ll be okay, Sis. I promise I’ll come visit you as soon as I have some leave accrued. Besides, isn’t it time you thought about your own life, instead of worrying about your big brother? You’ll graduate in another month. You should be fielding your own job offers, deciding where you want to live and work. Figuring out what you want to do with your life.

“Please, Fran,” he said, hugging, then releasing, her. “This is a good opportunity for me. Don’t make me feel bad for taking it.”

“Of course not,” Fran replied, immediately contrite. “I didn’t mean to sound so selfish. Of course you should take it. It’s just so sudden. I haven’t had time to get used to the idea.”

“That’s enough,” said Pete over the ear bug. “Wrap it up and get back here.”

Steve stiffened, then forced himself to relax his muscles. Fran mustn’t suspect anything.

“Well, then, Sis, this is goodbye for a while. I’ll write to you when I can, but remember, this is a lot like when I was in the military. I can’t guarantee when you will hear from me. Now, come here, and give me a hug.”

She came into his arms and squeezed him tight. When they finally separated, there were tears in both siblings’ eyes.

There was a catch in her voice as Fran said, “Good luck, big brother. Write to me when you can.”

Steve squeezed her hand one last time, then, turning his back on her, he walked away. By the time he rounded the corner, his pain had turned to a cold, implacable anger. He was walking into slavery, taking Fran’s place, and he was doing it willingly. But those who had made this necessary would eventually pay the price. And Steve vowed he would be there to collect it.

As I have said before, you did a wonderful job with this rewrite! I am more than happy to send you up to level three. Remember you are most welcome back here though, both to continue any edits you want to make, and to offer your own reviews on other student's work. I really enjoyed your work and am sure I will hear more about your writing as you work your way up the levels and beyond!

Good luck and thank you!
Aussiegirl