s*x Slave

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Eddie’s POV

I rushed from the house, searching for Ryan. Princess wanted to come, but I refused, it would complicate things.

I called Dad, saying Ryan was captured and cops were needed. I grabbed Joe’s knife as my only defense and ran to Ryan’s location, but he wasn’t there.

“Ryan!” I called, getting no response. Scared, I prayed, “God, help my brother.”

I called his phone; it rang, then went off. “s**t, Joe has him,” I thought, running through paths Ryan might take.

At a turn, I saw a leg being dragged. “Ryan,” I thought, following to a staircase. I climbed, gripping the knife.

On the top floor, Ryan lay crying. “Ryan!” I ran to him, but someone hit me with a stick from behind.

“Argh!” I yelled, falling before Ryan. “Eddie,” he cried. My head throbbed, but I held the knife, trying to stand.

Joe kicked me down, grinning, his wounded eye covered. He pressed his foot on my knee, hitting it, making me scream.

“Thought you could run?” he yelled, squatting to glare at me. I spat blood in his face.

He slapped me hard, knocking me down. “Daddy, come fast,” I prayed.

“No one saves you today, not after this!” he yelled, showing his cut eye. “You stole evidence from my house. You really like her,” he sneered.

How did he know it was me? He took my knife, tapping it on his palm. “This took something precious,” he said.

“Don’t hurt my brother,” Ryan cried.

“Oh, I shouldn’t, after what you and Princess did? Maybe I’ll kill you first,” he said, advancing on Ryan.

“No!” I yelled, leaping onto his neck, choking him. “Run, Ryan!”

He hesitated. “Run!” I yelled again, feeling a sharp pain as Joe stabbed my arm. I groaned, falling, losing my grip.

Princess’s POV

I couldn’t stay home knowing Eddie faced Uncle Joe. I grabbed a small knife from the kitchen, tucking it into my panties.

Eddie’s father arrived with police cars. He saw me outside and ran over. “Princess, stay here. I’ll find them with the cops,” he said.

“No, I’m going,” I said firmly.

“Stay in the car during the operation,” he said, starting the engine. “I hope I can,” I muttered.

He used a radio. “Have you tracked the number?”

“Yes, sir, we’ve found the location,” came the reply.

“Good, take the lead. We’re behind you,” he said, hanging up.

The police cars moved, and we followed. “You’re powerful,” I said, smiling.

“Maybe,” he said, focused. I touched the knife, thinking, “I’ll slit Joe’s throat myself. Jail’s too good for him.”