The Candy Shop

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When the lights came back on, Ian found Ben twitching and moaning in the hallway. “Sh-sh-she Ta-Ta-ser-ed me,” he stuttered.

“Where did she get a Taser?” Ian growled. “Which way did she go?”

Ben managed to point down the hallway and Ian leapt over him and made a beeline for the back door. Despite the pouring rain, he threw open the door and stepped outside to make a phone call. “She got away,” Ian blurted, “and she’s with him.”

The man on the other end of the call spewed obscenities.

“I’ll call Landon,” Ian said. “You use your resources to locate him.”

The man paused momentarily. “I’ll be over to pick up the next girl. Get me someone that looks like Mrs. Sullivan. I want to send a message.”

“What about Audrey?” Ian questioned.

“I’m saving her for something really special,” he clucked sadistically.

Disconnecting the call, Ian rushed back inside and helped Ben scramble to his feet; and then they burst into the dressing room, startling all of the women. “Line up!” Ian barked. “Line up!”

The ladies looked at one another with confused expressions and then formed a single file line. Ian paced up and down the line, sizing up each woman. He needed a medium-sized brunette with blue eyes. Shelby wiggled her shoulders as Ian passed by. “What are picking someone for?” She asked excitedly. “Whatever it is, I’m game.”

Ian rolled his eyes and continued down the line. The Cher-look-alike scowled as he sized her up. “Perv,” she mumbled and Ian narrowed his brows.

Stopping in front of the fifth woman in line, Ian asked her name. “Ginger,” she answered shyly.

“What is your flower name?” Ian asked with disgust.

“Oh,” Ginger giggled. “I forgot. I’m a Geranium.”

“Turn around,” Ian ordered and Ginger stepped out of line and spun. Her dark brown hair hung almost to her bottom. That was too long, but could be easily cut. “Take this one,” Ian directed Ben, who quickly took Ginger by the arm and escorted her out of the dressing room.

“Aw, shucks,” Shelby pouted. “When is someone going to request me?”

“I don’t think she got requested,” the Cher-look-alike noted. “I’ve never seen them do that before.”

“Me either,” quipped a tall, red-head wearing a G-string and pasties. “Somethin’ don’t seem right about that.”

Ben and Ian escorted Ginger down the hall and toward the back door. While Ian spoke with Ginger, distracting her, Ben planted the syringe into her neck and Ian caught her as her body went limp and she crumpled forward. As soon as they heard the limousine pull up outside, Ben carried her to the car and placed her in the back.

“Well, done,” commented the man in the backseat, as he rubbed his rubber gloved fingers over her thighs. “This is going to be fun.”

Ben closed the limousine door and hurried back inside.

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