Wild Child Pt. 01

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.

Thank you Molly Cactus for helping me get "unstuck" on this story.

Chapter One

Captured

"God fucking damn it," the irate young blonde muttered as the burly policeman pushed her head down. She struggled in vain as the peace officer made her take a seat in the backseat of his cruiser. She wiggled to try to get comfortable, as the zip ties binding her wrists together behind her back were chafing against her skin. She looked with disgust at the grimy carpeting and the fake leather upholstery that had already sufferable innumerable marks and cuts. The whole cabin reeked of vomit.

Her door slammed. The policeman took the driver's seat and backed out of his parking place at the exclusive estate in Chesterfield, an upscale suburb just west of St. Louis. The metal screen between them distorted his face, but Brooke could see in the bright moonlight that he was cute ... and married. Brooke craned her neck backwards, trying to see her best friend, Nicole, through the rear window. She could just see the yellowish glow of the mansion's lights and the partygoers standing outside, watching her being taken off to jail. She was relieved, and pissed, that she didn't spot Nicole. The car they came in was missing from its space.

As the cruiser navigated the long, sweeping circular driveway Brooke shouted, "Where are you taking me?"

There was silence for a moment. "County jail in Clayton," the policeman grunted. He might have been cute but he didn't seem to be happy as he looked forward to spending the rest of his night preparing paperwork for her arrest for grand larceny.

"This car smells like shit," Brooke said in a voice loud enough to be heard over the chatter on the police radio.

"Last guy I arrested got sick. Didn't have time to clean it up before this call came in," the policeman shouted. "I was going to get off my shift early but now I have to write up your arrest. So don't ask any more fucking questions."

Brooke stayed silent for the remainder of the trip. The policeman was kind enough to roll down the back window a few inches, allowing the night air to flood in. She pressed her nose upward to capture the cool, fresh air, as it skimmed across her face. It felt good. The first thing to feel good in some time for the hard luck blonde.

She lost her job as a bartender when she served an underage minor. It mattered not that the waitress who told her she had carded the kid didn't get in trouble. Over the past few months Brooke had a frustrating job search and had burned through her meager savings. She was three months behind in her rent and would soon be booted out of her tiny apartment in East St. Louis.

It was two days ago that her best friend Nicole, who she had met last time she served time in the county lock-up, told her about a party she was going to that weekend. The two of them talked about stealing any phones or computers they could find in the house. Nicole knew someone who would pay for them. Brooke wasn't keen on the idea, but financial desperation was creeping into her decision making, even though there was a bit of distrust between the two women. Nicole had caught Brooke having sex with her then boyfriend, but all was supposedly forgiven when Nicole found out that her boyfriend had cheated on her with several women, not just Brooke.

The afternoon of the party, Brooke and Nicole got together in Brooke's apartment to talk about that night.

"Whose party is it?" Brooke asked.

"I have a friend who I met cutting her hair who told me about it," Nicole answered. The tall, thin brunette worked part-time at a styling salon and one of her customers, Julie, had bragged about a party she was going to. Brooke had met Julie briefly the last time she visited Nicole's salon. Julie was a bubbly round faced redhead who was full breasted and oversexed. Brooke thought she was a bit full of herself, but harmless.

"No ... no ... who's throwing the party?"

"Oh ... uh ... David ... something. Shit, Julie just texted me." Nicole picked up her phone and looked at her text messages. "David Heppner."

"So who is he?"

"Julie told me he's in his late 20's. Lives in some fancy part of Chesterfield. His parents are loaded. He's throwing a party while his parents are in Switzerland or some other fucking place in Europe where rich people go."

"Look. I need the cash. But we don't want to go back to County, do we?" Brooke glared at her friend, telling her that she doubted this was a good idea. She didn't have the money to catch up on her rent so she justified it in her head that the rich kids could afford it.

"Piece of cake. Swear to God." Nicole raised her hand, as if that gesture would add credibility to her lie.

Unfortunately, Brooke didn't know that Nicole had started using again. And a junkie who is looking for her next fix doesn't always exercise the best of judgment.

"I don't know," sighed Brooke. "The last time I got caught a guy I was dating was running a scam at a gas station stealing credit card numbers. He talked me into helping him."

Nicole knew her friend was going to back out. The voice in her head calling for drugs was now an angry shout. She needed a fix. "Brooke, please do this for me. As a friend."

Nicole knew she was relying on the last shred of capital she had with the woman she saved from a serious shanking when they served time together. Nicole had already been in the county lock-up for a month, and had gotten the lay of the land. She was warned when she entered that there was a gang running the cell block. Brooke, as a newbie, had apparently offended one of the gang members during lunch. Nicole happened to be sitting at the same table as Brooke and watched as an enraged woman stood up and pulled a shank out of her pocket. Nicole at first resisted the urge to help, but seeing how young and helpless Brooke seemed, a pang of conscience caused her to leap forward and kick the shank out of the woman's hand. Nicole had gotten a black eye as a result of the fight that ensued, and fifteen days in solitary, but earned the undying gratitude of a frightened twenty year old.

Nicole tilted her head. "Please?" She was already thinking about the $300 she hoped to clear from the stolen electronics.

Brooke was caving. She did owe Nicole ... big time. "Are you sure this is going to be OK?"

"Yes, yes," said Nicole, now impatiently. "It'll be fine. I promise. I'll pick you up at nine, OK?"

Brooke nodded. She couldn't shake the bad feeling she had about this adventure.

Brooke rummaged through her closet, finding a short, tight black leather skirt, ankle high black leather boots and a tight t-shirt that showed off her small breasts and made her nipples poke out. Brooke wore her hair short, with her blonde hair framing a youthful face. She put on her eye shadow and eye liner, perhaps a bit heavy, and looked at herself in the mirror.

"This better work," she told herself. "I can give the landlord the money as a down payment on the back rent and then find another bartending job." Brooke took comfort in the fact that Nicole was crafty and resourceful, and always seemed to land on her feet.

The night started well enough. Nicole had borrowed a friend's car and picked Brooke up promptly at nine. Brooke put the address of the party into her phone and the GPS led them to a street lined by mature trees and large houses behind impressive gates. They arrived at the address given to them. The gate was open, so Nicole drove in, going down a long driveway to a magnificent Tudor style house. There were already a number of cars parked on the circular driveway in front of the house. Nicole found a space about a hundred feet from the house and parked.

"Fucking A. Look at this house!" Nicole exclaimed, clearly impressed.

Brooke was as well. But now her level of apprehension was escalating. Nicole could see that her friend was nervous.

"It'll be OK," she said to her queasy passenger. "You go in and make nice with David what's his name and I'll scope out the house."

Brooke didn't make a move to get out of the car.

Nicole put her hand on Brooke's knee. "C'mon. It'll be fine. We're here now. Let's do it."

Brooke gave a nod of her head and the two of them exited the car. Nicole was toting an empty backpack. They could hear the music pouring out of the open front door. There were three people on the porch smoking a joint. The two women walked up the stairs to the brightly lit porch, then waded through an entranceway already crowded with partygoers. They followed the thumping of the music, which led them to a large kitchen littered with empty bottles and cans and dominated by loud conversation.

Brooke found a keg of beer and filled one cup for her and one for Nicole. They wandered into the backyard, where the majority of the people were outside talking and listening to the DJ. There were a few couples dancing on the pool deck. Brooke went up to a couple of young women who were together, but were busy on their phones.

"Where's the host?" Brooke asked.

One of the women looked up from her phone and pointed across the yard. "See the guy in the red polo shirt?"

Brooke saw him. He was a head taller than the group of women he was talking to, and quite handsome. He seemed at ease, even though there were at least fifty people partying in his house.

"Uh huh. I see him."

"That's David."

"Thanks." Brooke sucked in a breath and walked towards David. Nicole went in the opposite direction, into a darkened hallway.

As Brooke approached, David spotted the new face. "Hey ... come join us," he said, waving Brooke over. One of the reasons he threw these parties was to meet new girls, and Brooke was cute, even though she looked young.

"I'm David. And you are ...".

Brooke hadn't thought it through, but she knew it'd be a mistake to use her name. "Katie."

"Welcome Katie. So who do you know here?"

Brooke felt trapped. She couldn't come up with a lie, so she told the truth. "Julie."

"Ah yes. Julie. I haven't seen her yet." Julie hadn't been in the backyard yet. She was fucking a guy she met right after she arrived in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

"So tell me about yourself Katie."

"Not much to tell. I'm working as a bartender. I'm hoping to go back to community college to get my associate's degree." At least some of that was true.

The other people David was talking to filtered away. Now it was just the two of them. Brooke took a long draw off her beer, trying to calm her nerves. She knew her role was to keep David occupied while Nicole went through the house. He drew her closer, and it was clear to Brooke that David had been drinking heavily. He put his hand on her ass, rubbing it through her leather skirt. She resisted the impulse to slap his hand.

"You're really cute, Katie." What David meant to say was, "You're smoking hot Katie and I'd like to fuck you silly."

She didn't move his hand away -- she had no way of drawing a line. He squeezed her butt cheek, then dropped his hand lower, pulling up her short, leather skirt and putting his hand on her silky panties.

"And sexy," he added, as his fingers found the gusset, trying to wiggle under the elastic band that bordered it.

Brooke pulled abruptly away as she felt his finger touch the lips of her pussy. "Did ... did you want a drink?"

"I'm good," he replied, slightly slurring his words. He smiled. He wasn't surprised that she didn't give in right away. He kissed Brooke on the lips. "Let's go upstairs," he whispered, putting his hand around her waist.

Brooke knew she had to buy a few more minutes. She nodded her head, but at the same time was trying to figure out how she could gracefully extricate herself from what he had in mind. They went inside, finding the kitchen was now filled with wall to wall people. David was momentarily distracted by some people that wanted to say hi. He wandered off to a corner of the kitchen. Nicole spotted Brooke and came up right next to her, squeezing her way through the throng of partiers. She handed Brooke a backpack, now weighted down with stolen electronics.

"Let's go. I'll pull the car around and meet you at the front door in a couple minutes." Nicole turned around and left before Brooke could answer. Just as Brooke was about to sneak out of the kitchen she felt a tug on her shoulder.

"Brooke!" It was Julie. She had that "just fucked" look.

Brooke didn't feel she could ignore Julie so she stopped to have a brief conversation, enough so she wouldn't arouse suspicion.

"So what are you up to Brooke?" asked Julie, in a voice loud enough to be heard by the approaching David.

"I thought you said your name was Katie," said David, his antenna now up.

Brooke was caught between a rock and a hard place. She started to answer. "I did ... but ... but."

Julie was dumbfounded. "Your name is Katie?"

As the wheels in Brooke's mind were grinding, trying to find a plausible explanation for her lie, David spotted the backpack that Brooke was holding.

"What have you got?" he asked, now only inches away from Brooke. He wrested the backpack from her.

"Hey ..." Brooke said reflexively.

"Or what?" said David, his eyes now like daggers. The conversations in the kitchen stopped.

This was one of those moments that you wanted to forget but never could. Brooke said nothing, and wished there was a hole she could hide in.

"That's better," huffed David, as he opened the backpack. He reached in and threw three smartphones and two tablets on the kitchen table. He gripped Brooke's wrist ... hard. She squirmed, but said nothing. The people around them were craning their necks to see if any of the stolen items were theirs.

"So Brooke, or Katie, or whatever the fuck your name is. You're going to jail."

"Fuck," muttered Brooke, as she hung her head down. "Not again."

David called the police, and within thirty minutes, Brooke was on her way to the County jail in a police cruiser that smelled like puke. The car pulled up to a 50's style building that should have been replaced twenty years ago. It was Friday night, and there was a parade of police officers going up and down the front stairs with suspects in tow. Brooke was pulled out of her car and escorted by patrolman Lincoln Moorhead to the booking area for women located on the mezzanine level. Brooke stumbled on a cracked stairway tread. She fell on her knees. The pain of the fall and the weight of her predicament caused her to break down and cry.

"Get up. I don't have time for this," said her arresting officer as he jerked Brooke up by her elbow. "You've already made me late. Get moving ... bitch."

They went into the booking area and took a seat on a well-worn wooden bench. All of the intake personnel were busy, and it looked like a train station at midday. They sat there for what seemed like an eternity when they were finally waved over for processing. The clerk looked fatigued, and was painfully slow with the paperwork. Brooke started to fidget. Officer Moorhead cinched the band around her hands tighter.

"Don't fuckin' move again."

The clerk finally looked up from her paperwork. "You'll be arraigned on Monday morning. Judge will begin court at 9 a.m.," the clerk recited by rote. "You got a lawyer?" Brooke could swear she was chewing gum and talking at the same time.

"Lawyer?" complained Brooke. "I can't even afford a sandwich."

The clerk was thoroughly unimpressed by Brooke's sarcasm. "A court appointed lawyer will meet with you on Monday sometime between 7 and 8 a.m. in the holding area down the hall. You are to be there no later than 6:45 for check in," the clerk rattled off without an ounce of sympathy. "Don't be late," she admonished the young blonde, as if Brooke might have some other pressing engagement.

After she was checked in, Officer Moorhead cut the zip tie binding her wrists together. Brooke rubbed the reddened flesh, trying to restore the circulation to her hands. She was herded down a long corridor to another building that housed the women's portion of the County lock-up. She waited in line with other new inmates at a window where a disinterested clerk issued neatly folded clothes and bedding. With clothes and bedding in hand, she was directed by a short overweight female guard into a small stall in the women's restroom where she changed into her prison issued fatigues and stood, shivering, in her bright orange jumpsuit, on the cold, faded tiles. The prison guard tapped Brooke on her rump with a night stick, motioning her to follow.

Another overworked clerk issued her a cell assignment, whereupon the guard escorted Brooke to the lock-up's common area, which included the dining area. She peered into a great, brightly lit space, the size of a high school gymnasium. There were a number of female inmates milling around, playing cards and reading. Brooke was navigating through the crowded space, being jostled by a prisoner that saw she was a newbie.

Brooke was already nervous, and this walk of shame wasn't helping her frazzled state of mind.

Then a hand pulled on her shoulder.

"What!" Brooke shouted reflexively to the woman behind her.

The woman her tugged on her shoulder held up her hands in mock surrender.

There was a flash of recognition on Brooke's face.

"Aleisha," she cried out, both out of joy and relief, to see a woman she knew from her last stint in County. Aleisha was a middle aged African-American woman who was wrongfully (she claimed) convicted of possessing heroin for the purpose of distribution. She was in the eighth year of a ten-year sentence.

"Follow me," Brooke's friend said as she turned to walk to the other side of the dining area. Brooke shrugged her shoulders and decided to follow. As they were winding their way through the crowded dining area Aleisha pointed to a group of women sitting in the far corner. They were watching the newcomers carefully.

"See the one who's sitting at the head of that table?"

Brooke looked over in the direction Aleisha was pointing. She saw a number of tables that seated eight, with the one in the rear having only three -- a woman sitting at the head of the table flanked by two heavily tattooed bull dykes, one African-American and the other Asian. The woman who was clearly in charge had light brown skin (Puerto Rican, Brooke guessed, maybe early 40's), shiny black curly hair down to her shoulders, and a longish angular face with a pointed chin. Brooke couldn't make out much more detail. The woman was in an animated conversation with a guard that was standing behind her.

"She's the Queen Bee," Aleisha said respectfully. "She controls all the drugs, prostitution and contraband in here. She wants be called ma'am. She wants to see all the newbies as soon as they arrive. I'm taking you there now."

"Now?" Brooke almost dropped the pile of bedding she was carrying. She had just arrived in prison, and certainly wasn't mentally prepared to meet the head of the gang that controlled her cell block.

"Now!"

Aleisha pulled Brooke by the hand until they were standing in front of the Queen Bee's table. The woman interrupted her conversation with the prison guard and glared at Brooke. The Queen Bee was wearing prison issue fatigues and was without make-up.

"So what have we here?" the woman asked in an almost imperial tone.

With a wavering voice, the newbie replied, "My name is Brooke, ma'am."

It pleased the Queen Bee that Brooke was respectful and called her "ma'am." And even with prison fatigues on, she could see Brooke's youthful good looks. She softened, as she imagined the young blonde as her new plaything.