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The Middle of Nowhere (Part 2)

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 1. Drugging, 5. Kidnapping, 17. Hypothermia, 20. Dehumanization Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, dark!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, dark!Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Reader (no relationships) Summary: You wake up to find that you have been drugged, tied up, and taken to the middle of the woods on a cold, snowy night. The two men grinning down at you scream trouble but you are about to discover it is worse than you could have possibly imagined... Word Count: 5523 TW: Drugging, Kidnapping, Tied Up, Frostbite, Forced Undressing, Language, Mentions of Murder and Mutilation, Hunted for Sport, Getting Off on Thoughts of Violence/Death, Bradley is Taller than Reader, Reader's POV Notes: I am EXTREMELY proud and excited about this series and hope you enjoy! Huge thank you to @loverhymeswith and @green-socks for all of your help!💕 Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

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Something cold and wet lands gently on your cheek. Though very light, it’s enough to rouse you from your sleep. As you shift, trying to find a more comfortable position to lie in, your head pounds painfully in time with every beat of your heart and you moan softly. You must have had a few (or more) shots before leaving work last night because you can’t remember getting home…or how you got home…or even closing down the bar. How much did you have to drink?

It’s cold—much colder than it should be—and you vaguely wonder if your heater crapped out again. The last time that happened, it took your landlord almost a week to fix it so you really hope that isn’t the case. You try to reach for your blanket, wanting to just curl up in a warm cocoon to sleep off this headache, but your arms seem stuck or tangled together somehow. Could you have fallen asleep in the middle of taking off your shirt again? It has only happened twice but both times were when you were blackout drunk so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities…

Reluctantly, you force your eyes open so you can figure out what stupidity you have gotten yourself into this time–only to freeze as your vision comes into focus.

You had expected to see your bedroom ceiling or even possibly the ceiling of the bar’s break room above you, but instead, you open your eyes to see a man leering down at you, his face twisted into a sort of predatory grin.

Though the gleam in his eye is giving you the creeps, you try to remain calm even as your heart begins pounding in your chest. There could be a thousand perfectly innocent reasons this man is here looming over you like this and it’s best to not jump to conclusions until you know what’s going on. Besides, there is something vaguely familiar about this burly brunet. You know you have seen him somewhere before, though your groggy mind can’t quite place him. However, as soon as a second man (this one blond) steps into view, it all comes rushing back—these two had been at the bar earlier.

You hadn’t interacted with the first man very much, just took his order, poured him his drink, and topped it off once or twice when he got low. However, it hadn’t escaped your attention that he never took his eyes off of you the entire time you chatted with his buddy. And while the brunet had kept his distance, this blond had bent over backward trying to capture every ounce of your attention all night long. You had been bartending long enough to know exactly what kind of guy he was and what he was angling for, but you had to admit, those mesmerizing green eyes and the way that cocky smile curled around the toothpick he was chewing on all night did make you a little weak in the knees.

However, all of that quickly flies from your mind as your eyes settle on the large hunting knife the blond is currently spinning in his hands as he licks his lips, grinning at you.

Something is wrong. Very wrong. Get out now! A wave of terror clears the remaining fog in your mind as all of your instincts scream at you to flee. But as you try to scramble up off your back, you finally notice the thick rope wrapped around your wrists and another around your ankles. And to make matters worse, you seem to be lying in a small metal box of some sort. Your body has been crammed and twisted at a weird angle in order to fit, and the way it resembles a coffin makes a fresh chill run up your spine.

As you release a shuddering gasp, you realize that though restrained, your mouth has been left uncovered. Instantly, you begin screaming as loud as you can, alternating between “help” and just a wordless high-pitched shriek as you thrash around within the box. Pain shoots through you as your knees collide with the sides of the box and you hit one of your funny bones, but you ignore it and just keep screaming.

After a moment, you catch sight of your kidnappers’ faces and your heart sinks. They are expecting this. And what’s worse, based on their sadistic smirks, they are enjoying this. Which means they’re not concerned about anyone hearing you, no matter how much noise you make.

Though terrified by this realization, you force yourself to fall silent and lie still, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of watching you continue to beg for help.

Seemingly satisfied you are done with your freak-out, the brunet pulls himself up the side of the box until he looms over you, his broad frame filling your entire field of vision. His gaze travels down your prone form, lingering on your ass, breasts, and lips before he finally locks eyes with you. His lips curl into a sickening grin as he says, “Well, hello there, sweetheart. Ready to have some fun?”

Without waiting for an answer, he looks at the blond and jerks his head in your direction. Suddenly, everything around you begins to shake as you hear a metallic thud followed by the loud thumping of boots, and the blond appears towering next to you. He gives you a wink and a small click of his tongue before his hands slide under your shoulders and he lifts you up. As he does so, the brunet grabs your feet and you are roughly hauled out of the container.

As they lift you out, whatever insolation or protection the box had been providing you disappears and you are hit with the full chill of the late winter’s night air, causing you to instantly start shivering. For the first time, in the light of the electric lanterns the men had placed around the area, you get a good look at yourself and realize that while the men are dressed in heavy jackets layered over the flannel shirts they had on at the bar, you have been stripped down to your underwear and the thin tank top you were wearing that night under your uniform. At least you had opted for your boyshorts tonight instead of your thong, but you still shiver once more—and this time, it has nothing to do with the cold.

There is no telling what these men did to you while you were unconscious. Obviously, you must have been manhandled to some degree if they undressed you, tied you up, and stuffed you into a box, but was that as far as they went? Or did they have a different kind of fun with you while you had no way of fighting back or saying no? Tears sting the corners of your eyes as a hundred different scenarios play out in your head, and you hope it just appears like your eyes are watering from the cold. You would hate for these two to think they have broken you already.

As they stand you up on the snow-covered ground, your bare feet sink in the soft powder almost up to the top of your ankles. You gasp as you try to bounce from one foot to the other in an attempt to provide your poor feet any relief from the cold, but the rope around your ankles causes you to almost topple over. The only thing that keeps you from crashing into the snow is the brunet who reaches out to steady you. Silently, he bends down and unties the rope, though once he’s done, he walks away without touching the one still wrapped around your wrists.

Now able to bounce more steadily as you try to keep your feet from going completely numb, you begin to take in your surroundings. Glancing over your shoulder, you see a big, black, lifted pickup truck with an open metal toolbox in the bed—which explains why you were so cramped in the box. Looking past the truck, all you can see is rows and rows of trees. They seem to go on forever until disappearing into the void of darkness just beyond the glow from the lanterns. No wonder these men hadn’t worried about your screaming. There are enough woods outside of town that you could currently be ten or fifteen miles from anyone who could help you.

There’s no one but you and the two men who brought you here.

You don’t know what their plan for you is, but you decide the best course of action is to just be as agreeable as possible until the situation changes. So, forcing yourself to give them a lighthearted chuckle even as another shiver shakes your scantily clad body, you try to make your voice as positive as you can. “Hey guys, I don’t know what’s going on here, but if this is your idea of a joke, I don’t find it very funny. So why don’t you just untie me and we can all head back to town.”

“Oh, this is no joke—it’s a game. And you are the missing piece we were looking for,” the brunet says and your forced smile slowly fades. “What do you remember about tonight?”

Still willing to go along with them for now, you close your eyes and try to search through the cloud of fog and fear that is filling your mind. “I…I went to work like usual. Then you two came in an hour or two into my shift.” You nod at the brunet. “You were drinking whiskey, neat.” You nod towards the blond. “And you were having old fashioneds. You sat at the bar for a few hours talking to me in between customers. Yo-you mentioned you were waiting for a couple of friends to make it to town, but they never showed up. Then…” Your memories get fuzzier the later in the night you try to remember. “Then, you left after I announced last calls. You said…you said you’d be seeing me around…”

The two men exchange excited glances as the brunet nods. “You remember more than most….good. It’s more fun when they remember.”

The blond takes a few steps closer to you and reaches out to slowly drag his finger across your lips. “I wonder if you also remember the taste of my tongue in your mouth.”

You flinch away from his touch, diverting your eyes as you feel your stomach threatening to heave. Yes, you remember that too. Against all of your self-made rules and instincts, you had allowed yourself to be charmed by one of your soon-to-be-kidnappers towards the end of the night.

He had bet you a kiss that he could hit the bulls-eye on the dartboard without looking and you had taken him up on his offer, never imagining he could actually do it. But when he threw the dart behind him, his eyes locked firmly with yours as he did so, and it hit the dead center of the board, he had taken his prize. More than that, you had allowed him to get to second base while he shoved his tongue down your throat. In the moment, you enjoyed it—a lot. In fact, you had even considered asking him to meet you out back once you closed down, but now even the slightest brush of his skin against yours makes you sick to your stomach.

As you cower into yourself, the blond’s grin grows even wider, his green eyes sparkling in the lantern light. “Fuck yeah, you do remember. I gotta admit, if you hadn’t downed that shot so quickly, I was going to try to postpone this whole thing once I got that taste of you. Fucking delicious. I can only imagine how sweet the rest of you must taste. Hopefully, I’ll get a chance to find out later tonight.”

The feeling of nausea rolling in your stomach intensifies and you can feel the bile burning the back of your throat. Swallowing it back down, you choke out, “The shot? What shot?”

“The other part of our bet. Remember?”

Thinking long and hard, you try to recall what else you had agreed to in your bet. When it suddenly comes to you, you gasp, “I agreed to one drink. You put something in it!”

“You made it so easy,” the brunet says, practically purring with delight. “Usually, I have to really struggle to find just the right moment to slip our little concoction in when the target isn’t looking, but you were so preoccupied with your makeout session, I could have injected it straight into your veins and I doubt you would have noticed. And you made it easier still by choosing Fireball. The flavor covers all traces of the drugs unlike vodka shots so I’m not surprised you didn’t have any clue what had happened. That is the point, after all.”

“To get me out here to play your game?” Both men nod. “What kind of game?”

“The rules are simple,” the brunet explains, the electric lights casting sinister shadows across his face as he stalks closer. “You run, we chase. If you make it out of the woods or stumble across anyone else to help you, you win and we disappear into the night, never to bother you again. But if one of us hunts you down before you escape, that person wins the game and their prize is the right to do whatever they want to you as long as they finish the job before sunrise.”

Their prize is the right to do whatever they want to you as long as they finish the job….

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” you spit, all attempts at fake pleasantness abandoned as you are hit by the reality of how epically fucked up this situation truly is. Both men seem slightly taken aback by your drastic shift in tone and you straighten up to your full height as you continue. “I am not a fucking toy for you to play with o-or a prize to be won. One of you will win the right to do whatever they want to me? I don’t give you that right and I’m the only one who has a say in that. You can’t do this!”

“I hate to break it to you, but we can and we have and we will again. This is our game, and we’ve never lost.” The brunet stalks forward until his chest is just a few inches from yours and he sneers down at you. “Do you really think we haven’t heard all this before? Please. We’ve been playing this game once a month for over a decade. ‘Oh, please let me go. I have kids who need me.’ ‘I’ll do anything you want, just don’t kill me!’ ‘If you let me go right now, I promise I won’t tell a soul what happened. No police, I swear.” His voice switches between various high-pitched mocking tones as he imitates their past victims and your heart aches for the hundred or so women who found themselves in this same situation over the years.

Returning to his normal voice, the brunet leans over until you are enveloped by the visible cloud of his breath in the cold air. “No. The moment we chose you, your life was over. You belong to us now and we are the only ones who have a say in what happens to you now. And tonight…tonight we say you are a fox and we are the hounds who intend to chase you down and rip out that beautiful throat of yours. You are the prey and we are the predators; the hunted and the hunters. And the sooner you accept that the better this will be for all of us. Do you understand?”

You understand. You are about to die out here in the darkness of the trees, hunted down like an animal and subjected to God-only-knows-what horrors before you are finally murdered in cold blood. And while they are pretending to give you a way out, you have lost all feeling in your feet long ago, you can barely bend your fingers in the cold, and you are shivering so much you can barely see straight. In other words, you don’t stand a chance.

The brunet continues to look at you for an answer so you slowly nod your head. Satisfied, he straightens up and walks back over to the blond.

But before either of them can say anything, you ask, “Why me?”

The brunet turns around. “What?”

“Why did you pick me?”

“Why not?” the blond grins.

The brunet chuckles softly and shakes his head at his friend. However, he then decides to give you a real answer. “Well, first of all, you’re gorgeous which doesn’t necessarily affect the game but it’s a little of an added incentive to win the prize. Second of all, watching you dart around behind that bar all night, lifting boxes of alcohol, and holding your own against a few unruly customers made us think that you could hold your own out here, at least for a while, which makes things more interesting. And third of all, we could tell you have some fire in you. We like fire. That means you won’t just roll over and give up.”

“Yeah, we do not want a repeat of Des Moines,” the blond groans. “That chick just curled up in a ball crying and wouldn’t even leave the clearing. We finally had to just put her down. It ruined the whole trip.”

“But she’s not going to do that, are you, little fox?” the brunet purrs at you. “No, you’re gonna be one of our fighters. Like our girl outside of Austin. Oh…she was a wiley one.” He traces one finger over the scars littering his face and neck that were partially covered by his scruff. “Fought like a hellcat until the very end, scratching and biting and making sure to leave her mark. But I made her pay for each and every one of these. Just something for you to keep in mind once we start.”

“Oh, damn, I forgot about that.” The blond lets out an impressed whistle. “When I found you two, I didn’t even realize it was at first. I thought you had killed a coyote or a deer or something. And even once I knew, I could barely tell that mess used to be human. You were riding that high for weeks.”

The two men begin talking over each other bringing up their favorite hunts in the past, each one more horrible than the last. Each story you hear adds a new fear of what might happen to you before the end of the night. However, it also adds fuel to the anger building in your belly. How these two men had been getting away with this for so long, after doing this to so many women, was incomprehensible. Surely someone must have noticed over a hundred women disappearing over the past decade and started to investigate. These two didn’t seem like criminal masterminds by any means, so how had they managed to avoid detection for so long?

As you continue to watch them go back and forth with tales of past hunts, you shake your head and softly murmur under your breath, “Who the hell are you two?”

The two men stop reminiscing and turn to face you. You hadn’t meant for them to hear your question, but apparently they had.

“Have we not introduced ourselves? Aw, where are our manners?” the brunet asks, taking a step closer to you. “You can call me ‘Rooster’ and that Casanova over there—” he jerks his head towards the blond “—is ‘Hangman’.”

“Rooster and Hangm– What the fuck kinds of names are those?”

“Well, you see, our boy here—” Hangman comes over to wrap his arm around Rooster’s shoulder and slaps him on the chest “—he’s a crooner. Loves to crow when he catches his prey so everyone knows he won. He’s a bit of a showoff. And me…let’s just say my name’s a bit more self-explanatory.”

With the hand not draped across Rooster’s shoulders, he shifts his arm so his jacket pulls back to reveal a length of rope ending in a noose tucked into his belt. “As much as I love a little foreplay with my knives, it can’t compare to watching someone gasping and struggling for air as they flail wildly three feet off the ground. Then seeing that moment when everything goes still and the light softly dims in their eyes?” He shivers with a small “whoo” of delight. “There’s nothing like it in the world. It’s even better than sex.”

Just when you think these two can’t get any worse, they somehow manage to top themselves. Your voice dripping with disgust, you ask, “Why are you telling me all of this?”

Hangman shrugs. “Because we are killing time until we can start the game and then, in an hour or two, it won’t matter that you know. Plus, it’s nice actually getting to share our accomplishments with someone else for once. That’s the worst downside to having an illegal hobby. You can’t tell anyone about it besides the few people who were there when it happened.”

Suddenly, Hangman’s pocket lights up and the muffled sounds of “Slow Ride” fill the air. Rooster glares at the sheepish blond as he pulls his phone out and glances at the screen. But any contrition he seems to have quickly evaporates and he answers the call as a wide grin splits across his face.

“Hey, you almost here? We’ve got a real spitfire this time. It’s gonna be one hell of a competition.” Hangman listens for a moment then his face falls. “Damn. Yeah, no, I understand.” Glancing up at Rooster, he mouths ‘not gonna make it’ before turning his focus back to the phone.

With a heavy sigh, Rooster looks down at you. “Sorry, little fox. We weren’t lying before. We were supposed to be meeting some friends who wanted to play too. But it looks like it’ll just be the three of us after all.”

That predatory gleam you had seen on his face when you first woke up returns as he leans in until his lips are practically brushing against the curve of your ear. In a soft whisper, he says, “But it wouldn’t have mattered. You’re mine, baby girl. I’ve known from the second I laid eyes on you in that bar that I had to have you. Hangman might get to you first and slice you up a little bit, but at the end of the night, it’s going to be me with my hands around your throat as the light leaves your eyes and you take your final, desperate gasp of air.” He leans back with a moan as his eyes flutter closed and his tongue runs across his lips. “Fuck…I’m so hard just thinking about it.”

You have never felt such deep, burning feelings of disgust or anger like you feel towards Rooster. But using that fire coursing through your veins to give you strength, you clasp your bound hands together and drive them into the side of Rooster’s head. Because his eyes are still closed as he revels in the idea of your murder, he never sees it coming.

Your fists slam into his face and you feel the crunch of his nose behind your force. Both of you topple sideways to the ground but you instantly try to scramble to your feet before he comes to his senses. However, you struggle to use your tied hands to push yourself to your feet in the soft snow and just as you are starting to figure out how to stand, Rooster’s elbow drives into your right temple.

Collapsing like a ton of bricks, the soft snow cushions your fall. Darkness begins closing in until there is just a single circle of light swimming in the center of your vision. Waves and waves of pain are radiating throughout your body and a low moan flows from your lips.

In that small dot of light, you see a blurry Rooster come into view. There is blood flowing from his nose and a hungry rage burning in his eyes. Leaning in close, he spits, “Be glad the game hasn’t started yet. Otherwise, I would be cutting off each of your fingers one by one before shoving them down your throat. But don’t think I’ll forget this once the hunt has begun.”

Ignoring his threats, you press your aching temple deeper into the snow, using the cold powder as a sort of ice pack to ease the pain a little. It is the first time all night you are thankful for the freezing snow surrounding you. However, you can also feel it soaking into your tank top and underwear, and you know that being wet in this environment is just going to make things a hundred times worse. But seeing as there’s nothing you can do about it, you just try to focus on the slight relief the snow is providing your pounding head.

Distantly, you hear Hangman end his call and hesitantly approach where you lay. Rooster spits a wad of bloody saliva onto your cheek before rising and turning towards his friend. “What happened?”

“There was a big snowstorm just east of here and the roads are coated in ice. Even the truck can’t make it through for at least a few more hours. So it looks like it’ll just be us this time.”

“Just like the old days.”

“Just like the old days.” Hangman glances down at you. “Is there something I should know?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Rooster says as he wipes the blood from under his nose with the back of his hand. “She wanted to start the game early, but I made sure she’ll follow the rules from now on. Isn’t that right, little fox?” He nudges your side with the toe of his boot.

The pain throbbing in your head is still overwhelming despite the slight relief provided by the snow and your vision has yet to clear. However, you lift your head slightly and glare at the man towering over you. With all the viper you can muster, you hiss, “Fuck you.”

Rooster’s face splits into a cruel grin, made even more sinister by the blood still staining his face. “That’s my girl.” Then, turning to Hangman, he says, “Well, if they aren’t coming, I guess we can start. Get her up.”

Hangman walks over and hauls your limp body to a standing position. Though you are still unsteady on your feet, you manage to stay upright. Then to your surprise, Hangman pulls out one of his knives from earlier and cuts the rope binding your hands. Your arms ache from being held in the same position for so long and your wrists are rubbed raw from the rope burns, but it is still a relief to be free once more. You immediately shove your numb hands under your armpits in an attempt to get some feeling back to them, but you can already tell it won’t do much good. The rest of your body is too cold to provide much relief.

Grabbing your elbow, Hangman leads you over to where Rooster is standing next to a pile of supplies in the middle of the clearing. He positions you so you are standing facing Rooster and then he goes to stand next to his friend.

Satisfied everything is set, Rooster says, “It’s time for the game to begin. You have a five-minute head start to get as far away from here as you can. Once your time is up, we start the hunt. The only rules are what I said before: If you find help or civilization before we catch you, then you go free. If one of us finds you before then, the game is over and the winner gets to claim his prize. And your time starts now.” He presses a button on his watch and you hear a soft beep.

Five minutes. That’s potentially all the time you have left in this world. You know you should take off and try to put as much distance between yourself and this place as you can, but if these are your last moments of life, you are going to give these two psychos a piece of your mind before you go.

“You two are so pathetic,” you snarl. “You see yourselves as these great hunters and killers but you’re shooting fish in a barrel and then boasting about your prize. You drug these girls, strip them down, send them off without a way of even trying to protect themselves, and then brag you are mighty warriors when your victims can’t even put up much of a fight. And the only reason you don’t give anyone a real chance is because you know you might actually lose.”

Hangman nervously glances at Rooster as he shifts uncomfortably. Your words have had their intended effect as doubt settles in on him. However, Rooster doesn’t seem the least bit phased. Instead, he smirks at you as his eyes narrow.

“Nice try, but we’re not falling for it. Now, get going while there’s still time on the clock. We want a challenging game but don’t think for one second we won’t kill you right here if you haven’t moved when the timer goes off. We’ve done it before.”

“At least give me my jacket or shoes or pants or something! I’m gonna get frostbite or hypothermia before either of you can catch me, and then where does that leave your game?”

“What did I just tell you? We’re. Not. Falling. For. It,” Rooster growls.

“I don’t know, maybe she’s right.” Rooster turns his glare to Hangman who shrinks back but continues speaking. “I mean, we’ve never done this in the snow or the cold so we might need to adjust slightly. Plus, her lips are already starting to turn blue and she’s shivering really hard. I don’t want this to turn into another environmental death like last time when the girl fell off the cliff or that time in Reno where the girl got bit by the rattlesnake. If she’s gonna die, one of us should get to be the one who does it, not the cold.”

Rooster sighs as he considers this, his hand scrubbing across the short scruff along his jaw. He turns back to stare at the truck for a long time before he finally nods. “Fine. She can have her jacket back. But that’s all.”

Relief floods through you at the thought of any kind of warmth, but your smile fades as Hangman jogs over to the truck and pulls your jacket out of the back seat. You had forgotten which one you wore to work today.

While it did have the added benefit of being one of the warmer jackets you owned—a thick hooded jacket with fuzzy sherpa lining that falls to the top of your knees and has several pockets to warm your hands in—it was also a light burnt-orange color that will stand out like a beacon amongst both the pure white snow and darkness of the night. Rooster smirks at you and you have a feeling that he didn’t forget about the color. The olive branch he had extended was in fact covered in thorns.

Yet, as soon as Hangman tosses you the jacket, you quickly pull it on, zip it up, flip the hood up over your head, and jam your fists into your pockets. You are still completely bare from your knees down, but at least the coverage from the snow and the warmth you can already feel melting the chill in your upper half is a vast improvement. You just wish you had been given your boots back as well. Your feet have been completely numb from almost the minute they sunk into the deep snow, and the idea of trying to run miles and miles like this terrifies you.

But what choice do you have?

Glancing at his watch, Rooster says, “You now have…three minutes forty-eight seconds. Time is ticking.”

There’s no point in wasting any more of the time you have left, so you pick a direction and start walking towards the wall of trees at the edge of the clearing.

When you pass him, Hangman winks at you, runs his tongue over his lips, and whispers, “I’ll be seeing you real soon.”

At this point, you aren’t really sure which man you are more frightened of tracking you down. But then your mind flashes back to the pure pleasure on Rooster’s face as he talked about watching the light leave your eyes, and you know who you would rather have find you.

As soon as you leave the clearing, you take off into the dark woods as fast as your frozen feet will allow.

Part 3 coming soon!

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