Kim Possible Porn Story: Taken Chapter 6

Chapter 5

The Nightmare Begins

The Night Will Only Know

by

Garth Brooks

That night will live forever, their first time to lie together,

They were finally where desire dared them to go,

Both belonging to another, but longing to be lovers,

Promising each other that the night will only know,

Parked on some old back street, they laid down in the back seat,

And fell into the fire down below,

They would pay for their deceiving, for a deadly web was weaving,

Why they picked that spot that evening, Lord, the night will only know,

Well within the innuendos, just outside the steamy windows,

The night was shattered by a womans scream,

Motionless, and frightened, the grip of fate had tightened,

And with trembling hands, they wiped away the steam,

And they saw a woman pleading, stumbling and retreating,

Till she became the victim of her foe,

And they watched her fall in silence, to save their own alliance,

But the reason for the violence, just the night will only know,

And every paper ran the story, she was stripped of all her glory,

And they told exactly how the woman died,

Abandoned and forsaken, too many pills were taken,

And they ruled the womans death a suicide,

Bound by their behavior, they couldve been her savior,

Now guilt becomes the endless debt they owe,

But another crime was committed, and its never been admitted,

Have the guilty been acquitted just the night . . .

Will only know.

By early morning, Ron had several things he needed, including the printed copy of the words good luck written in Albanian.

Youre a lifesaver, Wade. Ron stated, as he walked to the front desk, and picked up the plain manila envelope, and walked back to the room. He then went about the task of helping the girl he saved to regain herself.

Ron had gotten several vials from Gilles that he needed to work on the girl, mostly medications, along with at least two IV bags full of saline solution, and Glucose, which the girl needed to replenish the fluids lost to the ravages of heroin.

Ron then began mixing several vials, and added a syringe of what he mixed into a vial of Morphine, he then injected it into the IV he had established on the girl earlier.

Slowly. Ever so slowly, the girl began to come around . . . dazed at first, but everything began to slowly come into focus.

What? The girl asked, grabbing for the IV.

No . . . just leave that be . . . its fluids, and medicine to counteract the drugs, just relax. Ron stated.

Where am I? the girl asked feebly.

Youre safe. Ron replied, keeping everything as vague as he could.

Who are you? the girl asked.

A friend. Ron replied.

Thank you. the girl replied, smiling weakly.

Theres some questions I need to ask you. Ron said, getting to business. The girl nodded.

Do you remember who gave you this jacket? Ron asked.

Young American girl. the girl stated.

Go on. Ron stated.

Friendly, very kind. the girl stated.

I know . . . shes my fiancee. Ron replied, causing the girl to gasp slightly.

I am sorry. the girl replied.

Where were you when she gave you this? Ron asked.

Paradise. the girl replied, her voice sounding haggard, and tired.

What? Ron asked.

Paradise, the girl replied again, third house from the corner, red double doors.

And the girl that gave you this jacket is there? Ron asked.

Yes. the girl replied.

Ron nodded, as the girl drifted off to sleep, once he was sure she was asleep, he got up, and left the room.

Rue de Paradis, half an hour later:

The sun was fully risen now, a whole 24 hours were now gone, and still, Ron was no closer to finding Kim, and her elusive Albanian captors, but he had one clue to go on, although a longshot, it was still a clue, and now, he was looking at it, the third set of doors from the corner of this small, narrow cobbled street called the Rue de Paradis, he was facing a set of double doors, painted a vivid red color. With a sense of purpose, Ron crossed the street, and opened the doors.

The doors let into an open courtyard, where two men were playing cards, they quickly stopped when Ron walked in.

Who the hell are you? one man asked, in a thick Eastern European accent that Ron recognized as Albanian.

Check it out. Ron replied, pulling the business card that Jean-Pierre had given him out.

Jean-Pierre LaMond. Ron stated.

We paid Chevalier two weeks ago. the man stated, handing Ron back the card with his right hand, thats when Ron noticed it. A tattoo on his hand, between the thumb, and index finger, on the back of the hand, a crescent moon, and star motif.

Chevalier transferred two days ago, Im the one you need to deal with now. Ron replied.

What does this mean to me? the man asked.

Id like to speak to your boss, a man named Marko. Ron stated, boldly.

Fuck you. the man replied, making a move toward Ron, who pulled out his cell phone, and held it in front of the man.

I push a button, and 30 agents will be here before you have time to scratch your worthless balls, now Im not here to waste my time with you, Ron said, his boldness coming to the surface, you either take me to your boss, or I shut your ass down for racketeering, and prostitution. Whats it gonna be, bright eyes?

Wait here. the man said, backing down quickly. He had no idea who this Jean-Pierre LaMond was, but he felt better than to test his patience this early in the morning, so, he chose to go along with the French agent in front of him.

Ron waited until the man reappeared at the first landing, which was only six short steps from the courtyard floor.

You have weapon? the man asked.

Youre holding it. Ron replied.

Follow me, then. the man replied, leading Ron up the stairs, and into the upper story of the small flat.

Ron looked quickly around, and began to take in everything he saw at a glance, he saw at least five men sitting in what could only be described as a den of some kind. All of them were talking among themselves, and playing cards, they passed a second room, where Ron saw at least five more men, watching a small black and white television, from the looks of it, they were watching a soccer game, Ron also noticed a spiral staircase, where he saw two other men, both armed with MP5 machine guns, walking up the narrow staircase, to an upper floor, he then was led into a kitchen, where eight men sat, all of them were playing cards, and drinking what could only be described as coffee.

Good morning, gentlemen, do you mind if I have a cup of coffee? Ron asked, grabbing a tin cup from the sink basin, wiping it clean with a paper towel, and pouring some of the strong black liquid into it.

What do you want here, cop? one of the men asked, his voice seemed very familiar to Ron, very familiar.

I am here to offer you a business proposition. Which one of you is Marko? Ron asked.

We are all Marko. another man said. This angered Ron even further.

Ron quickly looked around, and saw one of the men getting too close to him, he quickly leaned against the table in front of him, and kicked the man in the stomach, hard, the man hit the floor with a loud thud.

I dont like people sneaking up behind me . . . get where I can see you. Ron said, seething.

The man staggered around to the other side of the table, along with two others, Ron eyeing them very suspiciously.

Now, I dont have the time, or patience to play games with you people. Ill tell you like I told your peon downstairs, you keep this shit up, and Ill close your worthless asses down for prostitution, and racketeering . . . unless we can make a business arrangement. Now, Im only going to ask one more time . . . which one of you is Marko? Ron said.

I am. Marko stated, and stood up, he was standing directly to Rons left, and had been the first one to talk.

Alright, Marko, heres the deal, as far as Im concerned, you, and your people have just insulted me, so, the price has gone up ten percent. Ron stated.

So, how much are you asking? Marko asked.

Twenty percent, and I guarantee it will not go up for another year. Ron stated.

Hand me the tin. Marko stated, speaking in his native Albanian.

One of the men handed Marko a decorative tin, with approximately 100,000 Euro inside, Marko reached inside, and handed Ron 20,000 of it.

Im glad to see that someone here has an eye for business. Ron stated, placing the money into an inside pocket of his trenchcoat.

Yes, yes. You have what you wanted, leave us. Marko replied.

Yeah . . . oh, before I leave, a friend of mine left this for me, its in Albanian, I cant read it, would you mind translating it for me? Ron asked, placing the paper that Wade had sent him in front of Marko, who took the paper.

Marko looked at it carefully and began chuckling, as he showed it around.

What does it say? Ron asked.

Good luck. Marko replied.

The familiar tones of the voice set the alarm bells off in Rons head, he now knew he had his man.

You dont remember me, do you? Ron asked, as Marko turned his head to Ron.

We spoke on the phone, two days ago? I told you Id find you. Ron stated, his voice holding a dangerously calm edge to it.

Marko jumped up from his seat, and overturned the table, this was all the cue Ron needed. Grabbing a butcher knife from the sink basin close to him, he got to work.

One of the men charged Ron, who kicked him in the face, causing the mans head to snap back, then, Ron buried the butcher knife into his breastbone, in the area of the mans heart, he fell backwards, dead.

Ron quickly moved from one man to another, killing all in his way, until he was finally able to procure a gun, he quickly slammed the butt of the handgun into Markos face, knocking the man out where he stood, shot two more guards, and pulled one of the bodies over top of him, as three more men crashed through the kitchen door, as they looked around, Ron exposed himself, and pulled the trigger on the .40 caliber handgun in his hand, killing all three men with one shot each.

Ron then stood up, and hid himself behind the counter, waiting for the others to appear, he picked each man off, one at a time, until all were dead . . . all except one, he then began walking through the flat, breaking down doors as he went, until he stopped at the final room.

There, on the bed, staring into nowhere, was Pamela Sparks, dead from a heroin overdose.

Pam? Ron said, as he drew close to the bed, he quickly checked for a pulse, and found none, suddenly, Rons blood began to boil from barely controlled rage. He stormed out of the room, and back toward the kitchen, determined to get the answers he was looking for.

In the same flat, ten minutes later:

Marko began to slowly regain his bearings.

When I get hold of that damned American pig, hes as good as dead. he thought, until something heavy hit him in the jaw.

WAKE UP!! the voice of Ron Stoppable filled his ears, I need you to be focused.

Ron had in each hand, a pair of nails the size of knitting needles, as he held them in front of Markos face. In one sudden movement, he plunged them into Markos legs, just above the knees.

Marko let out a howl of pain as the nails tore into flesh, and lodged into bone, he could feel the nails, twitching in his legs, but he was unable to remove them, finding himself handcuffed to the armchair he was in.

Are you focused yet? Ron asked, as he clamped a set of jumper cables to the nails.

Marko could only nod.

Now, were gonna play a game of twenty questions, Ron began, depending on how you answer, you may leave here just shitting sparks for a couple of weeks, but, it all depends on you.

Drop dead, American pig. Marko spat weakly.

Ill let that one slide, as I havent begun the questions, but rest assured, from here on out, I will not tolerate defiance. Ron replied, as he pulled a picture out of his pants pocket, and showed it to Marko.

Where is this girl? Ron asked.

Marko spat out at Ron, most of the fluid hitting Ron in the face. Ron remained dangerously calm, pulling out a handkerchief, and wiping his face. He looked carefully at the defiant face of his target, and stuffed the handkerchief into Markos mouth, and walked to a light switch, Marko looked closely, and saw that the jumper cables that were attached to the nails in his legs were attached to the power lines leading to the switch, but that was all of what he could make out at that moment, as Ron turned the switch on, releasing 110 volts of power into his body.

Marko shuddered, and his muscles began to tense up, as he pushed off the floor, and the chair he was sitting in rose up form the floor, mercifully, Ron shut off the switch, and removed his necktie.

You know, we used to outsource this kind of thing, Ron stated, turning to look at Marko, but we found out that the countries we outsourced to had very unreliable power grids, youd flip a switch, and the power wouldnt come on for hours, then, tempers would get short, people would start resorting to very primitive measures . . . ripping out fingernails, acid drips on bare skin. The whole exercise would end up being counterproductive.

So what? Marko stated, his voice scratchy, and weak.

So, here, we dont have that problem, Ron stated, here, they have a very strong power grid, the power is stable, and reliable. Here, you flip a switch, the power stays on for days.

Goody. Marko stated, still defiant.

Now, Im going to ask you again, where is this girl? Ron asked.

Once again, Marko spat in Rons face, only angering the well built blonde even further. Ron covered the area between the chair and the door in two strides, and flipped the light switch on before he even turned around.

Once again, Marko felt the electricity surge through his body, his muscles tightened up. He was unable to control himself, as he began to involuntarily relieve his bladder, flinging spit from his gagged mouth, as his legs stiffened up, and pulled the chair he was bound to off the floor once again.

ENOUGH OF THE BULLSHIT, MARKO FROM TRAPOLJE!! Ron bellowed, Now, you either tell me what I want to know, or the next time, Ill leave that switch on until they shut off the power for lack of payment on the bill!

Marko was too tired to resist, he had never run into someone as ruthless, vicious, or as insane as this man, he began to wonder if the red haired little bitch he had kidnaped two days ago was worth all this trouble.

She was virgin, Marko began, finally feeling it was better to talk, we do not keep virgins, worth lots of money.

You sold my fiancee? You sold her? Ron asked.

Yes. Marko replied.

Where, to who? Ron asked.

I do not know. Marko.

Youre lying. Ron stated, his anger coming to the surface.

I do not know. Marko replied, hoping that the young man in front of him would keep his temper, and not turn the power back on.

Alright, you want to play that way . . . FINE!! Ron replied, and began stuffing the handkerchief back into Markos mouth, the Albanian trafficker began talking, but Ron couldnt make out what he was saying, so, he pulled out the gag.

McCloud . . . McCloud. Marko said, his voice sounding even more tired than before.

McCloud, is that a place, a person? Ron asked.

Person . . . Patrick McCloud . . . Patrick McCloud. Marko replied.

Where can I find this Patrick McCloud? Ron asked.

I dont know. Marko said, this time, telling the truth outright.

Okay . . . thank you for your time. Ron stated, walking for the door.

I dont know . . . I dont know . . . I DONT KNOW . . . PLEASE . . . I DONT KNOW!! Marko screamed, hoping against all hope that this crazed American wouldnt turn the electricity back on.

I believe you, Ron stated, as he flung his trenchcoat over his shoulder, but thats not gonna save you.

As Ron left the room, he flipped the light switch on, the screams of Markos last moments on Earth reverberated throughout the building, as he was electrocuted in the seat where he was shackled, ending the life of the last of the Albanian traffickers in Paris. Ron Stoppable had taken the entire gang out by himself, one man, with no help from any outside forces, no help from the French Government, and no help from his own government.

Ron Stoppable was on his own, and left to his devices, something he was very used to, because in the line of work he once did, you could only trust a small handful of people, and one of them had just committed the ultimate sin, he had turned his back on a friend, Ron would seek out his old friend Jean-Pierre LaMond next, to get information on the elusive Patrick McCloud, and he hoped that Jean-Pierre was in a telling mood, because if he wasnt . . . there would be hell to pay.

The body count is now at 29, damn, Ron, do you plan to kill the entire city of Paris? Next up, a talk with an old friend, and the first meeting of Ron, and the elusive Patrick McCloud . . . can anyone guess what Ron plans to do with this guy when he finds him?

As always, keep the reviews coming,

Doug