Naughty Ransom Holiday Tales Chapter 4

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Chapter 4

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+ only
Warnings: Non-con, kidnapping, explicit sexual content, dubious consent, loss of virginity, chloroform…Does contain spoilers for Knives Out though we’re straying away from the story a little bit…Read the warnings! It’s going to be a rough ride for a few chapters.
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale/Reader

Moodboard is by @wastelandwriting

Linda darted into the kitchen past him. Ransom shook his head and closed the door.

“Good to see you too, Ma,” he muttered.

Linda turned around in the kitchen, trying to glare him down. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Ransom grinned, moved over to the counter for his half-empty bottle of Grey Goose and his shot glass. He poured one and knocked it back, making her wait. Mostly because he knew she hated waiting for anything.

“Depends on which thing I’m doing,” Ransom said, enjoying the vodka as it burned into his stomach. Enjoying the way it mixed with the taste of her in his mouth.

“Ransom,” Linda pressed her hands together, taking a step toward him. “Our family is in crisis right now. Are you sober?”

Ransom nodded. “Are you?”

Linda’s hand shot out, slapping him across the face sharply.

“Did you do it?” his mother demanded.

Straightening to his full height, Ransom took a calming breath. He’d ignore his stinging cheek. For now.

“Do what?” he asked slowly, trying to keep his temper at bay. His mother had always been able to push all his buttons. She always managed to bring out the worst in him.

Linda’s blue eyes, eyes he’d inherited, were glassy with tears. “That detective – Blanc – is saying that the toxicology report came back clean. It turns out that Marta, my father’s little gold-digging Argentine nurse, didn’t give him a fatal dose of morphine. But someone intended for her to.”

Ransom nodded, pouring another shot. “And you know for a fact Marta didn’t do it?”

Something in his mother’s face shifted at the question. “Blanc believes her. “

“That wasn’t my question,” he pointed out. And at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised by anything. What if Marta were behind it? Did Harlan tell Marta he was leaving her everything?

If Marta was behind it?

Her mother would be deported. Her little naïve sister would be left to fend for herself. She’d need someone.

Linda plucked her glasses off her face, swiped at her eyes with her fingers as she did when she was agitated. Carefully, she put the glasses back on and that high-powered perception was back on him.

“If Marta didn’t accidentally kill my father, your grandfather,” Linda said slowly, “that means someone else intended for that to happen.”

Here we go.

“And he thinks that someone is you.”

Ransom took the second shot.

Jesus. The irony. He’d been the one to hire Colonel Sanders and now he was trying to pin it on him?

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t me,” Ransom told her. “So you can chill the fuck out.”

Linda scoffed. “Chill the fuck out? Really? Chill the fuck out? My father is dead, Ransom. And—”

“He was my grandfather,” he cut her off. “I loved him too.”

“Did you?” Linda’s tone was curt. “Someone wanted him dead. Someone either in our family or close to our family.”

“And it could have been any of us,” Ransom told her. “Name one person in our whole goddamn family who didn’t have a reason.”

Again, the scoff. Here was the part where she’s completely innocent.

“And what would my motive be Ransom?” Linda’s voice rose. “You honestly think I wanted my father dead?”

“Of course not you,” Ransom didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

“But you,” she said, that pointing finger coming out, “you had a motive, didn’t you? He told you he was cutting you out of the will.”

Ransom snickered at that. “Yeah, he told me he was cutting all of us out of his will. And that turned out to be true, didn’t it?”

We didn’t know until the will was read, Ransom!” she was shouting now.

If that got his girl’s attention, he didn’t think his mother could hear her back there. He hoped not anyway.

Blowing out an exhale, Ransom studied her. He hadn’t seen her this upset at him since she thought he’d knocked up the daughter of one of her best real estate agents. Ransom hadn’t been so grateful for false alarms in his entire life. The girl had been a complete psycho.

“Okay, why am I the prime suspect?” he wanted to know.

“You weren’t at the funeral,” Linda replied.

Ransom did regret that. The locksmith had been late arriving and it had taken longer than he anticipated to secure the doors in the lake house. The window guy had been an even bigger pain in the ass the next day.

“That’s it?” he challenged her.

“You drove off with Marta after the will reading,” Linda went on. Before he could retort, she frowned. “Why did you do that?”

“Why are you here?” he shot back. “Why are all of you in an uproar? Huh?”

Linda looked at him like he had two heads.

“Look, granddad is dead,” Ransom reasoned. “Nothing’s changing that now. But the money…”

Now he had her attention.

“I took off with Marta because, as of right now, she has everything,” Ransom told her. “Seemed like helping her was a chance at getting my inheritance back.”

Rolling her eyes, Linda slung a hand on her hip. “Your inheritance. We’re a family, Ransom.”

“Yeah, a family that lectured me on how being cut out of the old man’s will would be good for me, remember?” Ransom shook his head. “Where was that sense of family then?”

“Did Marta tell you anything?” she demanded.

“She told me everything,” Ransom admitted. “I agreed to help her for my share. That was the deal.”

“And she agreed to that?”

Ransom nodded.

“Then you got taken in by the police and you tried to pin it all on her,” Linda said. “How did that work out for you?”

“I’m still not sure it isn’t Marta.” Crossing his arms across his chest, he leaned back against the counter. “For all I know, she could have blown up the forensics lab and she could have killed Fran.”

Linda smirked at him. “And you had nothing to do with either of those incidents.”

“I didn’t,” he told her. “If I was honestly trying to help Marta to get my part of the money, why would I?”

“You could have done it to frame her,” Linda pointed out.

“And that would have helped the entire family, wouldn’t it?” Ransom shot back. “Instead, I was a selfish little shit out for myself. Isn’t that what you all think anyway? Doesn’t that make sense?”

He had her there and she knew it. She dropped her gaze.

“Ransom,” she said slowly. “Marta’s sister is missing.”

He was surprised it took her this long to bring it up.

“You don’t know anything about that, do you?” his mother asked. “Because both Marta and Blanc are convinced that you’ve kidnapped her something.”

Ransom didn’t answer.

“As if you’d kidnap Marta’s sister,” Linda said with a snort, reaching into the purse on her shoulder for her cigarette case. As she pulled out a smoke and used her lighter, she glanced up at her son. “Please.”

That pissed him off. Why wouldn’t he? His girl was fucking hot.

“With everything you think I’m capable of, you don’t think I’d do that?” Ransom wanted to know.

That stopped his mother cold.

“You didn’t.”

Ransom smirked at her, pouring a third shot.

Linda took a long drag from her cigarette, turning to dust her ashes in the sink behind her.

“Ransom,” she looked him in the eye. “Please tell me you’re joking. This is serious.”

I’m serious,” he said, tossing back the third shot of alcohol.

“You took her?” Linda demanded.

“Took is a stretch,” Ransom told her, finally feeling the alcohol taking the edge off this conversation. “What if she’s with me willingly?”

“Jesus! Ransom!” His mother threw the cigarette in the stainless steel sink, marching up to him now. “If you kidnapped her—”

“Maybe she and I were seeing each other before Granddad died,” Ransom suggested, holding that smirk.

“Marta thinks she’s scared of you,” Linda pointed out.

A suspicious thump came from down the hall.

Fuck. He needed to get rid of his mother.

“She got over it,” he told her as idly as he could manage.

“She’s here willingly?” Linda asked slowly.

She will be.

Ransom nodded.

“You might try explaining that to her sister and that annoying detective,” his mother told him, poking his exposed chest with a bony finger.

“And why would I do that?” Ransom glared his mother down. “As long as she thinks her sister’s in danger, she’ll give me what I want.”

“And what’s that?”

“Twice my cut of the inheritance,” he said simply. “By close of business Friday.”

“Ransom,” his mother was losing patience. “We’re trying to figure out, as a family, how to nail her under the Slayer Rule to get it all back to us where it belongs and you’re doing that?”

“Granddad committed suicide,” Ransom reminded her.

“And Marta told him he was dying,” Linda said pointedly. “If she hadn’t, he’d still be alive. That’s got to be involuntary manslaughter. And if she caused his death, even inadvertently…”

“I’d love to help you,” he replied. “But as I recall, you were all too willing to gloat over the fact that you thought Harlan cut me out of his will. Why should I be willing to work with the family now?”

Blowing out an exasperated exhale, Linda nodded. “And if she renounces the inheritance?”

“I’ll have my money by then and I’m keeping it,” he told her. He meant it.

Linda’s gaze dropped to the floor. They both knew if Ransom pulled that off, the family wasn’t getting that money back from him.

Another suspicious thump from the back bathroom. Linda glanced up.

“What was that?” she asked.

Ransom shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. “She’s working out,” he said, trying to sound bored.

“Marta didn’t know you two were…?”

Ransom shook his head even though it wasn’t exactly the truth. What Linda didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

“And if she thinks you’re holding her sister hostage…”

“Maybe she’ll give back the money,” he offered. He honestly didn’t give a shit as long as he got what he wanted.

Linda shook her head. “That does the rest of us no good.”

Ransom shrugged.

“Unless… I could always try to confide in Marta… Tell her I’ll talk to you. Try to convince you to give her sister back.”

Oh, he could see the wheels turning in her head.

A loud thump.

Goddamn it!

His mother had visions of dollar signs in her head. She didn’t even notice. He doubted that she actually cared whether Marta’s younger sister was here willingly or not. And that worked for him.

“We didn’t talk today,” she told him meaningfully.

“We didn’t?” Ransom asked.

“I have no idea where you are,” she went on. “I checked out the lake house and no one was here.”

Ransom nodded.

“Are Marta and her sister close?”

“Very.”

“If she agrees to renounce the inheritance, we give the girl back,” Linda offered.

That stopped him cold. He hadn’t agreed to that. He wasn’t done with her yet.

“I’ll still want twice my cut,” he told her.

“Ransom, be serious,” his mother told him. “We could use this to get everything back.”

“Or, I can keep on with my plan and get twice my cut,” he stressed, “without you.”

“If you’re seeing each other,” Linda shot back, “you’re not losing her… Just get her to play along.”

As if it were that fucking easy.

“I’ll be in touch,” his mother told him, reaching up to brush a dry kiss on his cheek before she bustled out the kitchen door, on a mission now.

Fuck.

Stalking into the living room, Ransom snatched up his phone. He’d sent the bank information to Marta. Twice. When he went to see if any new deposits had been made to his account, there was nothing.

Marta had four days.

Dropping onto the sofa, Ransom scrubbed a hand through his hair.

Everything was so fucked up.

His grandfather had disinherited him and given everything to Marta which set off the entire shitstorm to begin with. And there was a hole forming in his heart even so. He’d miss the old man.

I’m sane for the first time in my life.

Harlan’s words echoed in his mind. How was this sane? How was any of it sane? With the threat of the money being taken away, his family would tear itself apart. And Ransom was fine with that. Truly. They’d all hated him for years. Even his own parents.

But he wouldn’t take the fall.

He didn’t conspire to take Harlan’s life. Someone in the family had tried to engineer an accidental overdose to kill him and hang it on Marta.

Think.

With Marta being the scapegoat, it made Ransom wonder if someone else knew what Harlan planned to do. Had Harlan told someone besides him?

More thumping came from down the hall and he shook his head. His little pumpkin was giving it her best shot. He’d give her that.

At the moment, the only thing he was guilty of was hiring Foghorn Leghorn and taking off with his little pumpkin. And he was pretty confident that she’d be singing that it was consensual by the time he was forced to give her up.  

She would love him.

Once he got his hands on his cut, what was to stop him from taking off? He didn’t need the fucking Thrombeys. He could learn to invest. If he were smart, he could set himself up. Live off the interest. It was so easy to see himself in some tropical location, taking in life with a few drinks, a different girl on his arm each night. Doing whatever the fuck he wanted as he always had.

Yet, when he went to think about that those girls and those carefree nights, all he could see was her.

Ransom loved the thought of getting the money, taking off with his pumpkin to some remote location, leaving it all behind.

First, he had to get the money.

***

That night, Marta snatched the phone up before she even looked at the screen to see who was calling.

“Marta?”

Linda Drysdale? Oh, this couldn’t be good.

“Marta, hi,” she said calmly. “It’s Linda. How are you doing?”

You little bitch.

“Hi, Linda,” she said simply. “I’m fine. How are you?”

“I just… I wanted to apologize for everything.” Linda sounded sincere. “When the will was read, we were… all still reeling from losing my father and… we behaved horribly. I just wanted to apologize.”

She somewhat doubted that but what choice did she have but to go along with it?

“Thank you, Linda,” she replied. “I appreciate that.”

“I know you have a lot going on,” Linda went on. “I just wanted to say that and… Wait. How rude of me. Has there been any word on your sister?”

Marta’s heart began hammering in her chest at the mention of her sibling. She’d been worried sick. Her mother couldn’t sleep or eat. And on top of it, Marta had to deal with the fall out from inheriting Harlan’s estate and the detective’s campaign to unearth the person who wanted him dead. 

He was also trying to help her find Ransom and her sister.

The last couple of days had been a mad scramble to try to get through the paperwork, the legal issues, all of it. It wasn’t that she wanted the money. Any of it. But she needed it. If she could give Ransom what he wanted, she could get her sister back. Then she’d deal with the rest of it.

“You there?” Linda buzzed in her ear.

“Yes, I’m here,” Marta stammered. “Well,” she didn’t know what she should say, “all I want is to… bring her home… She must be so scared…”

Tears stung the backs of her eyes as she thought about her sister, trapped by Ransom.

“I could, ah,” Linda said quietly. “I could talk to him… for you.”

Her heart slammed in her chest.

“What did you say?” Marta wanted to make sure she heard what she thought she heard.

“I could talk to Ransom,” Linda offered. “I had no idea that he… I’m his mother, Marta. That’s got to count for something… Maybe I can reason with him.”

Linda knew?

“I just want her back,” Marta was blinking back tears, knew they were in her voice. “I want her to be okay.”

“Oh, honey, I know,” Linda said sweetly. “And I know my son. Ransom’s being a brat. He was so upset about being cut off by his grandfather… He wouldn’t hurt her.”

Marta wasn’t so sure.

“Why don’t we meet for lunch?” Linda kept pressing. “We can talk about everything. I’m sure we can reach some agreement, can’t we? We can get your sister back to you and your mother, settle all of this will nonsense, and go back to… go back to our lives…”

Marta needed to talk to Blanc. That Linda knew Ransom took her sister? And she wanted to meet to talk about what? Renouncing the inheritance to get her sister back?

And Marta would do it. She never wanted the money. But she wanted to be careful. She wanted a guarantee that her sister would be returned to her, no matter what else happened.

“When can we meet?” Linda continued insistently.

“Ah… can I call you back?” Marta asked. “I’m sorry. I have to go right now.”

“Marta, wait—”

Marta hung up. Immediately, she called the detective.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for him to pick up. But eventually, he did.

“Marta,” Blanc greeted. “Has something happened?”

***

Blanc listened to Marta describe her call from Linda Drysdale. That Ransom’s mother now knew that he had Marta’s sister was an interesting play. As he listened to the young woman tearfully go over everything that was said, he studied the copies of the receipts in his lap.

“Marta, I’m not certain I believe that Ransom is in cahoots with his mother on absconding with your sister,” he explained. “I would guess that she has been in contact with her son and now knows that he has her. But his bargain was only money for himself. His mother means to try and use this situation to try and get you to renounce your inheritance in exchange for your sister. I’m disinclined to believe that her freedom is something Linda Drysdale has it in her power to offer you.”

Sniffling. The poor girl has been through hell. 

“You’re right. Until I hear otherwise from Ransom…”

“Until you hear otherwise from him, go ahead and proceed with your plan.” Benoit didn’t think trying to get him the money as he wanted was the best idea but he wasn’t her advisor. He was a detective trying to discern the true circumstances behind Harlan Thrombey’s death.

“In the meantime, I’ll see what I can find out,” he told her. “I’d avoid talking to the other Drysdales and Thrombeys for the time being.”

“Okay,” she told him, sounding a little less wrecked. “I will.”

“Call me back if you need anything,” he told her. “Good night, Marta.”

“Good night.”

Scrubbing a hand down in his face, Benoit slumped in the driver’s seat of his rented car. Using the small Maglite he carried, he reviewed the receipts he’d been able to hunt down.

Ransom Drysdale had an alibi for the funeral.

Online receipts from a local locksmith put the worker sent by the company here at the lakefront property owned by the family on the day of the funeral. At the time of the funeral. And the receipt was signed by one Ransom Drysdale.

The signature looked authentic.

Without a court order, he wasn’t able to get details on what services were performed at this residence, but it had his curiosity up. A locksmith’s services acquired mere days before kidnapping someone? That seemed textbook.

There were no signs of a vehicle at the residence, but he’d need to look around. There were no lights on. With a deep sigh, Benoit climbed out of the car with his light to do a little looking around.

***

You watched with wide eyes as the detective got out of the car, parked under a tree just outside. Two cameras picked him up, showing his movements in the display of the security system as the man moved closer to the house.

Ransom sat watching him, clearly agitated. It was in the tense lines of his body from where he sat at the desk in from of the computer monitor.

The room just housed the security system and it was maybe the size of a walk-in closet. It might have once been a closet with its dark paneling and lack of windows. The door was shut and locked. Ransom had brought a bath towel with you into the room, shoving it against the bottom of the door to keep any light from showing.

And it was cold. It was mid-November in New England outside and it didn’t feel a lot warmer where you sat.

It could be that you were bound to a chair behind him, only wearing a dusky pink negligee with a short slip of a matching robe over it. He’d duct-taped your wrists to the side of the chair at your sides. He’d used the robe’s sash around your head as a gag.

You were sore from him claiming your body the night before and this morning. And from pounding on the bathroom door earlier because you were certain you’d heard someone talking to him in the kitchen. You’d thought if you could let someone know you were here – against your will – maybe you’d be rescued faster. Maybe you’d be saved.

The man you recognized as Benoit Blanc was looking in the windows now with his flashlight.

“Aggravating asshole,” Ransom muttered.

You yanked at your bonds. You had to try. If you could somehow get free and make it out to him…

Ransom spun in the office chair, his gaze moving over you.

Shit. You hadn’t meant to draw his attention.

Ransom had been preoccupied most of the day. He’d left you in the bathroom for a couple of hours. Once you realized no one could hear you, you’d showered, dressed in your robe. He’d let you back into the bedroom, brought you the leftovers from last night he’d warmed for lunch, but he hadn’t eaten with you. Hadn’t answered your questions about who he’d been talking to earlier.

You’d asked for your purse and he’d given it to you, without your phone just like he said. When you asked for your clothes, he gave you what you were wearing now.

And when he’d rushed in to grab you like the devil himself was on his heels, you didn’t know whether to be frightened or excited. With an efficiency you wouldn’t have expected, you found yourself trussed up exactly where you were now.

Only now those blue eyes were moving over you heatedly. Ransom rolled the chair closer to you, his hands warm as he slid them over your bare knees.

“We’ve got to be quiet, pumpkin,” Ransom whispered. “Can you be quiet for me?”

Did you have a choice? You nodded. As anxious as he’d seemed today, you didn’t want to upset him.

“Good,” he whispered. “You’re a good girl… So good for me.”

One hand skimmed up to cover one of your breasts while the other rose to your neck, pulling your head gently to the side. His mouth was a hot press just below your ear, making you shiver. Ransom chuckled, a rich sound in your ear.

While his mouth teased your neck and ear, his other hand tested the weight of your breast in his hand before rising to slide the robe off that shoulder, to pluck the thin strap of the negligee off your shoulder to reveal one breast, its nipple a tight little tip from the chill.

He hummed against your neck as his hand covered that breast, his fingers teasing the hard bud in a way that you felt deep in your core. Your thighs squeezed together, your body betraying you for his touch.

Ransom teased you for long moments, making you squirm in the chair and making you long to sink into the warmth of him. He was wearing a navy sweater and jeans, the heat of him so enticing as he tormented you. When he dipped his head to your chest, you sucked in a breath, your teeth tightening around your gag. His lips burned a path from the center of your chest to the breast still covered, nuzzling his way into the flimsy lingerie until his lips covered your neglected nipple. When he began teasing you with his tongue, you had to fight not to make a sound.

And the bastard knew it. Looking up at you, the amusement was clear in those sharp blue eyes. He made it worse when his hands slid down over your hips to your thighs, pressing them apart. You tried to clamp them together, but he easily prevented that, his fingers sliding the short hem of the negligee up to reveal all of you to him because he hadn’t given you panties.

“Guess I’m going to have to find us another hiding place,” he told you, lowering himself out of the chair and onto his knees in front of you. “Not that this isn’t fun…”

His fingers slid higher up on your inner thighs and he used his forearms to push them wider. You tried to squirm free of him, but he truly had you cornered.

“I’m going to take you apart,” he whispered, “and you’re going to be nice and quiet for me… or I won’t let you come.”

Your core tightened just contemplating all the reactions he could pull effortlessly from your body. He could shake you to your core so easily and within moments have you back on the edge, tense and wanting.

“Watch the cameras for me, pumpkin,” he whispered. “If you see him trying to break in, let me know.”

Oh, God.

With a strong hand at your lower back, he pushed your hips forward on the chair. Then he dove for you with his mouth.

You couldn’t help the first moan, you really couldn’t, because he dove in, his tongue immediately zeroing in on your clit in a way that had your body tensed up and focused on that wicked sensation.

“Shhh,” he whispered into your intimate flesh before continuing until you thought you would lose your mind. His tongue stayed busy in your folds, melting away the chill that had plagued you before. Oh, no. Now you were burning up, struggling against the chair, his hold, as he worked you with his mouth until you were certain you were going to shatter.

You tried to watch the camera, you really did,  but you were close… so close… and just as you spied the detective wandering around the front of the house, looking in the windows, Ransom sent you sailing over the edge. You cried out behind the gag, a pitiful muffled sound. Ransom didn’t slow down. He just kept eating you out, teasing your bundle of nerves relentlessly with his tongue.

When the detective reached the garage, Ransom slid a finger into you, still working you with his mouth in a way that was too much, too soon. He seemed to sense your distress, his dark head lifting and those eyes smoldering up at you.

You shook your head at him, pleading with your eyes for him to stop as you panted behind the gag.

“Still watching the camera for me?” he asked, your juices shining on his lips obscenely.

You nodded weakly.

“Is he trying to break in here?”

You shook your head.

“Good girl,” he whispered before returning to his work.

That finger never left you, never stopped searching for that trigger inside that could blow you apart. By the time he had a second finger in your channel, you really fought to close yourself to him but he held you in place with little effort.

Pulling his fingers back, he began to fuck you with his tongue, and you fought to keep your gaze on the camera, fought to focus on anything but what he was doing to you. The teasing motions made you crazy, made you crave another part of him to ease the emptiness inside you.

What was wrong with you?

When his fingers returned, they found that trigger and that was all it took. You howled behind the gag, struggling on the chair as the release hit you hard and fast. Ransom lapped at you, kept you balanced on his tongue and fingers to draw it out until you couldn’t breathe, until you thought you’d pass out.

Ransom moved quickly around you then, slicing through the tape securing your wrists, taking down his jeans. You were in no state to fight him as he positioned you over him where he sat on the floor, lowering you onto his cock until he couldn’t go further.

Your body shuddered in craving around him, your walls fluttering around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, his hands moving you up and down on him as you struggled to just stay upright. “You’re being so good for me.”

You’d planted your hands on his shoulders, shreds of silver tape still hanging from them. How he filled you was just what you wanted, what you needed after he’d built up that terrible craving within you.

It didn’t take much for him to have you tensed up and desperate again, your fingers clutched in his hair. His lips closed around one of your nipples as he began thrusting up into you harder, faster. Ransom reached up to pull the gag away, to claim your mouth in a dirty kiss that was all teeth and tongue. His mouth was claiming yours when you came apart around his cock and he took those tiny cries into his mouth, moaning deeply as he reached his own end.

You sank against him, fighting to breathe as pulses of pleasure shot all through you. He was so warm, the sweater so soft against your skin. His arms wrapped around you as he panted into your hair, holding you.

It was all you could do to pull your head up, searching the camera angles for the detective. You spotted him, wandering back to his car and climbing inside. Ransom was still holding you as you watched him drive away.