<div class="floatleft">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/4f/a7/c3/4fa7c35d9fe67b7d910e554aeaa9eec8.jpg)</div><br/>“I think you broke her,” Jackie teased, before letting Jasmine thunk to the floor like a ragdoll.  She rose with the grace of a charmed snake and wrapped her arms about Marc’s neck.<br/><br/>“I deserve some time as the center of attention,” she purred, nipping at his bottom lip.<br/><br/><hr/><br/><br/>She awoke with the sun and the birds. Fucking country.<br/><br/>Before she made coffee she checked the bounds on their captive. She was still sawing logs, either Marc gave her a high dose or she had shit tolerance.<br/><br/>Jackie wandered into the rustic kitchen and fumbled for the French press. While she ground beans she pondered over their predicament. The bitch’s papa wasn’t paying up and putting quite the kink in their plans. There was a nagging sense of unease that haunted her mind. Something wasn’t right.<br/><br/>Something about the girl. She didn’t scream socialite and why she was at that plebian club was beyond her. Maybe they weren’t as high on the hog as they thought.<br/><br/>The guillotine dropped while she was reading the fashion rags, as her beans soaked. It was Milan fashion week and their target was an aspiring designer.<br/>It wasn’t often that Jackie let emotions over take her, but now she was frozen like a deer in the headlights, unsure whether she wanted to scream or cry.<br/><br/>That was how Marc found her.<br/>