The Reverend stepped deeper into the van, past Jonesy as he took the firm but reasonable approach with his package at least for the moment. He wiggled his eyebrows to the man in appreciation for having some to wiggle, given the evidence-BBQ he'd obviously missed out on.  He clomped all the way to the back wall of the driver's compartment, and there was the third package.  She was lying face down on the hard floor, her head turned to follow his every move. Her bare legs were tied at ankles and knees, and her arms bound rather uncomfortably behind her. Nice tie. Nice ass.  Legs. The wriggling of bound fingers behind her.  More than nice. A work of art. But first things first.<br/><br/>As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, crouching down beside her, he could better see the look on her face, as she tracked him warily.  She looked like trouble, this one, and there was probably a reason she was all trussed up like this. He shook his head as he stared at her, making a tssk tssk sound appropriate for a naughty five year old.  She was tracking him, her eyes still sharp and observant despite obvious fear, and he recognized that calculating look, seen it many times in the panicky bitches he'd had to beat to convince their deadbeat husbands or pimps or whatever to pay up.  He knew what he needed to take from her -- hope.<br/><br/>He reached down and took a grip of her hair with one fist, pulling her head up from the van's floor, and leaning in close.  "Do<strong>not</strong>... cause me<strong>trouble</strong>... is that<strong>clear</strong>..." and he punctuated each key point with a sharp slap across her face, his fist not letting go of her hair.  He'd always loved the sound of his hand against female cheek, and the surprised groan or whimper that went with it.  He shook his fist in her hair, demanding her attention. "Are we clear? You behave or you'll get more of that. More of a lot of things."<br/><br/>He knew it didn't really matter whether she behaved or not.  It was hanging in the air; he could tell she was in for a world of hurt, no matter what she did. It was just her fate.  But if that was how God had stacked her deck, who better than the Reverend to deal the cards?  And he could see in her eyes, she might even be sharp enough to realize this too.  He smiled.  She was going to be more trouble, and he liked that idea very much.<br/><br/>He started dragging her across the bumpy metal floor, and actually across the spare tire jack as well, pulling her by a grip under her shoulders, not wanting to lift her in the confined space. Then he propped her up into a seated position on the rear bumper, her legs dangling down, and picked her up over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, ready for peeling and boiling, and brought her over to the other two, setting her down for Orientation, just like the first day of Summer Camp.