Botched Ransom
Botched Ransom “How old are you, Chrissy?” asked the man. He was stroking her hand as he said it. “I’m twenty,” she replied uneasily. She wanted to take her hand back, but was afraid of angering her captor. He had a gun tucked into the back of his pants that she dared not make a move for. “Twenty,” he said thoughtfully, “so young”. For a moment he remained silent, savoring dark thoughts. “Oh, to be twenty again,” he continued. “You must have a lot of fun, a young good looking...