It was a matter of self preservation and Susan knew it. If nothing else, being with The Drivers had taught her how to survive. When they asked her if she preferred being fucked by the Drivers to living with Peter she gave them the answer they wanted to hear. She preferred all their cocks to his, loved sucking them off and wanted to be owned by them. And when they asked if she wanted to go with him she said no.
"Then you don't care what happens to him?" Lincoln asked.
"No."
"Couldn't care if he was dead?" put in Colin.
There was a momentary pause as she looked at Peter. He smiled, resigned to his fate. "You can't save me anyway," he said.
She turned to the others and answered them in a small quiet voice: "No."
The four men moved forward in unison and Peter took the only chance he had. Snatching hold of Susan's wrist he flung himself, and her with him, off the stage and into the smoke. A cry of surprise came from the men and they jumped down in search.
Jack saw them first. Peter was leading Susan around the stage and heading back in the direction of Claire and Melanie. Jack called out to the others and they all gave pursuit, shouting and whooping in the excitement of the chase.
Above the incessant din of the music Claire and Melanie heard the shouts and knew something was wrong. Within moments they caught sight of Peter and Susan rushing towards them, screaming for them to run.
The four made it safely behind some pallets where they took a moment to catch their breath. It was a crazy time to have such thoughts, but Peter looked around him at the women and realised he had screwed all three of them. It added further adrenaline to his system and he felt more alive than he had done in years.
In a state of extreme tension and excitement he told the three girls to wait for his return and dashed out into the smoke filled room. Like a naked warrior going in to battle, he felt no fear. A beserker with senses bristling, he did little to hide himself as he made his way around the building in search of a vehicle. He found 'Joes Pick Up,' with Joe still in it, although the girl was missing, probably impaled on the end of someone's prick.
Peter walked across and opened the door.
"Hi!" shouted Joe, by way of a greeting. "Great fucking party -"
His words were cut short by Peter's knuckles crushing the bridge of his nose. The man fell to the floor screaming as Peter drove away to pick up the girls. The truck screeched to a halt at the pallets and all three girls jumped onto the back as the vehicle sped away towards the door.
Several Drivers who had discovered what had happened tried to stop them. Peter made no attempt to avoid any who got in his way, the light from the stroboscope making everyone look like robots as they juddered across the floor to kick and wave at the truck. Those who weren't quick enough he bounced to oblivion with the bumper.
As he approached the door he quickly realised there would be no time to stop and open it. His best bet lay in smashing it off the hinges. Screaming to the girls to hold tight he accelerated, hitting the wood at a fantastic speed and shattering it in a cloud of splinters.
The impact lifted the front of the truck, removing any control over its direction. When it landed and bounced along the rutted road, Hell Raiser, in an old fifties style coach, caught him a glancing blow, sending the pick-up over on its side, spilling the girls upon the ground.
Like mice before the farmhouse cat they scurried to safety and Peter followed suit. Luckily, Hell Raiser had also been shaken and was taking his time getting out of the coach, which had ended up embedded in the garage office. When he did emerge he saw the three girls running towards the fields, their naked bottoms jiggling as they went.
Near one of the petrol pumps Peter spotted a Norton Commando motorcycle. It was a chance of escape, but he was loathe to use it. There was room for two on it and no more. But with the sound of the other Drivers pouring out of the hangar in search of him he had no choice but to take the bike.
There was little fear of theft at such a place and the rider had left the keys in the ignition. Peter leapt onto the saddle, opened the fuel line and kicked over the engine. It fired with an angry roar, attracting immediate attention. The pursuers began bearing down on him, but he had a few seconds to consider his options.
Which girl should he rescue?
It was dawn when Peter was finally able to kill the engine on the Norton. He left the bike on the side stand and the two of them walked the short distance to his gate.
They entered the garden in silence, Peter unable to shift the image of Hell Raiser marching the other two back to their fate.
It had been a long cold drive home, but luckily he had managed to provide some clothing by stealing a light satin petticoat from a clothes line. He had tried to get the dress as well but the woman came out of the house and shouted before he'd had a chance to get the pegs off.
They were half way down the path when the detective inspector stepped out from the bushes, flanked by two uniformed officers.
"Hello Peter," he said, in his usual smug voice. "I take it this is Mrs Warburton."
Peter let out an exhausted sigh.
"You know it isn't," he answered impatiently. "What do you want?"
"I am arresting you, Peter Warburton, in connection with the disappearance of your wife, Susan Warburton, and your sister-in-law, Claire Harris." He motioned for the officers to handcuff the pair then left to search Peter's house.
As he reached the door he turned and looked the half naked pair up and down.
"Nice gear," he said to Peter. "Like the nipple pins."