While They Watch

by Khloe Summers

  “Yeah, I think so. But really, I’ve been shot.” Her eyes were wide with shock, her bottom lip trembling.

  Crouching down, I reached through the mangled car, unbuckling her seatbelt. “We have to hurry. I got a weird text, and I have no idea what’s going on.” The belt released, allowing Lyla’s tiny body to spill out of the car. “Your arm!” I screamed, pushing the rain from my face and hair. “You were shot!” Glancing down at the side of her shoulder, Lyla noticed a large red halo around a smaller bleeding hole.

  She winced, placing her hand over the hole to stop the flow of blood, “Yeah, let’s just get the fuck out of here.”

  Feeling hunted, we pushed through the heavy rain towards the van. Peeling off onto the slippery roads as though the threat were right behind us.

  “What the fuck is going on? Who shot you?” I asked, keeping my eyes focused on the beating rain.

  She reached for the go-bag in the back of the van, “I don’t know.”

  “I know you’ve been writing the letters, so you may as well tell me.”

  She paused for a moment, fixated with gauze and alcohol pads. “It’s not good, whatever it is. I got mixed up in something, and now I’ve fucked us all. Like, really fucked us.” She was speaking, but I found myself focused on the rain—trying not to swerve off the road as we cornered the edges of the mountain.

  “Fucked us? How have you fucked us? What did you do?”

  She didn’t answer, instead continued with the bandage.

  Checking to be sure no one had followed us, I pulled the van into a narrow area behind a thicket of trees—hiding it from the main road.

  “We have to walk from here,” I said, opening the passenger side door to help Lyla out. Then, as though we were the best of friends, I helped that lying bitch hobble towards the house. Through two miles of ponderosa pine at dusk, on damp pillows of fallen needles, and snapping sticks. Right up to the safest place I knew, the safest place that was now gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Harsh rain continued to beat down on our heads as I stood dumbfounded in the yard, looking for the house I’d grown up in. Standing instead… a new home with water sliding down the newly placed gutters. The little house of my childhood was gone. Every board crushed and destroyed, never to be seen again.

  In its place, a replica. New and strong, restored to its former beauty. Lyla stumbled to the front porch, seeking solace from the rain. I stood smack in the center of the driveway, wide-eyed with wonder, unsure if I’d also been shot—now dead, seeing my life at its most peaceful time.

  “The doors locked,” Lyla sighed, in obvious pain and ready to dry off.

  “Birdhouse to the left,” I mumbled, suddenly realizing the meaning behind the message. Racing to the birdhouse that hadn’t been there before, I pulled out the key and jogged to the door. I ran my hands over the wooden entrance, the carved salmon still splashing timelessly in the river. Inside, each aspect of the house had been redone, creating a modern vision of its memory.

  “He did this, Matteo. Matteo did this,” I stammered, coming to terms with the thought that he’d finished this before he’d realized how awful I’d been. Though, the statement hung in the air, as Lyla had gone off in search of a bathroom. Awestruck, I roamed the house, paying little attention to the trail of water I was leaving behind.

  The stone fireplace was rebuilt and active, now showcasing a photo of Matteo and I, at his estate in Italy. On the mantle, smaller pictures of both our families. The small dining room held the same furniture, now restored and shining. The kitchen—reinvented with stainless steel appliances, and chalky blue cabinetry, with a marble island and gray accents. Tiny pots of aloe and rosemary sat in the sill, ready for harvest.

  The master bedroom redesigned, fresh and earthy with neutral colors—an on-suite added to the floorplan. My old room set up with bunk beds, the kitten poster restored, and framed on the wall. An updated stereo with Madonna still in the player. Between the two rooms, the main bathroom, now occupied by Lyla.

  I knocked and hollered in through the door. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, just cold. Trying to warm up,” she squeaked, sounding quite sympathetic. I almost felt sorry for her. Though, not sad enough to trust her.

  “Finish up and I’ll look you over.”

  Stopping for a moment, made me realize the mess I’d made wandering around soaking wet. I moved back into the master bedroom, stripped the wet clothes from my body, and stepped into the bathroom. Travertine floors and glass tiles lined the well-designed room. Excited for warmth, I closed the glass shower, allowing the hot steam to reheat my bones. Italian citrus shampoo awakened moods I hadn’t had in days.

  Then, a noise. At first, I assumed it was my imagination and continued to lather. But I heard it again, a door closing. Lyla must have stepped out of the shower. I was still on edge, assuming the worst. Reluctantly, I closed my eyes to rinse the lather until I heard footsteps hit the travertine tiles. The shadow of a tall man moved towards the steamy shower. I froze.

  “It’s me. You didn’t even lock the door,” Matteo said, trying to remove the vapor from the outside panel with his hand. “I figured this would be your spot.” Relief and confusion ran over me at once, forcing the shower off, pushing my bare frame into his arms.

  “What are you doing here?” His face was like a breath of fresh air, forcing my heart to palpitate.

  He cocked his head to the side, letting a single strand of black hair fall onto his face, gently grazing his eyebrow. “Have a thing for rescuing you, I guess.”

  “Sorry! I’ve soaked you!” I backed away from his all-black suit, now wet with an imprint of my body. “And this. This house. I can never repay you. When did you do this?”

  “After we were here, I put everyone on it. I want you to have a place to go to. A place that’s always yours. Maybe a cottage someday for our family—so you can share your memories too.” He handed me a fluffy white towel, though confusion took over as I reached for one of the short, silk nightgowns he’d stocked the house with.

  “Our family? Wait, you hated me. I ruined your life. The videos.” Another door cracked, this time, the entrance to the bedroom.

  “Hannah…do you have dry clothes?” Lyla asked, creeping towards the closet door in a towel.

  My eyes darted up to Matteo, suspicious of everyone. “How did you know I was in the master bath and not the other bath?”

  “I didn’t. I opened the other door first and scared the shit out of Lyla. By the way, you realize she’s the bad guy, right?”

  “I have no idea what’s going on. Lyla knows more than she’s saying,” I said, sliding the nightgown down, then removing my towel from underneath. The coverage was minimal, but he’d only stocked lingerie.

  Lyla shifted her weight back and forth, dancing in place. “Oh my god! I did it okay. I fucking did it. And now, we’re all fucked. So yeah!”

  “You did what?” Matteo pushed, now sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows firmly planted on his knees as he bent his body into the conversation.

  Lyla continued to fidget, then looked towards me, her towel still hanging loosely around her body. “Listen, you knew I had a thing for Matteo. I told you that day one. You couldn’t have cared less. Then, you came in all dewy-eyed and pompous, having gone everywhere and done everything. So, I sent some letters. You would think it was Daniel, and it would make your relationship with Matteo more difficult. But then you called the news, and you wanted credit for everything I had done.” She shifted towards Matteo. “And you… you made her the head of the gala, the representation of all I had worked on. Alone.”

  Her eyes were creased, her jaw clenched as she ranted on with reasons. The pain from her wound suddenly void. “So, I used money from the center to hire someone. Someone I thought was going to videotape a few things and leak them—ruin whatever it is you two had going on.” Her cockiness dissolved, and she began to shrink. She looked down, shrugging her s
houlders, no longer able to make eye contact, sighing with each word, until we could taste her fear. “But then he went rogue. I didn’t ask him to email you or turn off alarms. And I had no idea he made more than one video.”

  Matteo looked up at me poker-faced, then back at Lyla. “Where did you find this guy, and how much money did you give him?”

  “$800,000. I knew a guy who said he knew a guy who knew a guy. I’ve tried his number; it no longer works.”

  I looked down at Matteo, a vein now bulging from his neck as he tried to keep his cool. “Go to the living room and wait,” he demanded, waving Lyla away. She left as though she were a teenage girl in trouble with her parents.

  Once she’d gone, he closed the door and focused back in on me. Both his large hands cupped the sides of my face. He looked down with raised eyebrows, his head shaking back and forth, “I’m sorry. I should have trusted you. You were only trying to protect me. Just know you can come to me with anything.”

  I didn’t deserve his words; I had messed up. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s okay Bella, I’m just glad to have you back,” he said, wiping a tear from his face. “I got a call from Erik after he went through your phone telling me the emails were real, so I did some research. It turns out this guy is using an encrypted server, so we can’t tell where the message is coming from, but late last night, I got another email. He wants Pegasus’ line and eight million dollars, or he releases more videos.”

  “And why would they be shooting now?” I asked, now pacing, trying to understand the timeline.

  “Well, I told them they couldn’t have what they wanted, so they’re proving they’ll get it at all cost. They will eventually find us here. We have to leave.”

  “What about Lyla?”

  “What about her? I’m letting her free to the forest. She’s as good as dead on her own. She hired the guy. And whoever this is, isn’t as dumb as Lyla.”

  I nodded, unsure of what else to do. Her actions had caused bullets to fly—not to mention the massive extortion plot. We stepped out of the room, ready to tell Lyla to run. Instead, we were greeted by an empty house. The door neatly closed behind her as she swept away into the night.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Upon inspection, Lyla had popped the tires in Matteo’s car before leaving, though she didn’t have the dedication to hike back to the van and flatten those as well.

  “We need to get out of town, lay low for as long as possible. This could have been the plan. They’ll hurt you to get to me,” he said, making sure I understood the weight of the situation as he climbed into the driver’s seat. Darkness still covered the night, but the rain had lightened, leaving a misty fog that smelled of dampened earth and memories.

  I shivered in the tiny purple nightgown, Matteo’s jacket sagging on my limbs. “Where are we going?”

  “To the jet,” he replied, backing the van out slowly as to not get stuck in the mud that surrounded us. “Text Erik and let him know we’re coming.” He handed me his phone. I texted Erik and gave it back. The anxiety from the alarm situation still heavy on my mind.

  He reached over to tickle my silky leg as he drove, “You didn’t disable my alarms again, did you?”

  “Ha. Ha,” I began, faking a laugh. “I should have just told you about everything. I’m sorry I talked you into this stupid bucket list thing, to begin with.”

  “Stupid? No way. I’m upset it got out, but I liked what you said to those reporters. And after some thought, the fact that we got caught, I don’t know… kind of excites me more.”

  “What!” I gasped, leaning forward to catch his face as he focused on the snaking roads. He’d been so concerned about his family’s image—of ruining the legacy they’d left behind.

  “I know. At first, I was enraged, embarrassed, depressed. Then, I listened to your interview. The whole thing was something we were doing privately. I didn’t film it, you didn’t film it, and everyone was voluntarily involved. So, it does say more about the asshole who recorded it, than us.” It sounded a bit as though he were trying to convince himself, making it acceptable to continue the list. “I mean, sex is sex. It’s not wrong, and everything was consensual.”

  “Yeah…” I added, my voice grazing up slightly at the end.

  He placed his hand back on my knee, tickling gently. “Anyway, I got thinking about how it heightens the excitement knowing we’ve already been caught once, trying not to be caught again.” His face had blushed into a dark red as he spoke. “You think I’m crazy?”

  “Crazy, yes. Totally. I think that sounds in… sane.” I laughed under my breath to soften the blow, though I was completely serious.

  “No way, you owe me, and I thought of a few more things to add to the list.” He slipped his hand between my thighs, letting his fingers graze the pouted lips of my naked pussy. I jumped back, enjoying the rough scuff of his fingertips.

  “So, we have to stop these people, and I can’t let anyone hurt you… because you owe me something,” he played, now rubbing my clit carelessly. Juices began to drip onto the seat as I felt my body relax. He seemed to get a rush from it all: the exhibitionism, the danger, the unknown. And hearing his excitement always sent me to the next level.

  “Yeah? Is that so,” I moaned, glancing over at his rising cock, still locked away behind the zipper of his pants. Reaching over, I grazed the form growing down his leg, letting my fingers linger at the head. I unzipped his pants, immediately pulling up the armrest and moving into the center of the van. Kneeling uncomfortably between my seat, his, and the shifter, I lifted my ample ass into the air as I bent into him. The deep, defined cupid’s bow of my upper lip slid over his thick warmth with purpose—forcing the van onto the popping rocks at the edge of the road. He moaned, leaning back to enjoy the pleasure while trying to refocus driving.

  What were we thinking? People had been shot, someone was out to get us, and the whole world had seen us fucking. But here I was, going down on him in the rescue center van, in the middle of the night, as we ran from extortionists.

  Gripping his cock, I worked the shaft—moving up and down quickly, then slowly. Letting the tip of my tongue run madly on his skin. Sighing, I took him in further until the back of my throat ached.

  “God damn,” he whispered, putting one hand in my hair to control the movement. In measured counts, I whined on his sword until his body tensed, and the car sped up, braking abruptly, as he tried to regain control. As though he were a NASCAR driver waiting at a pit stop, he released the pedal, tensing his body into an arrow until he came in my mouth. His large frame twisted with tension as I continued to bounce my lips on his sensitive skin.

  “Honestly, did not think that’s how today would go,” he blurted, trying to regain control of the car as he readjusted his pants. “Let’s take care of you.” He slid his hand back onto my thigh, moving it gently towards my silk.

  Just then, at the bottom of the main road two and a half hours into the fledgling day, two miles from the airport, we heard a sound like fireworks crack from the tree line. Before either of us could surmise what it might be, we noticed a strange breeze coming from the back of the van. Another crack. This time closer.

  “A hole, there’s a hole in the van. Someone is shooting at the van!” I screamed, suddenly scared for my life in a way that felt more real than fantasy danger and sex.

  “You’re okay right?” he said, speeding up. “They must’ve been waiting in the tree line. Call Erik.” The van sped up as I picked up his phone and dialed Erik, pushing the speaker so Matteo could hear.

  “Yes, sir. Everything okay?”

  “No, actually. We have active shots fired. We need the jet ready to fly in less than two minutes.”

  “It’s ready now, sir, and waiting.”

  With my heart in my throat, I clutched Matteo’s arm as we rode the last grade down into town, relieved to see the city lights and a few other cars. One long right and we were at the airport, r
olling beside the private jet.

  “Has everything been looked over carefully?” Matteo questioned the moment he saw Erik.

  “Yes sir, fuel was put in, it was watched over by the captain and me.”

  Calm washed over, knowing we’d made it to the jet. I found my way to the bedroom and changed into something more appropriate for flying, snuggling into a pair of Matteo’s gray sweats and another rugby t-shirt. Matteo, crawled straight onto the bed to watch me change.

  “Where are we going? I’m worried about the center. The animals need someone, and I’m not sure Lyla will be back.”

  “I’ll send wildlife vets from the area over. They’ll be paid well until we get back. Oh, and we’re going to Africa. I had a house rented for us in Serengeti. Someone will have to fight hard to get guns in there unchecked.”

  “How long?” I asked, unexpectedly scared to stay and leave.

  He motioned me towards the bed, “As long as it takes. We might even have to move again.”

  I thought of Africa, how beautiful it was in books and movies, how the sun looked rounder, redder, somehow closer to the Earth. Yet, the change was otherworldly—outside of everything I’d ever known, and for an indefinite time.

  “The gala!” I gasped, lifting my head from his chest—as though that were a perfectly good reason to stay.

  He raised one eyebrow and shook his head with a slight smile. “I think they’d find us there.”

  I laid my head back down on his chest, welcoming his comforting heat. There was no going back; we were in this together.

  “What was the other thing you wanted to add to the list?” I asked, braced in Matteo’s arms as the jet took off. The distraction of our list had begun to quell my mind in distressing situations.

  “We have a whole new world of places to play in. The list is endless.”

  Hours went by like minutes, mindlessly lost in meaningless conversation. Then, a loud noise. A thump. Matteo stood, cracking the door slightly, still on edge from our evening of stress.