by Fields, MJ
He’s reading me my rights, but I don’t hear a word. All I know is I’m being arrested for a crime I didn’t commit.
My body heaves forward, and a tinge of bile rushes up from my gut. “Please, you have to look in there. There has to be a sign. Something that shows I was the passenger.”
“You can give your report down at the station.” He puts his hand on my head and guides me into the backseat of the patrol car.
I feel like an animal. A caged animal with a barricade between me and the two officers. The metal of the cuffs is digging into my wrists, and I try to stay still so as not to cut myself up. Yeah, right. All I want to do is squirm, cry, and get the hell out of here.
We arrive at the station. The officer guides me out of the car and grabs my arm to walk me into the station. It’s a boring beige and brown room with desks in the center and offices at the back. There’s a holding room to the right where the criminals stay. I shiver at the thought. Luckily, I am placed in a chair next to a desk. My handcuffs are readjusted so my hands are placed in front of my body. A minor courtesy I find promising.
Officer Harper sits down with a pad and a pen and takes my statement.
A loud bang from the front of the building is heard. A door slams against the wall, and two men come barreling in. The first is a man with a dark mustache, buzz cut, and smug smile. It’s a shame that I actually know who he is.
Nico Martinez.
He spots me sitting in the chair, and the look on his face—aroused at seeing me submissive and handcuffed as well—makes me want to vomit. He’s wearing jeans and a blue hoodie, and he is thrusting about, trying to get free from the man holding on to him from behind.
Adam.
He has his right hand on Nico, his knuckles red from the grip. His other arm is hidden behind Nico, holding on to cuffed arms. Adam’s jaw is clenched high, jowls protruding; his mouth is a hard line. He pushes Nico into the holding room and then attaches his handcuffs to a round metal hook.
When the door is closed, Adam turns. His face is reddened from the struggle, and his chest is puffed out from the forceful hold he had on Nico. He struts through the room, a walking force of testosterone. When he finds me sitting here at Harper’s desk, his black boots halt with a squeak on the linoleum floor. Those dark eyes widen slightly, and he runs a hand through his hair. He looks shocked to see me. If I wasn’t so delirious by the evening’s change of events, I could swear a look of concern was passing over his face.
But I am wrong.
His brows curve in, but his mouth remains ticked. It’s that same pursed, pissed off look he’s worn for the last seven years.
He motions to an officer nearby, presumably asking why I’m cuffed and being interrogated. He just shakes his head and walks away, muttering to himself in disgust.
Yes, that’s the Adam I know today. Far from my boyfriend’s best friend who used to play basketball with me for hours and talk about everything from movies to music to life in general. Adam has changed a lot since then. Now, he’s cold, stiff as a whiskey on the rocks.
“You understand why it’s hard for me to believe your story, Miss Paige?” Officer Harper puts his pen down on the pad. He leans back in his chair, his body rigid as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. His voice is deep and authoritative as he speaks, “This was your vehicle with no signs of another passenger either in the car or on the ground. You were found with the driver’s door open, trying to leave the scene. You say here you had four drinks over the course of two and a half hours, and your blood alcohol level was 0.109. That’s a good reason to want to run away.”
“No!” I lean forward, pleading with the man who holds my fate, “I swear to God, I was not driving. Did you even investigate the crash?”
“The passenger-side airbag did not deploy.”
“So?” I’m exasperated, my future lying in the hands of a defective piece of nylon. “I’ll find witnesses. My friend Suzanne. She knows I had a designated driver. She saw me leave.”
Office Harper rises and places his hand on my arm, escorting me out of the chair.
Is he letting me go? Thank God. I knew he’d see reason. There is no way I can get arrested for drunk-driving when my entire life—
Wait, where is he taking me? Why are we walking toward lockup? Am I being detained?
“You can’t leave me here!” I plead as he takes my handcuffed hands and attaches them to a long chain on the wall.
“The state of Ohio takes OVI offenses very seriously. Anyone who blows over a point eight is mandated to spend seventy-two hours in jail. You’ll be fingerprinted and processed for arraignment. You might want to consider getting yourself a lawyer.” Officer Harper closes the door behind him, leaving me shackled to a wall.
“I’ll take a lie detector test. Hook me up to one of those machines. You’ll see. Hello? Officer Harper, please. Where did you go?” I call out into the empty room.
Falling onto the bench behind me, I sob into my palms. The tears wet my skin, and my lifeline becomes coated in the weight of desperation. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.
My throat tightens, and my stomach clenches. I’m being incarcerated. My voice not being listened to, being unable to defend myself, is the most helpless feeling I’ve ever known.
“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in handcuffs?” The dark, sinister sound of Nico Martinez echoes from the other side of the room.
I forgot he was in here.
I look up and see eyes exploring up and down my legs, my shorts riding high on my crotch from sitting on the bench. I snap my legs together and swallow the lump in my throat.
“Shy?” he says, followed by a closed mouth smirk. His beady eyes roam over my breasts and then up to my face. “Or do you think I’m not worth the sound of your voice?”
I turn my head to the side and look at the cinder block walls. He’s right. He doesn’t deserve a whisper. Nico is known trash. A few years older than me, he’s done nothing but corrupt the youth of Cedar Ridge and any town within sixty miles of here. I’d rather sit in silence than give him the time of day.
He laughs, a low grunt from inside his throat, finding my defiance amusing. He can laugh as much as he wants. We’re chained to opposite walls, and there are officers outside this room. The worst he can do to me is make me listen to his despicable voice.
“I know you. You work at The Bucking Bronco. Yeah, that’s right. The hellcat who dances on the bar.” He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, causing the chain to clang on the bench.
Someone must have switched his cuffs to the front, like they did mine. That, or he slid his legs through his arms. Wouldn’t be surprised, coming from a career criminal.
I slide my eyes back to the wall, but he doesn’t seem to care for my indifference.
“You think you’re too good to talk to me, but the truth is, we’re one in the same. We both sell a good time. You, with your body and liquor. Me, with…some other things.”
My head snaps to him. “We are nothing alike.”
Nico smiles, happy to get a rise out of me. I clench my jaw, annoyed with myself for giving him what he was craving—attention. I look out the door in search of Officer Harper. He’s stepped away from his desk. I don’t see anyone else nearby.
“It’s just you and me, baby. Looks like we have all night to get to know each other. So, let’s get acquainted.” Nico slides over on the bench.
I twist my brows in, confused at how he’s able to move away from the wall. He slides a touch closer, and I follow the metal around his wrist to make sure he’s still tethered to the metal hook and rod on the wall.
The room isn’t very big, maybe about ten feet. I shift to the side, but my only option is the wall adjacent to the door. If I move any further, I’ll literally be backed into a corner.
Nico rises, looking down at me like I’m his last meal before the chair. “I want to see you dance.”
He’s moving closer, the chain sliding across the bar as he
walks. He might be tethered to the rod, but it extends down the length of the room. There are no breaks, which means he’ll be able to get all the way to my side.
I rise and step backward, hoping his chain will catch and pull him back.
It doesn’t.
Nico takes steps closer. I move back. He wants me to dance. Well, he has me dancing—moving in measured steps to save my life.
“Stay away from me!” I shout, hoping one of the officers will hear.
Nico’s eyes are dark, hard, and coldly staring at me. I know what those eyes are saying. He’s not worried about getting caught. He’s already in a mess of trouble. He’s just looking for a little reward for his arrest.
“Come on, sweet thing. Show me what you do for everyone else. Dressed in an outfit like that”—he licks his lips, the saliva pooling at the side of his mouth—“you know you like the attention. Let me have a taste.”
His body pushes up against mine, forcing my back to slam into the cold cinder block. My head hits the wall with a thud, making my skull vibrate. With cuffed hands, he slides his fingers up to my cheek. His stale breath stinks of menthol cigarettes and marijuana. I turn to the side and try to scream, but his hand covers my mouth, blocking the sound.
I have a lot of slack on my chain, but there is no way I can get around him. Not this way. Not with him playing the dominant, overpowering me. I thrust my body against Nico’s, but he shoves me back. His chest weighs down on mine, hips pinning my lower body, his hands now lower on my waist.
“You’re feisty, baby girl. Just how I like it. Show me how wild you can be.”
I slam my fists against him. His weight is too forceful. I attempt to scream again, but he shoves his shoulder into my neck, making it hard for me to breathe. Rough hands are trying to roam over my shorts, pressing in to feel the skin beneath. I buck my hips, doing whatever I can to get him off of me. The harder I fight, the stronger he becomes.
Pushing, thrusting, fighting with all my might.
Thrashing, twisting, I need to make an escape. I can tell he’s done this before, and he knows how to handle a victim.
His thumb is roving inside the band of my shorts, and I think I might vomit, the taste of bile salivating in my mouth.
With his concentration on getting the button of my shorts undone, he relaxes his hips. I use the opportunity to lift my knee. I need to kick him, hurt him. I’m about to knee him straight in the balls when two large hands grab hold of Nico’s shoulders and pull him back.
“Get the fuck off of her.” Adam’s loud, harsh growl fills the room.
He shoves Nico against the opposite wall, his forearm in Nico’s throat. Adam’s face burns crimson, and his eyes are filled with rage. His teeth are clenched, the square jaw about to burst through the skin.
“She is not one of your whores.” With each word, he shoves his arm further into Nico’s neck.
“Looks like I messed with the wrong girl. Didn’t know she was yours,” Nico says through short breaths.
I’m surprised to see a smirk on his face.
“You ever touch Leah again, and I will kill you. You hear me?” Adam says each word with perfect articulation, ensuring Nico doesn’t miss the threat.
“After everything we’ve been through, it’s a girl that finally has you threatening my life? Wouldn’t Brad be disappointed? Besides, wasn’t she his first?”
No sooner are the words out of Nico’s mouth than Adam lifts him up and slams him into the corner and down onto the floor. With Nico down, Adam leans forward and cuffs him to the foot of the bench. He won’t be able to move further than a few inches now.
When Adam looks back at me, I finally take an assessment of myself. My hands are pressed tight into my body, protecting it from being violated. My breaths are deep and fast. I feel like my heart is crawling into my stomach with each breath. My eyes are wide as I stare at Adam. He’s examining me like I’m a wounded dove. He hasn’t looked at me in years, and this is the state I’m in when he finally decides to take notice.
I stand up straight and wipe the hair away from my tear-stained face. “I can’t be in here with him anymore.”
“You shouldn’t be in here at all.” Adam walks toward me.
He attempts to grab my hands, but I flinch. With slow, controlled movements, he tries again. In the gentlest way, he lifts my palms and unlocks the cuffs around my wrists. The skin of his hands is rough and calloused, yet he’s grasping onto mine with the touch of someone holding a newborn baby.
I stretch out my fingers and circle my wrist. “Thank you.”
“Come with me.” He places his palm on the small of my back and guides me into the main room.
Just as he’s locking up the holding room, Officer Harper walks in from the back.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Adam spits.
“In the restroom. Do I have to tell you every time I take a piss?”
“What the hell was she doing in the holding room with Nico Martinez?”
“You know the lock is broken on the other cell. I chained her to the opposite end of the room.”
“He attacked her!” Adam shouts into the startled expression on Harper’s face. “You don’t put a female in the same cell as a man, especially that piece of shit. Ever. And who the fuck moved his cuffs to the front? Right now, he’s chained to the fucking floor, and he is not to be moved until I say so, you hear?”
“Yes, sir,” Harper says, indicating Adam is above him in authority.
“Come on, Leah. You’re spending the night in the conference room.” Adam ushers me to a room in the back.
It’s sterile, beige, and freaking heaven compared to the holding room.
Once we’re inside, Adam holds up the handcuffs and dangles them in my face. “Don’t give me a reason to put these back on you.”
I take a seat in a wooden chair. “How do you know I’m not a flight risk?” I ask sarcastically.
In one breath, he says I’m not a criminal. In another, he’s accusing me of becoming one. Looks like cold Adam is back in action.
“You’d never do that to your parents. That’s why.” He adds, “I’m going to walk to my desk and grab some files. Do not move from that seat. If you do, I will cuff you to Nico’s fucking foot, you got it?”
This good-cop, bad-cop thing he has going on is a real drag. Then again, no one can top the mighty McConaughey as a man of the law in the movie Lone Star.
Adam walks away, and I’m left by myself. My foot can’t stop shaking. Nerves, fright, or who knows what? Maybe it’s the alcohol wearing off. Either way, I’m a mess.
There’s a phone on the center of the table. My friends are most likely all drunk and passed out by now. Luke, I’m sure, is in no shape to get me. I should call my sister, Emma, and let her know what’s going on. She’ll be disappointed, but she won’t tell my parents. Emma is the perfect daughter, a violinist for the Pittsburgh Symphony, who has never gotten in trouble a day in her life. She’ll give me hell; that’s for sure. I can take it from her. What she’ll probably hate the most is getting woken up in the middle of the night.
I stand up and walk over to the table. I pick up the receiver. I’m punching in the numbers when Adam comes in.
“What the hell are you doing?” He throws his files on the table and rips the phone from my hand.
“I’m allowed one phone call, aren’t I?” I ask incredulously.
He slams the phone in the receiver and pushes me down onto the chair. Taking the handcuffs back out of his pocket, he slaps one on my wrist. “You need permission to make a call. You need permission to stand, to use the restroom, to speak. You got that?” He attaches the other end of the cuffs to the wooden edge of the chair.
“Do I need your permission to breathe?”
Adam leans his hands on both armrests and hovers over me, his face inches from mine. “As far as I’m concerned, you need my permission to exist.” His onyx eyes are sharp and serious.
My breath hitches, and my stomach drops. He h
as this way of commanding you, affecting me.
Total domination.
“You don’t have to be such a dick. I was just calling my sister.”
Adam swallows, his Adam’s apple protruding with the motion. He smells like aftershave and spearmint. “What is Emma going to do for you from Pittsburgh? You’re better off waiting until morning and calling your parents.”
I shake my head and look down. Adam is still lingering over me, his arms taut and stiff. I don’t want to look him in the eye anymore.
“I can’t call them. They’ll be devastated.”
“You should have thought of that before you got behind the wheel.” He pushes off the chair and steps back, looking down on me.
“I wasn’t driving!” I nearly jump out of my seat, the motion making the cuff dig into my wrist. I rub it with my free hand. “How many times do I have to say that it wasn’t me?”
“If you weren’t driving, who was?”
“Victoria Followell. I explained this to Officer Harper, but he wouldn’t listen. Yes, I was drunk. I wouldn’t lie about that. But I would never, ever get behind the wheel. She took the keys. She crashed the car, and she ran.”
“Why would she run? Was she drunk, too?”
“No, but she was on something. I didn’t know it when I got in the car. I swear. She suddenly became erratic. I asked what she was on, and she said ‘brown’ something. I don’t know.”
“Afghan brown,” he says with familiarity.
“Yes.” I lean forward and motion to him with my free hand. “What the hell is that?”
“Heroin,” he says with a bitter edge to his voice. “It’s cheap, and you can smoke it.”
“I think she got it from those bikers who were at the bar. She was hanging out with them all night.”
Adam crosses his arms over his chest as his narrowed eyes study my face. His mouth is pursed, his expression pensive.
“Why should I believe you? Harper sure didn’t have any reason to think there was another driver. Maybe you’re just using Victoria to get out of trouble.”
