by Ruby Dixon
“Yup,” I say, and slap Becka on the ass like the good lecher bridegroom that I am.
Becka immediately freezes, the pen clattering from her hand. Her face is white and she’s staring straight ahead.
Shit. I fucked up. I forgot about her situation. I’m the worst, ever. And I have to somehow fix this before everything goes down the crapper. “Goddamn, baby. I’m sorry. I forgot…how bruised your bottom is.” I lean in and rub it. “I’ll be more gentle tonight.”
The elderly couple stare.
Becka slowly turns and looks at me, her eyes narrow. “Do. You. Mind.”
“Not at all,” I say with a cocky wink, even though I’m dying inside. Locke’s gonna have my ass if I mess this up. So I just smile and nod at the old couple, determined to sell this. “This place has hot tubs, right?”
“And a heart-shaped bed,” the old man tells me with a nod. “Very firm.”
“Niiiiiiice. Firm’s good for a lot of things.”
Becka wakes up from her trance and scribbles down her name, then offers me the book and the pen. “I’m sorry,” she says with a tight smile. “My new husband’s kind of an oversharer.”
“Don’t be sorry,” the old man says. “We get all kinds here.” At his side, his wife titters. Well damn, now I’m curious what that means. I’m about to ask when I realize that Becka signed in as Jenna Stark. Assumed names. Okay. I write down Jon Snow. And then I scratch it out because I’m supposed to be Stark, too, I guess. Jon Stark.
I hand the book back and ignore the looks that everyone’s giving me. “There a fridge?”
“It’s a fully equipped cabin,” the old woman says, taking a key off the wall. There’s a series of hooks and each key set is on a garter. That’s kinda kinky. “Stove, refrigerator, dishwasher, you name it. How long will you two be staying?”
“At least a month,” Becka says. “We think. It might be longer.”
They look surprised. “Such a long honeymoon?”
“My husband’s a writer.” She pats my arm. “If the muse hits him, we’ll be here a while.”
“That’s lovely,” the old woman says, sliding the key to me. “What do you write, young man?”
“Porn,” I say proudly. “Debbie Does Rhinos? That was me.”
The woman recoils a little and glances at her husband. He just smiles as if this is normal shit. Becka, though? She’s looking at me like she wants to kill me.
“Well then, we ask that you pay up front for a week at a time,” the man says, and I pull out my wallet. I pay in cash, and then we discuss room service and housekeeping. It’s extra for someone to come by and clean our little cabin on a daily basis (which I don’t want), and extra again if we want the bar fully stocked. Of course I do, so I pony up the extra cash, and the guy promises to deliver the goods in a little while.
“Milford will show you to your cabin,” the old woman says, and gives her man a little pat on the arm.
“Thanks,” I tell her, trying not to laugh at the pinched expression that’s come over her face. Guess she’s not a fan of rhino-porn.
Milford leads us out of the pink barn and down a pebbled path. There’re a few cabins tucked here and there in the trees, each one secluded enough to be private. Of course, to get to the cabins, that takes us right past the tiny parking lot, and Milford glances over at our car, and then stops.
“Sir,” he says. “I don’t mean to be rude, but did you know you have a man in your car?”
“Told you I was here for inspiration for my writing, right?” I put my arm around Milford’s shoulders. “He’s what I like to call ‘my inspiration.’” Becka’s hand squeezes tight on my arm, and I imagine she’s going to give me an earful when we’re alone. Truth is, I’m kind of enjoying myself.
“I see. Well, we get all kinds here. I’ll bring by some extra towels. Right this way.”
Milford lets us in to the cabin. It’s…pretty much as pink and floral as everything else. There’re fake flowers in vases on every surface, and the couch is—I shit you not—a pink checker with throw pillows that look like white flowers. The bed is a bright pink heart in the center of the room. So there’s that. There’s no television, but there is a door that leads out to an enclosed deck with a hot tub. Score. Other than that, the place is pretty unremarkable. It’s a small bedroom that leads right into an even smaller kitchen, and is tinier than my entire apartment back home, all for the sweet, sweet price of a hundred bucks a night. Oh well.
“I’ll be by with your alcohol later,” Milford says, handing me the key. “Anything else?”
“We’re good,” Becka says quickly. “Thank you so much.”
“You two enjoy yourselves. Shall I tell your boyfriend which cabin you’re in?”
“I’ll handle it,” I tell him, and slip Milford a twenty. “Thanks, my man.”
“Enjoy yourself, Mr. Stark. Mrs. Stark.” He heads out of the cabin, and then it’s just me and Becka. I grin at her.
She backhands me right across the face.
“Do not ever, ever grab my ass without my permission!” She shakes her fingers in the air, as if trying to decide if she’s going to nurse her wounded hand or slap me again. “That is bullshit! I’ve had enough of people acting like my body doesn’t belong to me.”
“Sorry,” I say, rubbing my jaw. “I totally deserved that.”
That makes her pause. “You admit you fucked up?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, once you went all pale, I just knew, and I felt like the world’s biggest ass. If you need to slap me again, I’m cool with it.” I lean in and close my eyes.
“It’s all right,” she says after a moment.
I open my eyes and she’s looking up at me with a little bit of hurt in her eyes, and I feel worse than before. “I really hate that it bothered you so much. I’m really sorry. I just, you know, got into character and rolled with it. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Speaking of characters,” she says, glaring at me. “I thought we were supposed to be all undercover! What’s this with writing porn and adding in a boyfriend!”
“Well, I figured three freaks would probably be less weird to the guy than a couple of bikers with a kidnapped girl. I mean, come on. Those people run a honeymoon retreat. I bet they have scraped some weird shit off these floors, you know?”
“Ew!” She just stares at me, horrified.
“It’s true. And honestly? I doubt those old coots can remember where they were yesterday. Now, come on. Let’s get Locke and bring him up to date with our story.”
“Better get your jaw ready for another slap,” Becka warns me. “I’m guessing he’s not going to like the porn party concept either.”
LOCKE
Becka sits on the edge of the heart-shaped bed, holding her small bag of new clothing and looking very lost and alone.
I know how she feels. I’m a bit lost at the moment myself. I mean, we’re here. I checked in with the club and let them know that we’re safe, but didn’t say the location just in case bad shit goes down at home. The less people know, the better. And for the last few days, I had a purpose and a mission. Get Becka back. Get Becka to safety.
Now we’re ‘safe,’ and our purpose has changed to ‘wait here until it’s safe.’
That’s the part where I’m feeling a little out of sorts. We’re trapped together for the next while, and it’s clear Becka doesn’t feel at ease around us. Can’t say I blame her. I’m all tense because I keep looking at that one bed. It’s big enough for three people, and I guess it makes sense to sleep with Becka sandwiched between us. She’ll be safe that way…but it’s gonna be awkward. It’s not just Epic I’m attracted to—I’m feeling pulled toward Becka and her fragility marked with flashes of strength. Those rare smiles she flashes? The sight of one makes my balls tighten. And when I see Epic smiling back at her? Fuck, I’m all turned around.
I like to take care of my people. But I’m not sure this is the type of care they need. And I feel…fuck, a bit like a chaperone around b
oth of them. Epic’s only a few years older than Becka, and I doubt Becka’s older than twenty. I’m far too old to be creeping on her, especially given that she’s Gem’s little sister.
Then again, I shouldn’t be creeping on my partner, either, and that hasn’t stopped my brain from picturing all kinds of filthy and wrong scenarios. I suppose it’s a good thing Epic’s pretty oblivious.
“Either of you know a five-letter word for ‘push aside’?” Epic looks up from his crossword to gaze at me, then Becka.
“Shove?” Becka suggests.
“I thought about that, but it doesn’t work with the word going across. I need a ‘D’.” Epic looks at me. “You any good with crosswords?”
“No.” I pace away, moving toward the windows so I can gaze out. It’s quiet here, and through the blinds, I can see nothing but the woods. If it was just me, I’d probably keep all the windows shut and the doors barricaded, but I think of Becka, who’s been trapped for the last week. She’d probably like some sunlight. And really, we should be safe here. No one knows where we are. I should relax.
I look over at Epic, who is sprawled on the small loveseat that passes for a sofa. His feet hang over one arm, his back pressed to the other. It doesn’t occur to him that he’s hogging the only seat. Well, there’re a pair of folding chairs by the tiny table, but it’s clear that this cabin wasn’t intended for much more than housing for the bed. This just adds to the vague, uncomfortable feeling of the three of us here.
So I pace. Epic does his crossword, and Becka sits on the edge of the bed, hugging the bag of crappy T-shirts I bought her at Walmart. And we wait. I guess I’m not exactly sure what we’re waiting for, but we’re waiting for something. Tomorrow, I’ll go into town. Get some groceries, maybe pick up a few more necessities for Becka. Feels wrong to abandon the place today, though. Plus, I want to watch and see if we were followed, after all. If we were, they won’t bother waiting a few days to attack. They’ll hit us tonight.
Tomorrow, I’ll relax. Not today, though. So I pull out one of the folding chairs and put it by the window, watching out the slats of the blinds as Epic rattles on about five-letter words for “saliva.” He’s fuckin’ terrible at crosswords. Epic’s a good guy, but brains ain’t his strong suit.
Eventually, Becka sets down her bag and gets up, moving toward the small nook that serves as a kitchen. She peers into the waist-high fridge and then looks over at me in surprise. “There’re a couple of frozen pizzas wedged into the freezer here. Okay if I cook them up?”
“Be my guest.”
“I could eat some pizza,” Epic adds. “Good call, Becks.”
She makes a face at him and pulls a frost-covered box out of the fridge. “It’s Rebecca, not Becks.”
“I think we need a road name for you. I mean, we’re not on the road, but aliases probably wouldn’t be amiss.” Epic nods at me. “Amiss—five-letter word for ‘improper.’ I had to back into that one, cuz whatever fucknut makes these crosswords seems to think that people use words like ‘improper’ and ‘amiss’ in regular conversation.”
I snort. “She doesn’t need a road name. Probably doesn’t want anything to do with the club after she gets home.”
Becka glances over at me, and her mouth tugs into a half-smile that tells me I’ve probably nailed it in one.
I get that. The club lifestyle isn’t exactly for everyone, and after what Becka’s gone through, I’m guessing any fondness she might have had has gone by the wayside. I can’t help but be a bit disappointed, though; I imagine she’d look real pretty wearing someone’s property patch. Ah well.
We eat the pizza, then return to our regular spots, and the quiet awkwardness continues. It’s grating on me, too. There has to be a way to change this, to break the ice that’s sucking the life out of the three of us. And to think we’ve got weeks of this looming ahead…
A figure appears down the path, and my body tenses, going on alert. I pull on the blinds cord, slamming the slats shut, only to nudge one up again with a finger.
“Everything okay?” Epic asks, and I hear him set aside his crossword.
“Might be something, might be nothing,” I tell him. My Glock’s still tucked at my waist, but I’ll pull it if I need to. So I watch, and I wait.
To my surprise, it’s an old man, his shoulders stooped and his steps shuffling. He holds a box in his arms, and a long, floppy lock of hair flutters over his bald-ish head. As I watch, he continues to head toward our cabin. I look back at Epic. “You said there was an old guy at the front desk, right? Glasses and a comb-over?”
“Yup.” He brightens. “Hey, I bet he’s bringing our drinks.”
“Drinks?”
“Yeah, for a few bucks we could ask for the bar to be supplied. So I said hell yeah to that. I’ll go get ’em.” He grins and charges out the front door.
I relax a bit at that, though I don’t move from my spot at the window. Just in case the old coot grabs a gun or something.
“Is he always like that?” Becka asks timidly, coming to my side.
“Like what?” I watch as Epic greets the guy with a friendly grin and proceeds to yak his ear off as the man transfers the box to him.
“Talk first, act second, think later?”
That’s Epic in a nutshell. “Pretty much.”
“It’s good he has you looking out for him, then,” she says softly. “Being impulsive’s what got me into this in the first place. Luckily for me, I think all of that has been beaten out of my system.” She manages a small, awkward laugh. “I didn’t have anyone watching my back to make sure I wasn’t stupid.”
I glance over at her. “I’ve got your back.”
Her expression goes soft, and my cock responds at the sight. I quell the urges, because the last thing I need is to lust after her when I’m supposed to be protecting her.
“Thanks,” she whispers. “It’s weird, but that means a lot to me.”
I know the feeling. When you settle in with someone you can trust? Someone you can count on? Feels like home. I have that with Epic, and I want to provide that for her. I want her to know I won’t let anything happen to her again. ’Course, it’s hard to say that shit to a girl without coming across like a crazy fool, so I just nod.
A moment later, Epic bursts through the door, all crazy grins. “Party’s heeeeeere!”
“We’re not here to party,” I tell him as he kicks the door shut behind him and heads over to the tiny table with his box of drinks. I can’t help but smile, though. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe a few drinks are what we all need to loosen up. I’ll stay sober, but these two? I’ll keep watch over them. Let them have a good time.
I go and lock the door, just because of who I am, and then join them at the small table in the kitchen. Epic’s pulling out bottle after bottle of cheap alcohol—butterscotch rum, cinnamon shots, vodka, gin, and tequila. None of it is a name brand, and I’m pretty sure most of it is in plastic bottles. There’s a stack of red Solo cups in the box, which makes me laugh.
“Tell me you didn’t pay too much for this shit. I doubt they spent fifty bucks on all this booze.” Which is kind of hilarious, because it is an absolute fuckton of booze. How hammered do the guests here tend to get?
“Oh, I spent too much,” Epic tells me with a pleased grin. “But it’s gonna be totally worth it.” He picks up the tequila and gazes at it mournfully. “No worm.”
“Probably costs too much,” I joke.
“What’s your drink of pleasure, Becks?” Epic screws the lid off the tequila and takes a shot, straight from the bottle, then offers it to me.
I take the bottle and swig, trying not to think about the fact that my mouth’s where his was, or that his lips are shiny from drink. I need to focus, not fuckin’ moon over another guy’s mouth. So I pass the bottle to Becka. She licks her lips, and then I feel even more lust.
Goddamn, I am a sorry sack today. I need to get laid, bad. Me and Epic haven’t tapped anyone together, though, and there’s a rule with the B
utchers—you ride together, in and out of bed. I haven’t pushed things because I’m all mixed up with how things with my last partner went down…and the fact that I’m attracted to this one.
Having sweet, innocent Becka here isn’t helping things either. Because I watch her put her mouth on the bottle, and her tongue flicks out and tastes the rim. It’s a tiny gesture, but one that sends fire right through my gut and all the way down to my balls.
A moment later, she coughs, making a face and holding the bottle away from her.
“Oh my God, that’s so cute,” Epic says with a laugh, rescuing the tequila. “Do you not drink, Becks? Are you underage?” He raises his brows and gives me a playful look. “Are we corrupting the innocent?”
“Not unless we want Gem to hand us our dicks on plates,” I say, and retreat to my seat by the window. I adjust the blinds, cracking them open just a hair again so I can look outside and watch.
Maybe staring at trees for a good few hours will help my dick calm the fuck down.
5
BECKA
The tequila burns on my lips and tongue, the taste strong and awful and intriguing. Even though I barely sipped it, I can feel the warmth it provides oozing through my body. “I’ve never gotten drunk before.” Stolen a sip of wine here and there, maybe, but I’m an absolute nerd and prude, and I never party back at school. All my friends are chemistry nerds, too, which means that even if I wanted to party, I’d have to find a new pack. I’ve never minded before, but looking at the dizzying assortment of alcohol spread out on the table, I wish I had more experience with this.
“Damn, really?” Epic looks surprised. “You’re this sheltered? And Gem’s your brother?”
Funny, I would have agreed that I was sheltered about two weeks ago. But since then, I’ve been kidnapped, felt up, treated like an animal, endangered, branded, and drugged for my body to be sold. I’m currently living with two bikers and we’re on the run. ‘Sheltered’ no longer feels like it’s on the table. “I went to a lot of boarding schools.”
