Never Gonna Tell

by Sarah M. Ross

  Marco clears his throat before continuing. “I was twelve at the time. The whole family was scared of him at this point, because if he could do that to his own son, no one was safe from his wrath. We were stuck with no way out. My dad tried to keep me away from him for as long as possible, but when I entered high school and my uncle could start using me to help the betting on the varsity basketball and football games, there was nothing my dad or I could do. I was in. After years of being my uncle’s henchman and without my mom around to soften my dad, he’s pretty much turned as dark as my uncle.”

  He turns to face me. “I’d been resigned to the fact that I would have to put up with my family until I turn eighteen and can get out, move away, and never look back. But when they threatened you, I couldn’t sit by and do nothing anymore. I couldn’t let you end up like Tony.”

  Silent tears slip down my face. Marco wipes them with the pad of his thumb gently before handing me a tissue. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I promise you’re safe now. No matter what, I won’t let them hurt you.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not crying for me. I’m crying for you.”

  After a few minutes, I wipe my eyes and walk into the living room to grab a tissue. Marco joins me back on the couch, and I cuddle into his side. Neither of us speaks for a long time as we sip our coffees and contemplate where the hell everything in our lives got so screwed up.

  Taking the last sweet sip, I set my mug down and pivot on the couch, crossing my legs as I face Marco. “What do we do now, Marco?”

  He lets out a long sigh. “We don’t have a lot of options.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s too late to turn back.”

  “I know.”

  “They know I took you. They have to by now.”

  “Great,” I mutter sarcastically.

  “And they’re going to try to get to us before we can get to the police. Nicky won’t rest until he’s turned over ever rock and leaf to find us—including your parents.” I cringe at the reality of his words. “I’m sure he has everyone on his payroll out looking, and we can’t hide here forever. We need a plan, and a good one.”

  “TELL ME ABOUT this cabin. How did you find it? Whose is it? How long can we hide out here?” I’m pacing the length of the house in full journalist mode now: digging for information, putting pieces together, and trying to come up with a solution. Eyeing a yellowed magazine on an end table, I flip through it to find a fairly empty page to write on and look around for a pen. I always think better when I can write notes down.

  Marco grabs a chair from the kitchen, flips it around, and straddles it, resting his forearms on the back. “It belongs to my mother’s father. I haven’t seen my mother since I was ten, and I don’t think my dad is even aware that I know about its existence. We’re safe here for a little while longer.”

  His words should reassure me, but something is nagging at me. A slight pull at the back of my mind, like I’m forgetting something. I begin to doodle on the magazine cover, running through a checklist in my mind while hoping it’ll come to me. “Where did you go last night? Did anyone see you?”

  “I drove around mostly. I stopped once for gas and once for coffee and doughnuts this morning.”

  “How did you pay?”

  Marco huffs. “With cash. I’m not an idiot.”

  “I had to ask.” I shrug. Tapping my pencil mindlessly on the edge of the table, I suddenly see his cell phone out sitting on the table beside the couch. “What about GPS? Could they track us using the GPS in your phone or car?”

  He shakes his head. “I disabled both before coming back to get you.”

  I turn to face him, biting the end of the pencil. “Who kept calling you last night?”

  Marco grinds his teeth before spitting out, “My good-for-nothing, rotten father.”

  Yikes, there’s some tension there. “Did you call him back? Why was he calling you?”

  “The librarian told the police it was a high school kid who was a witness and she had the damn sketch artist make a rendering. Dad’s been having me go through yearbook pictures to try to identify you.” He cracks his knuckles. “I’ve been blowing him off, but he and Uncle Nicky are getting impatient, and they won’t leave me the hell alone about it.”

  “That’s not good,” I mutter.

  “No, and it gets worse. They found out anyway, got their hands on the sketch, and my Uncle Nicky recognized you from when he picked me up from school. They know I know you. My dad is furious. I tried to tell him it was a coincidence, that there are hundreds of girls at our school, and I have no clue who you are, but Nicky doesn’t believe in coincidence. He wants me home to ‘answer some questions,’ which I know is just another beating.”

  It dawns on me. “The bruises. The black eye.”

  He nods in acknowledgement and gives me a half-smile. “Worth it to keep you safe.”

  I want to kiss him all over again. “Marco…”

  He winks at me, lightening the mood momentarily. We plop down on the couch, each lost in our thoughts for a while. As comfortable as our silence is, the worry about what happens next begins to creep back in. “Do you think your dad or uncle would threaten my parents? Use them to get to us?”

  “Not at this stage of the game. It’s far too risky, especially with who your mom is. Right now, they’re probably more concerned with finding us to keep you quiet. They most likely still think they can bring me back into the fold; they won’t go after your parents before we can get to the FBI. You can relax a bit, Reagan. I promise, if I didn’t think it was safe to be here we’d be gone.”

  Relief floods through me. I could never forgive myself if something happens to my parents because I was too chicken shit to do the right thing a week ago. I toss aside the pencil and magazine before bringing my knees up and resting my chin on them. Marco scoots closer to me and I happily lean my head on his shoulder. It’s funny that only yesterday I was imagining a variety of ways I could hurt him to make sure he could never have children, and now we’re snuggling on the couch. My life is weird.

  I tense up again as I’m reminded that I may not have much of a future. “But what about—”

  Marco suddenly puts his arm around my shoulders and begins to massage them.

  “Relax, Reagan. I’ve got you.” His hands pause as he leans in, his breath tickling my ear. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to make it okay.”

  I can’t argue. My body is too greedy and my self-control is weak, so I stay quiet while he continues whispering things to me.

  “I’ll never let anyone hurt you, Reagan. I promise you that.”

  I bring my head up to look at him. “Marco, I…” My words are lost as I stare at the emotion swimming in his eyes. Lust, fear, anxiety, desire—they’re all there swirling together, and I can’t look away.

  “Just let me hold you. I really just want to hold you right now.”

  How can I argue with that? I let my head fall back on his shoulder. He threads his fingers through my hair almost rhythmically. It’s relaxing and erotic simultaneously. My eyes drift closed as I relax into him, breathing in his scent that’s all man, leather, and woods kissed with a hint of mint as I lay listening to the cadence of his heart.

  He stops and lowers his head, resting it atop mine. His warm breath caresses me, sending chills down my spine. His soft lips press against my temple, lingering there. I tilt my head up and gaze into his eyes. The desire and need I see in them mirror my own feelings. Everything that was there last night comes flooding back. Once again, it’s the worst timing. Now when we have so much to fear. So much to worry about. But maybe that’s exactly why we need to do this, because no one knows what tomorrow holds. And because I’m selfish. And if I don’t kiss him right this very moment, it will linger in my memories as one of those regrets that haunts me forever.

  My back arches slightly, bringing my face closer to his. It’s all the invitation he needs. His lips crush against mine as he effortlessly brings a hand behind my ne
ck and pushes, laying me down on the couch in one swoop as his body hovers over mine. I melt into him.

  His delicious lips continue their pursuit of my own, and I happily indulge him, wrapping my arms around his thick neck. Our tongues meet for a moment. He tastes of sugar from his doughnut and I lick a little off his lower lip, watching as the flames build in his eyes. He responds in kind, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth before nibbling at it. Our tongues dance a slow tango as my lust for him makes my body throb. I pull at the tie keeping his hair back until it breaks free, allowing me to run my fingers through his silky raven locks.

  “Wait. We need to focus on…”

  “You’re right. We shouldn’t…”

  “We really need to…” I’m cut off by more kisses, and I can’t remember what I was objecting to any longer. He kisses me again and again, each kiss more intense than the last. His day-old stubble is scratchy against my skin, leaving it with a pleasant burn that I know will leave my cheeks flushed and reminding me of him for hours. Mmm. Yes. This is what we really need to do.

  He lowers his chest onto my own, keeping his weight on his arms, which makes his biceps bulge. My fingers drift down to them, and I can’t help but appreciate how sleek and toned they are.

  I sink into the couch. Our kisses slide quickly past innocent making out and into heated, greedy, you-only-read-about-this-in-a-romance-novel kisses. The kisses that just thinking about them later will warm my core and make me blush.

  All sense of time is lost, and I don’t care. I don’t want this to end. We’re slick with sweat, and there are far too many clothes between us. My fingers tug at the hem of his shirt, rolling the cotton fabric up his body. My lips follow the path and he moans my name, making me even hotter. I pause at his pulse point, sucking slightly and completely turned on by how fast it’s beating. For me.

  God, that’s sexy.

  My heart races in my chest as I gasp for breath in between devouring his lips with my own. I can feel the heat surging through my bloodstream like molten lava, pooling into the epicenter of my body and begging for release.

  My eyes close as my head falls back. I arch my pelvis up to him, begging without words. His eyes meet mine, and he smiles, a wicked “oh, I’ll give it to you but I’m going to torture you first” smile. I groan. It’s terrible and wonderful and evil and oh-sweet-Jesus good at the same time. I’m completely lost in the moment. Everything else has faded away. Nothing exists but the touch of his fingers against my skin, the taste of his sweat from his sticky skin, the sound of my name whispered on his lips.

  His hands edge their way under my shirt, thumbs slowly circling the bare skin underneath, my bra having been discarded last night. I lift up to help him pull it off, but he gently pushes me back into the couch. “Patience,” he whispers. “The journey is the best part.”

  I groan in anticipation as one by one his fingers pulls at the fabric of my shirt, bunching it up in his hands before sliding up my body. I want to throttle him for torturing me, but God, the torture is good.

  Thunder booms outside just seconds before lightning flashes, illuminating the darkened cabin momentarily. Marco’s hands pause as we become aware of our surroundings. Huh. I had been so engrossed in what we were doing that I hadn’t even noticed when the storm started. We both sit up, Marco scanning the room with a puzzled look on his face.

  “What is it?”

  He shakes his head. “Nothing. I thought I heard…”

  Thunder booms again, shaking the small cabin. “Heard what?”

  “It was just the storm.”

  I’m not convinced, but before I can argue, the power flickers before going out completely, taking us both (very begrudgingly) out of the moment. I pull my shirt down as Marco stands and holds out a hand for me. Even though it’s barely afternoon, the heavy storm has darkened the whole area ominously. “I think there are some flashlights and candles in the kitchen.”

  My hand slides into his, our fingers entwining. It isn’t all hot and steamy like a few minutes ago, but it still feels pretty darn good. I don’t even try to hide the smile on my face as he searches the drawers. “I raided these drawers last night when you left. Next to the sink, second drawer down.”

  The shame on his face is evident. “Listen, Reagan.”

  I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it back up. We both made some terrible assumptions and—”

  “No, Reagan,” he cut me off again. “Really. Listen!”

  I close my mouth and try to figure out what he’s talking about. All of a sudden, over the sounds of the rain, a car door slams shut.

  MY EYES WIDEN in fear as I turn to Marco. He takes off, running to the small window near the bed. I want to follow him, but my feet are frozen below me. “Is it…?” I ask, terrified of the answer.

  Marco peeks through the blinds before mumbling, “Shit.” With that single word, my heart stops in my chest. He quickly makes his way back to me and grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look him in the eye.

  “We only have a few seconds so listen carefully. I want you to get under the bed and don’t make a sound until I tell you the coast is clear.”

  I nod. “Is it your dad and uncle?”

  He shakes his head. “No, but there isn’t time to explain. Go. Now.”

  I cross the room in three strides, diving under the bed with an “oomph!” It isn’t even a second later when the front door swings open and heavy footsteps parade inside.

  “Marco? Is that you? I was wondering whose car that was in the drive,” the voice bellows. It’s low and gruff, but not one I’d heard before.

  “Hey, Grandpa. Long time, no see. How are you?” Marco is trying to stay calm, but I can hear the slight hitch in his voice that betrays how nervous he really is.

  “Well, I’m wetter than a drowned cat. Go grab me a towel before I catch pneumonia, will ya?”

  I see Marco’s feet go by and tap my nail on the floor to try to get his attention. He catches my signal and whispers, “I’ll try to get him out of here.”

  “What’s that?” his grandfather bellows.

  Marco turns back, returning to his grandfather. “Um, I said what are you doing here?”

  “Annual turkey hunt, boy. You know that.”

  “Turkey hunting season doesn’t even start for another two weeks, Grandpa.”

  A chair scrapes against the floor and I’m itching to see what’s going on. I ever-so-slightly peek my head out from under the bed, thankful I’ve had years of practice staying unnoticed. Marco has moved a chair so that he’s standing directly opposite me, forcing his grandfather’s attention away from my direction. I breathe a small sigh of relief.

  His grandfather leans heavily on a thick, knotted cane. “Pfft! I’m not gonna wait until then. This way I get the plumpest, juiciest bird for myself, and I don’t have to deal with all the other bozos comin’ out complaining that ‘you can’t use automatic weapons’ and ‘you almost hit me with that shot.’ Nothin’ but pansies, I tell ya!”

  Marco chuckles, but it’s choppy and sounds forced. “I hear ya.”

  “The real question is, what are you doing here, boy?” His grandfather plops down on the oversized recliner, swinging the lever to prop his feet up. “Does your daddy know you’re up here?”

  Marco hesitates, scrubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Well, you see—”

  Just then his grandfather spots my bra from last night, poking out of the sofa cushion. He reaches over and pulls it up with the end of his cane, swinging it around with a smile on his face. “Say no more. I know exactly why you’re here now.” He laughs heartily while Marco plants a “guilty as charged” look on his face. “Where is the young lady?”

  Marco’s eyes dart to my direction, but he doesn’t give me away. “She…” he hesitates. “Went to the outhouse.”

  “In this weather?”

  Marco shrugs, leaning back against the counter in the kitchen and crossing his arms over his chest. “I guess. I didn’t
ask too many questions. My mind was … elsewhere.”

  “Oh I’ll bet it was!” He grandfather winks at him, chuckling. “Well, as soon as it lets up a bit I’ll head on back down the mountain. I’ll just come back tomorrow, let you kids have your fun. Just for Pete’s sake, change the sheets before you leave.”

  Marco turns red with mortification but just nods. I guess no matter how bad-ass you think you are, your grandfather teasing you about sex can embarrass the best of us. “And about Dad…”

  “You don’t have to worry about me saying anything. You know I hate that schmuck after what he put your mother through. I hope the next time I see him it’ll be to dance on his grave.”

  Marco clears his throat and scrubs the back of his neck. “Have you … have you heard from Mom?”

  This isn’t a conversation I want to eavesdrop on, but it’s not like I can go anywhere. Marco’s grandfather shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

  “’Fraid I haven’t, boy. It’s been a few years, but the last I heard she was headed down to the Florida Keys—Marathon Key I think—hoping to find a gig selling her homemade jewelry at one of the beach shops. You know, those dangly earrings she loved so much. But that was years ago. For all I know she could be in Timbuktu weaving baskets or somethin’ by now.”

  I can’t see his grandfather’s whole face, but this reeks of a lie. I can hear it in his voice and whenever someone who supposedly doesn’t know something gives that many details, it’s because they’re trying to convince you of said lie.

  Marco’s face, however, I can see. And he’s devastated. I can’t imagine my mom abandoning me at such a young age, let alone leaving me to suffer at the hands of a violent family. My heart breaks for him, and I wish I could do something.

  The power flickers back on, shifting their conversation. They idly chat about older relatives, who’s gotten married, and who had babies. I stop listening and let my mind drift to everything that’s happened over the last twenty-four hours. It seems like forever ago that I was this girl who went unnoticed by almost everyone. Now I’m on the run, praying no one notices me—finds me.