by Ada Scott
“Move quickly? Wh-what do you mean?” I ask, still feeling woozy. My whole body is tingling, like my limbs are all threatening to go numb in protest of the heinous act they just helped me commit.
Caleb, to his credit, takes his time with me. He softly cups my face in his huge hand, stroking his thumb over my cheekbone. I finally look up at him, his steely blue eyes surprisingly soft and compassionate.
“Remember all those works of art you pointed out as forgeries?” he begins gently.
I nod. “Yeah. Of course.”
“This guy right here is the forger. He’s responsible for that shit.”
“Oh. But that’s, like, white collar crime. Why did he attack you?” I ask, confused.
Caleb sighs. “Ever heard the phrase ‘more money, more problems’?”
“Well, yeah. In songs and stuff.”
“That’s kind of the case here. This isn’t just some scammer playing a prank on a bunch of wannabe-artsy rich folks. This is high-stakes fraud, Jane. This guy started playing a very, very dangerous game the second he decided to sit down at the same table as my bosses. The mafia doesn’t take well to being conned out of money,” he explains, shaking his head.
“Right. Yeah. Mafia,” I mumble, feeling a little queasy again. It seems like the harder I try to ignore the reality of the kind of world Caleb inhabits, the more obvious and unavoidable that particular truth becomes. Caleb isn’t just some innocent man mixed up in something way over his head; this is his reality. This is the life he chooses to lead. This is the kind of mess he gets into, probably all the time. Only this time, he’s got a very inexperienced, unsuspecting accomplice: me.
“Now, I don’t want any unnecessary bloodshed, which is why it’s especially great that you were able to knock this fucker out before I truly lost my temper and gave him a much worse wound to recover from,” he adds, returning to tighten and re-assess the forger’s restraints.
“Well, I certainly didn’t take any joy in it,” I retort, crossing my arms. Now I’m starting to feel annoyed. No, worse than that. I feel awful. This is so not what I signed up for. All I wanted to do was sell off my virginity in exchange for some money to help my family. Wham, bam, pow, and it’s clean and easy and done. Or so I thought. Now I could possibly be on the line for aggravated assault or something. I could be on the mafia’s radar. I could be mixing up with some seriously seedy, unforgivable bullshit!
I feel that overwhelming urge again to just turn tail and run, not even getting dressed. Just tighten this robe around my body and take off running—out of the hotel, down the street, to wherever I could possibly go to feel safe. I want to throw in the towel, say I gave it my best shot but it’s not a game I’m qualified to play anymore. I’m not some gun-toting, knife-throwing femme fatale who can roll with the punches. I’m just a broke, desperate, terrified twenty-year-old art student who makes very poor choices with very good intentions.
“I know. I know. I’m sorry you’ve gotten twisted up in this shit with me, Jane,” Caleb says, his voice softening again as he looks back at me over his shoulder. There’s regret visible in his expression, and it chips away at the ice crusting over my heart. It’s impossible for me to be angry with him when he looks at me that way. “I hope you know I never intended for this to go as far as it has. You were never meant to be caught up in this web. I never wanted you to be hurt. Or have to hurt anyone else on my behalf, either. I want you to know that.”
“I do. I know,” I relent, sighing.
And it’s true. I know he didn’t intentionally drag me into the center of this fucked-up bloody opera. But I’m here now. And I don’t even know who I should blame. It’s probably not Caleb’s fault. It’s probably not even the mafia’s fault. They didn’t even know I existed until now, and I’m sure I don’t matter to them at all. I’m just a blip on the radar. Collateral damage, maybe. Just another faceless name in the red ledger.
No, I can’t blame anyone but myself. I chose to jump headfirst into this dicey business of selling my body for cash. I’d have to be a complete idiot to not foresee something going wrong with such a plan. Nothing is ever as easy as it looks on paper. Even when the paper is a finely-detailed, professionally-proofed contract.
I mean, yeah, I got lucky that my highest bidder isn’t some gross, lewd old man with a fetish for younger women. I got lucky that he’s not a raging sexist set on humiliating and hurting me. I got lucky the moment I opened the hotel door and saw a handsome, strong, familiar face staring back at me. Caleb is a good man, I can tell, and for that reason I really lucked out. He wouldn’t hurt me, not on purpose anyway.
But maybe that’s the trade-off. I may have gotten a good man, but he’s surrounded by bad men and bad business, and now I’m infected with all that shit, too.
“The mafia isn’t just going to forget me, are they?” I ask quietly. “There’s no anonymity from here on out, is there? And that forger… he has to work for somebody. Somebody who will want revenge. Punishment. For me, for hurting him and interfering in their dirty business. I’m—I’m really in this mess for good. I can’t just walk away from this clean-handed, can I?”
Caleb walks back over and takes both my hands in his, raising them to his lips to kiss them before pulling me into a close embrace. Instantly, my worries start to melt away into the back of my mind, replaced by the more important business of taking in his warmth, his strength, his scent. That all-encompassing sense of safety and freedom I feel when he holds me in his arms.
“Jane, listen to me,” he says, pushing back to gaze into my face with a meaningful expression. I swallow hard, my attention completely ensnared. “I’m not going to let anybody hurt you. I’m not even going to let them touch you if I can help it. They won’t harm a hair on your head as long as I’m around. I know this feels really serious, and I would be lying to you if I tried to make light of it. This is serious shit. That much is true. But it’s not your shit to deal with. It’s mine. And I don’t expect you to pull any other crazy Kill Bill moves on anybody else. Okay? You don’t have to hit anybody else over the head with a toilet lid. That much I can promise you.”
“Okay,” I reply weakly, forcing my lips to form a smile. I’m sure it’s not convincing at all, but still…I need him to believe I’m okay, at least for now.
“Good. Now, I do have a job for you. Don’t worry, it’s an easy one. Doesn’t involve any hand-to-hand combat or anything,” Caleb continues, giving my hands a squeeze. “Are you up for something like that?”
“Depends on what it is, I guess,” I answer, shrugging. But I already know, I can’t say no to him. There’s something almost hypnotic, magical, about the way he looks at me. The low, gentle timbre of his voice when he addresses me.
“Okay. Like I explained earlier, this prick is going to wake up before too long. And we can’t have that happen here. It’s not safe. This hotel room is not a particularly secure holding facility for a hostage. I’m not in the business of interrogating high-stakes forgers in five-star hotels. Just doesn’t make for a pretty evening,” Caleb starts, glancing back at the forger.
“So…we have to move him somewhere else, then?” I pipe up.
Caleb nods. “Yes. We need to get him to my bosses. They’ll have somewhere more secure and sequestered away to hold him. But to get him out of this hotel will be a tricky task. I’m sure you’ve probably already noticed this, but there are cameras absolutely everywhere. This hotel is crawling with security. Some of them might even be from that company you’re contracting for.”
“Innocence For Sale,” I agree, feeling sick to my stomach. We’re going to get caught. Somebody probably already recorded the scene of me beating that guy over the head with a block of porcelain.
“Now, before you panic—because I can see those cogs turning in your head right this instant—there aren’t cameras in these individual hotel rooms. Think of what kind of breach of trust, what kind of privacy violation that would be? You and I both know what kinds of things go on in hotel beds,”
he interjects, breaking me out of my momentary panic.
I heave a sigh of relief. “Duh. Of course,” I mutter, shaking my head and running my fingers back through my hair.
Caleb gives me a reassuring smile. “But the hallways, the lobby, the elevator: all those public spaces are heavily monitored. Cameras from every angle. But that’s not your problem, okay? I’m going to handle that. I’ll cover him somehow, take the service elevator down to the ground floor. I’ll go out the back entrance.”
“Won’t somebody notice you? I mean, you’re not dressed like a hotel worker,” I point out.
Caleb waves his hand. “Not an issue. This guy brought me a fantastic disguise when he came in the room.” He gestures toward the unconscious man formerly dressed in a bellhop uniform. “Now, since he’s taking a pretty deep nap courtesy of your toilet lid, I don’t think he’ll mind too terribly if I borrow his ensemble for a little while.”
“So what is my role in all this?” I ask more plainly, feeling butterflies darting around in my stomach. Caleb walks across the room and takes a flimsy piece of paper out of his suit pocket. He comes over and places it in my hand.
“You’re going to go down to the valet and retrieve my car for me. Drive to Audrie Street. There’s a brown gate. Wait for me there on the side of the road,” he instructs.
“Wh-what does it look like?” I ask, my nervousness increasing by the second. I hate driving other people’s cars. I always get so anxious that I’m going to scratch it or…wreck it.
“It’s a black Jag. Tinted windows. But that doesn’t matter. Just give this slip to the valet and he’ll drive it over to you from the parking garage. From there, you get behind the wheel and drive it around to the back. Can you handle that?” Caleb asks, both eyebrows pricked up expectantly.
I inhale deeply and nod. “I-I think so.”
“Okay,” he says, leaning forward and kissing me softly on the forehead. “Hurry. I won’t take long. We’ve got to move fast.”
I hurriedly get dressed, feeling very awkward in my cocktail dress and heels, with my makeup all smudged and my hair a tangled mess. I look like I’m the patron saint of walks of shame. The queen of one-night stands.
Except this isn’t a one-night stand. It’s a week-long contract. And I’m starting to wonder if I should stick to my contract or break it, fuck the consequences. But I go through the motions as though on autopilot, and just as I’m about to walk out the hotel room door, Caleb asks another quick question of me.
“You can drive stick, right?”
I wince. I know theoretically how to drive a stick. My grandpa tried to teach me years ago and I had a panic attack and gave up. Since then I’ve kind of been avoiding the topic. But this isn’t the time for me to back down. This is now or never. Life or death. Time to put what I know to the test and hope my body can follow the instructions given by my brain.
I simply reply, “Yeah. Sure.”
Caleb nods, grinning. “Good.”
I turn and walk down the hallway to the elevator, fiddling with the slip of paper in my pocket as I make my way down to the bottom floor. I walk through the lobby as though in a daze, avoiding eye contact with every single soul that passes me. I have a feeling I’m garnering some stares on account of my disheveled, nervous appearance, but I can’t let myself be distracted from the task at hand. I’m on a mission here. I need to focus.
I walk out to the valet and wordlessly hand them the slip of paper with a smile. He dutifully dashes off to bring the Jaguar around. Several long moments pass as I jump at every sound, every new arrival. Finally, the valet returns and I slip into the front seat, feeling extremely out of place. I’ve never even touched a car this nice before, much less been inside of one.
And I sure as hell have never driven one.
But as the valet walks back to his little kiosk, I do my very damnedest to remember what pedals do which, and how long to hold the clutch. After a minute or so of awkwardly finagling with the sequence in which things are to be done, the Jag begins to roll out of the roundabout and out onto the road. I carefully, slowly drive it out past the checkpoint, before turning onto the busy Strip. I pull up the GPS and have to take the long way around, each light making me nearly break into panic. I have to hurry. I tap the wheel impatiently as I get a red light before turning onto Audrie Street. I find the gate he mentioned, and park, staring nervously at the secret exit.
As I sit there, an insane thought occurs to me.
What if I just took this opportunity to escape?
I could drive this ridiculously expensive, fancy car to some pawn shop or whatever. Sell it off to a shady guy who doesn’t give a shit about a clean title or anything. Take the money and use it in place of the money I would be getting from Innocence For Sale. Lay low for a while once the money is safely delivered to my grandparents. And after the medical bills are paid, I could just…disappear. Go on the run. My grandparents would be heartbroken, of course. They’d miss me. They’d look for me everywhere. But it would be better for them if I were out of the picture. I could keep a little bit of the money for myself, just enough to buy a plane ticket to some country in Europe with lax extradition laws. Live out in the country with a stray cat for company. Make my art and sell it to tourists under a pseudonym. Be so far away and so insignificant that the mafia might just consider me a lost cause, more trouble than I’m worth.
The idea flows freely through my head, like a movie reel. I feel oddly calm. Maybe this is my chance. This is a sign. I’m in this fancy car and Caleb is nowhere to be found yet. Maybe they’ll intercept him in the hallway. Maybe he’ll get arrested and I’ll have my opportunity to just make a run for it.
But the pang in my heart tells me I could never do that. That sharp, knife-like ache reminds me that if I wanted to make a run for it, I would’ve done it long before now. But I don’t want to run away. I can’t. I couldn’t just abandon Caleb. Because as stupid and indefensible as it is, I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t even want to be away from him for another instant. He’s got me hooked somehow.
At just that moment, the gate comes flying open and Caleb comes out with the forger slung over his shoulder covered in a bedsheet. I hop out of the car and pop the trunk open. Caleb slides the forger into the trunk and closes it with a click before taking the keys from me and settling behind the steering wheel.
He catches my eye and says, “You don’t want to come with me, Jane. You’ve done so much already. You should stay in the hotel room.”
But I’ve already made up my mind. It may be reckless. It may be idiotic, even. But I’m sticking with Caleb until the very end. My heart won’t give me any other option.
“No. I feel safer when I’m with you,” I tell him honestly, sliding into the passenger seat and pulling the seatbelt across my chest. Caleb gives me a devilish, shining smile and throws the engine into gear, letting it roar. As the car peels down the street, passing cars left and right as we hurtle toward god only knows where, he reaches over to lay a hand on my thigh. A spark of what can only be described as magic shoots through my body.
Yep. For better or for worse, I’m hooked.
Caleb
The drive is long, like any drive through Nevada has to be. But with every passing minute, the adrenaline from the fight at the hotel wears off, and the tension of the situation is setting in more with Jane.
I feel it too, but it’s a tension I’m used to. She’s not used to having men tied up in the back of her trunk. At least, as far as I know.
Once we’re on the highway, though, and there are no other cars ahead of or behind us as far as I can see, I hear a rustling noise from the trunk that makes Jane jump.
“It’s okay,” I say, putting a hand on her shoulder and giving her a gentle squeeze.
“Is he awake back there?!” she says quickly, glancing back.
“Possibly.”
“What?!” That didn’t help.
“Don’t worry,” I say, “he’s still bound and gagged, remember? And
I’m here. He’s not going to do us any harm.”
Even as I reassure Jane, though, I start to hear him thrashing a little more forcefully back there, and I hear muffled shouts.
“I do not like this, Caleb,” Jane says bluntly, and I frown. Nobody’s going to bother us right now, but one thing the guy in the back could do is kick out a tail light. That’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re locked in a trunk—kick a tail light out in hopes that it’ll get the driver pulled over, then make as much noise as possible to get the cop’s attention.
Granted, if this guy tried that, he’d have attempted murder on his hands too, but I don’t want to find out if he’s stupid enough to risk that.
“Okay, I’ll have a talk with him,” I say calmly, pointing to what looks like an abandoned gas station up ahead. “I’ll pull over up there, behind the building.”
“Wait, what? You’re not going to…?”
“That’s up to him,” I say in a dark tone, and Jane looks over at me with wide eyes. “I’m kidding,” I say with a grin, and she punches me in the shoulder.
Soon, we pull over, and the thumping in the back of the trunk is getting louder. Jane is trying to control her breathing, and I give her thigh a squeeze as I unbuckle my seatbelt.
“You’re sure you’ve got a handle on this?” she asks.
“This guy’s squirrelly, but I’ve got it under control,” I say. “And you do, too. You’re the one who knocked him out, remember?”
“Right,” she says, the reminder apparently not very comforting to her. “I, uh, did that.”
“Hang tight here if you don’t want to watch, but feel free to stretch your legs,” I say casually, trying to keep things light for her sake. She gives a smile in return, and I get out.
As soon as I pop the trunk, I see the short man’s sweating face full of fear as he grunts up at me with a muffled “Mmmmhrrrrphh!” He shakes his head frantically. My guess is, he’s trying to make himself seem as inoffensive as possible, and he’s clearly terrified.
