by Naomi West
I knew that Rip was staying at my place for the night, but I supposed it only made sense to go home and try the whole thing again the next day. The house was plenty big enough for both of us, anyway. Anyway, it would give me a chance to check up on him and make sure that he had everything that he needed ... and make sure that he wasn't destroying the place. Even though I knew he probably wouldn't be, I just couldn't seem to shake the feeling that there might be something wrong that I didn't know about.
I was just being paranoid, I knew that, it was just…
Well, it was my home, and I had chosen to rent it out to a complete stranger. The more I thought about it, the more foolish this last-minute trip seemed to be. I wasn't spontaneous. I wasn't adventurous. And trying to pretend to be wasn't really going to change anything.
When the taxi dropped me off back at home, there was a sleek motorcycle parked in the driveway, which I took to mean that Rip had already arrived. I paused for a moment on the front porch, wondering if I should knock or ring the doorbell. But it was my house, after all, and I wasn't going to be the one feeling like a guest there.
I used my key to open the door and entered quietly, setting my things down in the front hall because it didn't make sense to drag them all the way upstairs when I was just going to turn around and leave again the next day.
I could hear Rip in the kitchen talking to someone. As I came closer, I realized he was on the phone. Although I knew better than to eavesdrop on him, the frustrated tone in his voice made me pause just around the corner, listening.
“I know it's a bad idea,” the man growled. “There's a reason no one else wanted the job.” He was quiet for a moment, listening to whoever was on the other end. “Damien, I'm well aware of the risks. But what you seem to be forgetting are the rewards that could come with helping the national president.”
This didn't sound like the responsible individual that I had entrusted my home to. In fact, I wasn't even sure it was the right person. I suddenly had a horrible moment of panic where I wondered if someone else had seen me put the house key under the front mat, if someone else was standing there in my kitchen right now. Maybe I should call the police and report a break-in.
Maybe I should call the police even if this was Rip. It didn't sound like he was planning a birthday party for the so-called national president or anything like that.
I leaned forward, peeking around the corner and into the kitchen. Unfortunately, I happened to make the move right as Rip turned to look toward the doorway, and our eyes met and locked.
It was definitely Rip; I recognized him from the Skype conversation that we'd had. I swallowed hard, wondering just who it was that I had entrusted my house to.
Rip's face turned stormy. “Damien, I'm going to have to call you back,” he said darkly, hanging up the phone as he stalked towards me. I felt like a deer in the headlights; I couldn't even fathom moving. “Well, what do we have here?” he asked.
Finally, with those words, I found myself able to move, and I tried to sprint back the way I had come, towards the front door. But before I had even made it ten steps, Rip caught me, his fingers digging into my upper arms. “Not so fast,” he growled, spinning me back around and slamming me against the wall. The next thing I knew, there was a gun next to my cheek. It wasn’t pointed at me—not yet anyway. But that fact did little to reassure me.
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough!” I stupidly blurted out. I struggled against him and stomped on his foot like we were taught in all of those female safety courses. But whether it was the lack of strength behind the move or the fact that it was done incorrectly, it didn’t seem to faze Rip in the slightest.
His face turned even more shadowed, if that was possible, and he got a tighter grip on me, pinning me against the wall. When he spoke again, his breath was hot against my cheek, contrasting with the coldness of the metal barrel of the gun. There was a click that I knew meant he had the thing ready to fire.
“I don't like the idea of taking hostages,” he said darkly, “but I suppose you've left me no choice. I can't have you going to the authorities and reporting me.”
I wanted to ask just what it was I was supposed to be reporting him for, but I at least had enough sense not to ask that question. “What are you going to do with me?” I asked timidly instead. Better that he take me as a hostage than that he shoot me, which is what I had thought he would do.
“Keep you until you're no longer a liability,” Rip said. “I take it you're Liv?”
“Yes,” I said meekly, still wondering what he could possibly be planning for me. I had a feeling it wouldn't be good… But I didn’t have time to speculate further as he whipped the pistol hard against my temple, cleanly knocking me out.
Chapter Two
Liv
I woke up the next morning to aches in places I had never even known existed — but I supposed that was what happened when you fell asleep sitting up, with your hands duct taped behind your back. I swallowed hard, finding that my mouth was as dry as sandpaper and blinked wearily around the living room. But Rip was nowhere to be seen.
I closed my eyes for a moment, fighting back tears. If only I hadn't been so stupid. If only I hadn't thought that I could entrust my house to a complete stranger. If only I had left at the first inkling that Rip was up to no good. If only…
My phone rang over on the coffee table, and I shifted a little, wondering if there was any way I could answer it with my hands caught behind my back like this. But even if I could answer it, what exactly was I supposed to say? If Rip overheard me talking about my plight, there was no telling what he might do. It was one thing to be held hostage in my own home; it was another thing entirely to be kidnapped — or worse.
I could still remember the feeling of that cold gun against my face.
I swallowed hard, waiting for the phone to ring through to voicemail. There was a buzz that indicated someone had left me a message, but I tried not to dwell on who it might be ... until the phone started ringing again and I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Whoever it was, it must be something important.
Suddenly, Rip entered the room, scowling at me. He marched over and looked down at my phone, his expression changing into a wicked grin. “Barry Harrell,” he said, reading the name off the caller ID. “Is that your boyfriend? Does Barry Harrell miss you?”
I tried to keep my worry off my face and out of my voice. “Barry's my brother,” I admitted, mind jumping to all the reasons why Barry could be calling me right now. He knew I was supposed to be on my trip, so even if I hadn't already been tipped off by the fact that he had called, left me a message, and tried calling again — well, he wouldn't be calling unless it were something really important.
“Hmm,” Rip said, looking momentarily considering. The phone buzzed again, indicating that another message had been left. Then, it started to ring again. Rip frowned at it and then moved over towards me, quickly cutting my wrists apart. I cried out in pain as he tore away the tape, peeling away a few layers of skin. I was so busy rubbing at the sore skin that I barely had time to react when he tossed my phone towards me.
“Answer it,” he growled. “The last thing I need is for your brother to realize that you're missing and alert the police. But any word out of you about any of this and I swear to God...” He trailed off, letting the threat hang there in the air.
For a moment, I could only stare down at the phone in my lap, but then I hesitantly, with shaking fingers, picked up the call, clearing my throat as I did so. “Barry?” I asked, wishing my voice sounded a little stronger. What would Rip do if Barry got suspicious? How would I head off my brother's worry?
“Sis?” Barry asked, and his familiar voice was like a balm to my soul. We'd always been close as kids, but more than that, I just needed to talk to someone I knew right then. “Hey, I know you're on your trip and probably have way better things to be doing right now, but I was wondering if you could recommend a good mechanic. My regular sho
p is apparently closed and I'm stranded on the side of the road...”
I frowned into the phone. “Why don't you call the insurance company?” I asked. “They'd probably be able to help you out. But what happened? Are you okay? Did you get into an accident?” I tried to keep from panicking, reminding myself that he probably wouldn't sound so calm if he'd been in an accident or if he was hurt. But I couldn't help remembering back when he was eleven years old … I swallowed hard.
“I'm fine,” Barry said quickly, clearly hearing my distress. “Really, I'm fine. The car's fine. Everything's fine. I've just, uh, got a flat tire that needs changing. And I'm not really sure what to do. I tried calling Dad, but he's not picking up either and I know he has some meetings and things. Normally, I'd just ask you to come help me out so I wouldn't have to foot the bill to have the mechanic involved, but since you aren't in town.”
“I'm in town,” I interrupted, glancing up at Rip and biting my lower lip. “It's a bit of a long story, but I'm still in town.” And I wanted to help him; I knew that with his medical bills, he couldn't afford to call the mechanic for something so frivolous as a blown tire. “Where are you?”
“Route 6, right between tunnels two and three,” Barry said, only mild curiosity in his voice. He paused. “I know it's asking a lot, as always, but I could really use a hand, if you're around to help. I can't even get in to where the spare tire is in the trunk...”
“I know,” I said, hoping my voice sounded soothing. I glanced up at Rip again. “I'll be there as quickly as I can, okay? Just hang tight.”
Barry sighed, and I could hear the relief in his voice. “That would be so great,” he said. “Thanks, sis.”
“Don't mention it, kid,” I said. “I'll be there soon.” I hung up the phone, looking up at Rip with pleading eyes. I knew I should have asked permission before agreeing to go to where my brother was stranded, but I didn't exactly know how to tell Barry that I needed to ask permission before agreeing to help him out. It would have been suspicious at best. Anyway, I wasn't about to let Rip tell me I couldn't help out my brother, not when he was stranded on the side of the road.
“That was my brother,” I said, as though that hadn't already been clear. “He needs help changing a tire on his car — he has a flat. I have to go help him.”
Rip's expression turned into a sneer. “He doesn't know how to change a tire? Just how young is this kid anyway?”
I scowled at him as well and pushed myself into a standing position, forgetting for a moment that I was supposed to be going along with what Rip wanted, just in case he decided to make my life a living hell. “He's twenty-two,” I snapped. “But he's been paralyzed from the waist down since he was eleven, so you'll have to forgive him for not being able to change his own tire. I have to go help him.”
Something flickered across Rip's expression, faster than I was able to comprehend. But I didn't think he was angry with me. Instead, it seemed he was considering again. For a wild moment, I wondered what kind of hardened criminal he was that he didn't seem to know what to do with me, and that he wasn't able to keep his expression set to neutral. But I didn't really want to know what he was up to anyway.
“I have to go help him,” I said again, this time more pleadingly. But I was already moving towards the door, grabbing my keys off the front table.
“Wait,” Rip said, catching my upper arm in his grip — but he was more gentle than he'd been the previous day. He scanned my face, expression unreadable. “I'll drive,” he said finally.
I stared back at him for a long moment, wondering just how I was going to explain all of this to my brother. But that wasn't important just then. “Okay,” I agreed.
Chapter Three
Liv
It was easy to spot Barry where he had pulled off to the side of the road. For a wild moment, I wondered why no one else had stopped to help him when he very clearly needed help. But then again, with the way he was sitting on the open trunk of the car, maybe they thought he was just waiting for a tow company or something like that. It wasn't as though he was sitting out there in his wheelchair.
Rip carefully eased my car over to the side of the road in front of Barry's car and threw on the hazard lights. I was out of the car almost before we had fully come to a stop.
“Are you okay?” I asked, scanning his body for signs of injury. He had said over the phone that it was just a flat, but I knew he wouldn't want me to worry. It could have been much worse than what he'd let on.
“I'm fine,” Barry said exasperatedly, rolling his eyes a little. He tugged his wheelchair out of the trunk next to him and dropped it unceremoniously onto the ground, dropping down into it with a little grunt. “I probably just hit a rock the wrong way or something like that. These things happen, you know.”
“I know, but—”
“Who's this?” Barry interrupted, his brows furrowing as he caught sight of Rip. He looked back and forth between the two of us.
“This is Rip,” I said after a beat, trying to think how to explain who exactly Rip was and what he was doing there.
“Rip Stevens,” Rip said, moving forward and holding out a hand to my brother. “Liv here says you need help changing a flat? You've got a spare somewhere back in here?”
“But seriously, who is he?” Barry asked me in an undertone as Rip worked to change the tire, his strong hands moving deftly to jack up the car and remove the screws holding the wheel in place.
I glanced over at Barry. It would have been so easy to tell him right then, to get him to call the police and tell them that Rip Stevens was holding me captive ... but something held me back. I shrugged a little. “He's just a friend who happened to be around when you called.”
“What about Hollande?” Barry asked.
I was surprised for a moment that Barry had asked about Hollande, since I knew that the two of them didn't get along. But I supposed that was why Barry was asking. I shrugged again. “Rip isn't ... that sort of friend.”
Soon, Rip was wiping off his hands and putting the tools back into the car. “That should do it for now,” he said. “Of course, you'll want to get it changed out for a real tire at some point instead of just a spare, but—”
“I know,” Barry said, bristling a little. “Just because I can't change the damn thing myself doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing. I've been driving on my own for years now, and—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, holding my hands up even though I understood my brother's ire. I had seen people write him off more times than I could count. But I knew deep down in my gut that Rip didn't mean it that way, that he actually was just trying to look out for my brother. The thought warmed me in ways I wasn't ready to examine.
“I'm sorry,” Rip said, further cementing my thoughts that he hadn't really meant to slight my brother.
We all stared at one another for a moment. Finally, I leaned in and gave Barry a hug. “Enjoy the rest of your day, and be safe out there.”
“Love you,” Barry said, hugging me back. In an undertone, he added, “Be careful. I don't know what you're doing, but...”
I gave him a tight smile as we broke apart and turned back to face Rip. “Ready to go?”
“You've made your brother a liability,” Rip pointed out as we drove home. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the headrest.
“No, I haven't,” I argued wearily. It was something I'd been going over in my own head since Rip had agreed to drive me over to where Barry was. “He doesn't know who you are — or even that you were just supposed to be renting my place for a couple nights while I was out of town. He thinks you're a long-lost friend. Probably thinks we're sleeping together or something, I don't know.”
Rip gave me a skeptical look. “Sure, because you look like the type of person who will sleep around with someone like me,” he said.
I blushed and ducked my head a little. “I mean, I know I'm not the most attractive—”
“That's not what I'm talking about,” Rip interrupt
ed, leering sidelong at me. “You've got nice curves. But those clothes...”
“I'm a librarian,” I said defensively.
He snorted but didn't say anything else.
“Anyway, Barry needed my help,” I continued, shrugging. “He wouldn't have called me unless he was really desperate, and I couldn't just ... leave him there. And he's a student; it's not like he has the money to just throw around getting a tow company to come help him out or something like that.”
Rip was silent for a long moment, tapping his fingers against the edge of the steering wheel. I wondered what was going on in that head of his. Of course, I could tell he wasn't really the type of person to really think things through — he was brash, impulsive… That was part of why he appealed to me, beyond his firm muscles and total masculinity. That sort of attitude was contagious, and I wanted desperately to be more adventurous.
