by Naomi West
“Damien, I know I need to do research,” he said impatiently. “That's why I'm calling you. I just didn't realize there was anything wrong with this mission until—”
“Don't give me that bullshit,” Damien interrupted. “You knew there was something wrong with this mission the moment no one else wanted to take it — that's exactly what we were talking about the other night.”
“She's paying good money, though,” Rip said defensively. “And it's not that difficult to carry a few packages across the country. It's not like she's asked me to kill anyone.”
“Rip, if you don't know what's in those packages, how do you know you're not being asked to kill someone?” Damien asked.
“They're guns,” I blurted out, before glancing over at Rip and biting my lower lip. “I mean, you kind of are being asked to kill someone, aren't you? Or you're giving someone else the tools to do it.”
I would never have imagined a person could look as angry as Rip did then. But before he could say anything, Damien spoke.
“Rip, who is that? Don't tell me you've taken some bimbo along on a freeride with you...”
“That's Olivia Harrell,” Rip gritted out, still looking at me with murder in his eyes. “She's the person whose house I was staying in. She ... walked in on me the other day.”
There was dead silence for a long minute. When Damien spoke again, he sounded incredulous. “So, what — you've kidnapped her? Rip, you could go to jail for all of this, do you realize that? Not that what we do normally is… But it's not usually so stupid as all of this. I would have expected—”
“He hasn't kidnapped me,” I interrupted, hoping this would at least calm Rip down a little. “He's made me ... a sort of business partner.”
Again, there was a long silence. But Rip did at least look a little placated.
“So you're bribing her for her silence,” Damien surmised, sounding like he didn't even know what to say anymore. “Rip, you'd better be careful out there. I'm only going to say this once, but Cat Zodiac is not the type of person that you want to get yourself mixed up with. Trust me, I know from personal experience.” He paused. “She may be the national president of the Gemini Riders, but that doesn't mean she's good people. There's a reason she's locked up at the moment, remember.”
I tried to suppress my gasp. Of all of the things that I could have gotten myself tangled up in…
I could remember the images of Cat Zodiac, the notorious bike gang member, on TV. Between the lead-up to her trial and the trail itself plus all of the aftermath, I must have seen her gaunt, manic-looking face dozens of times. I could remember her cold, piercing eyes staring out from her mug shot. I could remember the frenzied way that she'd given her testimony. I could remember her chilling laughter as they tried to question her about the endless string of murders that she was charged as an accessory to.
Seemingly every news outlet in the country had picked up her story. I didn't need Damien telling me that she wasn't good people.
Although apparently Rip did.
Without another word, Rip reached over and hung up the phone, staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face. I could sense that he wanted to say something to defend himself — or maybe he thought he could bribe me with more money to ensure my silence.
But I stood up, moving away from him. “No,” I told him, shaking my head in an attempt to ward off whatever it was he thought he could say to make the situation better. “No. This is crazy. This is absolutely insane. I'm a risk analyst and I can tell you that 100% this is too risky an investment. Absolutely.”
Rip sprang off the bed with the grace of a cat, cornering me, refusing to let me leave the room. “Liv — Olivia,” he said forcefully. “I need you to calm down.”
“Calm down?” I practically shouted. “You told me you were delivering a package for a friend. I thought this was going to be an adventure; I didn't realize we were delivering guns to someone in prison for murder!”
But as much as I wanted to continue arguing with him — as much as I wanted to run, to get away from the situation — I suddenly sat down hard on the edge of one of the chairs, black spots swimming in front of my vision as I hyperventilated. I was a good kid, and I'd never even gotten so much as a traffic ticket. Now…
“Easy, Liv,” Rip said, his voice surprisingly soothing. “Take deep breaths for me — in ... and out. And again, in ... and out...”
But as hard as I tried to catch my breath again, I could feel that it was futile. The black spots coalesced in front of my vision, and I passed out.
Chapter Six
Liv
The next morning, I waited sullenly for Rip to finish his shower. He was singing in there, and if it hadn't been for the phone call the previous night, for the knowledge of what this mission was really about, I might have been soothed by his voice.
But I refused to let myself relax even a little.
That morning, I had tried to slip out of bed and run off, but Rip had apparently been expecting that, because I wasn't even halfway to the door before he had grabbed me and hauled me over to tie me to one of the chairs. No matter how hard I pulled at the bindings, I couldn't seem to get myself free. So I was stuck there waiting for him, plotting some way to get away from him.
Finally, he got out of the shower and came into the bedroom with nothing but a towel hung precariously around his narrow hips. I couldn't help staring at him, eyeing his tanned and toned chest and that trail of dark hair that ran down from his navel and disappeared beneath the towel. I spent a wild moment imagining what his penis might look like, thinking of how heavy it would be as it rested in my palm, picturing its girth and the way it would curl up towards his stomach when he was aroused…
I could feel a blush spreading across my face, and I could tell that Rip noticed it, judging by the smirk he gave me. He sat on the edge of the bed, spreading his legs a little — just enough that I imagined I could almost see everything beneath the towel — and leaning towards me.
“Now, Liv,” he said slowly, “just what are we going to do with you?”
I swallowed hard. When he had been talking to Damien, it had sounded as though he was opposed to killing people — but I couldn't be too sure that he wouldn't kill me to save himself. At this point, I had enough information that I could turn over to the cops that I was definitely a liability. And here in this little, dingy highway motel… Well, it was the perfect setting for a murder.
Who would come looking for me, even? Barry would alert the cops that I was missing, but he thought I was on vacation at the moment anyway, so he wouldn't be concerned for a week or more. And other than that… Well, they'd notice that I was missing around work, but I didn't really have many friends or anything like that who might come looking for me. I didn't really have any identifying features, and if Rip took my wallet and destroyed my ID cards..
I could feel myself shaking in the seat.
Rip grinned and nodded a little, clearly following my train of thought. “That's right,” he told me approvingly. “We don't want things to get messy, do we?”
It suddenly occurred to me that he knew where I lived. Even if I got away from him and told the cops and got him sent away to jail, he could send someone after me — someone even more ruthless than him. I bit my lower lip.
“Look,” Rip said, his voice matter-of-fact. “Once we deliver the packages to Cherri, we're out of this. It's not like we're trying to break into the prison to get them to Cat herself or anything like that. As far as you're aware, Cat has nothing to do with this — we're just delivering a few packages to Cherri Velasquez, a friend of mine. As soon as that's done, I'll pay you your share — maybe add in a little something extra — and then you're free to go your own way. I'm not inducting you into the Gemini Riders or anything like that; you don't have to be so worried.”
“This can't be legal!” I exclaimed, shaking my head. “Even if we're just delivering gun parts to this … Cherri.”
“No one's ever going to find out
anyways,” Rip scoffed. “What do you think I'm going to do, flag down the nearest policeman and alert him to what we're doing?” He grinned wickedly at me. “Anyway, you said it yourself. You're my business partner now. You're as much a part of this deal as I am. Don't you forget it. If you get me stopped by the police, what do you think I'm going to do? I'm going to pull out that nice little contract that you signed for me...”
“I didn't sign a contract,” I said, momentarily confused.
Rip raised an eyebrow at me. “Didn't you?” he asked. “Let's see, we have the AirBnB arrangements. And then we have this little thing.” He held up an official-looking sheet of paper that had my office header on it. “This outlines our agreement — that you will travel along with me to help me avoid any suspicion as I deliver a few packages of unspecified contents to another member of the Gemini Riders, here code-named Red Sierra. And look, you were even so kind as to sign down at the bottom.”
I felt my gut churn unpleasantly. They were pre-signed pages that I used for work correspondence; he must have found one of them as he nosed around in my house and saved one or two of them just in case something like this happened.
Maybe I'd miscalculated a bit when I'd thought that he was too brash. He'd clearly thought things through a little more than I'd anticipated.
I swallowed hard, knowing that it'd be difficult to fight against these accusations if he chose to bring that “contract” to the police. I knew everything about the mission, including what was inside the boxes. There was no sign of struggle except for maybe a little bruising to my wrists from struggling against the ties — but there was really every indication that I was part of this, that I had willingly gone along with him. And I knew what would happen to me if I was implicated in this — I'd be going to jail for just as long as Rip was.
I bit my lip, trying to keep from crying. “Okay,” I said finally, defeat in my voice. “You've got me, all right? I'll go along with the plan. But if I think there are things that need to be changed to make this safer, you have to agree to listen to me, all right? We're partners in this, after all.” My tone was bitter; I still couldn't believe I had gotten myself caught up in something so reckless and stupid. Adventure was one thing, but I'd known that Rip was dangerous and potentially involved in illegal dealings right from the start.
But it was a little too late for any remorse now. The best thing to do was to go along with him, get this mission done with as soon as possible, and then obliterate any evidence of my involvement in it, even if it meant quitting my job and moving houses just to make sure Rip and the Gemini Riders could never find me again.
“I had a feeling you'd come around,” Rip said, a smile on his face. He leaned forward and untied my wrists.
Chapter Seven
Liv
Late that afternoon, we pulled into what Rip assured me was the final pit-stop before delivering the packages. I followed him mutely into the motel room, honestly too tired to be upset with my situation anymore.
“You can take the first shower if you want,” Rip said generously as we walked into the motel room.
Instead, I collapsed across the bed, throwing an arm up over my eyes. I didn't know if it was the fitful sleep from the night before or the stress or the exhausting ride across state lines, but I didn't even know if I had it in me to shower.
My phone started ringing, saving me from answering Rip. I picked up the phone and accepted the call after barely even looking at who was calling. “Hollande?” I asked. I could feel tears start pricking my eyes already, and I wanted desperately to tell him what was going on — but I knew I couldn't do that.
“Hello, darling,” Hollande said. “I went by your house this evening but you weren't there — what are you up to? It's unlike you not to come straight home from work, even on a Friday.”
I bit my lower lip, trying to figure out what to tell him. I had been waiting to tell him about the trip until after I'd returned. I remembered how excited I'd been when I'd booked it, how sure I'd been that he would really agree to date me if I came back from this spontaneous trip full of stories to tell him. Instead, my trip was turning out a little differently from what I'd imagined, and I could never tell him about any of this.
“I'm ... on a trip,” I finally managed to say. That was true enough, at least.
There was a frown in Hollande's voice when he responded. “A work trip?”
“No, a personal trip,” I said, wondering just how much I should say.
“You didn't tell me you were going on a trip,” Hollande said, his voice almost accusing. And he was right to sound upset about it; I should never have kept it from him in the first place. Even if we weren't technically dating yet, we talked nearly every day and there was always the notion that we would be dating.
“It was a ... last-minute kind of thing,” I practically whispered. “I know you keep telling me to be more adventurous and spontaneous, and I...”
“Where are you?” Hollande asked. “You sound upset.”
In fact, I could feel tears streaming down my face, and I was embarrassed to realize that Rip was still standing there in the doorway of the bathroom, watching this whole exchange. He was probably trying to make sure that I didn't say anything incriminating. I wasn't that stupid, though.
“I'm fine, it was just a long day and I'm really tired,” I lied. “Don't worry about it. I'll be back home in a few days.”
“Where are you?” Hollande repeated, and I wondered if I was imagining the suspicion in his voice. Maybe I was just hoping he would get suspicious, that he would call the police, that they would come to find me. But that really wasn't something that I could hope for, not when that would mean going to jail.
I sobbed, trying to muffle the sound with my hand.
“Darling, where are you?” Hollande repeated. “Is there anyone there with you?”
“I'm fine,” I lied again, trying to keep the choked tears from my voice. “Really, Hollande, I'm fine. I'll be home in a couple days, and we can talk then.”
“I'm going to come find you,” Hollande vowed. “I know I wanted you to be more adventurous, but maybe I pushed you too hard. I'm sorry if I pushed you into something that you're not comfortable with, darling. Let me come get you and I'll bring you back home.”
I bristled at that, though. If this were a normal vacation, I would have been fine — maybe a little lonely, but not to the point that I needed rescuing. And it upset me to know that he thought that about me. Sure, I liked my routine, but I could be a little spontaneous sometimes without it being the end of the world for me.
Not that he would have any proof of that, from the way I'd been living lately. The most spontaneous I got these days was to make an impulse purchase while I was grocery shopping.
“Darling, you have to tell me where you are so that I can come rescue you,” Hollande said. “I'll bring you back home and get you all settled in where you're comfortable...”
Suddenly, I was replaying all of my interactions with Hollande in my mind, remembering all the times he had coddled me. Of course, he'd done it under the guise of acting like a gentleman, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized he treated me like a fragile possession that he had to take care of but didn't much care for.
My eyes slid over to Rip, and I stared at him for a long moment, trying to puzzle out my feelings as Hollande continued to give me patronizing assurances over the phone. Maybe that was part of what had driven me to go along with Rip. Maybe that was part of my attraction to the man. For all that he had gotten me caught up in something totally illegal, for all that he was impulsive in all the wrong ways, he actually expected me to be able to reason and hold my own. He expected that a little danger wouldn't destroy me. And I appreciated that.
“Hollande, I have to go,” I said, voice firmer than it had been at any point during the call. Without waiting for a response from him, I hung up, still unable to tear my eyes from Rip.
Rip raised an eyebrow at me, folding his arms across his
chest. “Who's Hollande?” he asked, tone dangerous.
I ducked my head a little, dropping my gaze. “Just ... a guy I know,” I said, not even sure how to describe who Hollande was. The man was charming, a real social butterfly — and the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if he had just been playing with me all this time. Maybe he had kept leading me on, promising to be my boyfriend, and then had gone back to his posh group of friends and laughed about it all with them. Maybe.
“Who is Hollande?” Rip asked again, his tone even more menacing. “The last thing I need is for someone else looking for you because you were sobbing into the phone while you were supposed to be having fun on vacation.”
His words were eerily close to the truth, and I wondered if he'd been able to hear Hollande's side of the call. But I didn't think my phone volume was turned up that high.
“It doesn't matter,” I finally said, shaking my head. “He's not important.” But I was crying again, this time in earnest.
