by L. B. Dunbar
“You were wonderful tonight,” she said breathlessly. “I wouldn’t have missed it.” Her gray eyes froze me in place. I almost forgot we were playing a role in order to throw off Mel, but her body was rigid under my touch. She obviously did not respond to me like I had to her.
“Get lost, drummer boy. This beauty was just about to leave with me. Weren’t you?” Mel’s small hand reached for the girl, but never made contact, as my larger one shot out and cut him off at the wrist.
“I don’t think so,” I spoke with assurance in my voice. I hardly displayed such confidence unless the adrenaline spiraled and fueled my anger. Slipping my own hand around her opposite arm and gripping her gently, but firmly, I responded to Mel.
“She’s with me.”
Tugging her toward me, I felt her try to resist immediately before she stumbled against my solid chest. I refused to let her go. I turned my back to Mel without another word and began to escort my prisoner to the stage exit. Arturo was already there with my battered leather jacket and large hands greedily swiped it from my friend.
“Out back,” Arturo yelled, as we took the back stairs upward to an emergency exit. I sensed Arturo was on my tail, as I gently nudged the girl in front of me up the staircase, before bulldozing out a back entrance that emptied into a secured-alley parking lot. The space was reserved for band vehicles, and tonight it was Lansing’s and my bikes parked amongst Arturo’s dark gray 2013 Camaro and Tristan’s black Dodge Charger. Handing the girl my helmet, she refused by stepping backward before I reached for her head, slipping the helmet on her, not so gently. I clutched her arm again. I needed to get her away from The Round Table, and I needed to do it immediately.
We had already spotted the two bikes that tried to idle inconspicuously across the alley, but I knew better. They were there for Mel – as escorts – or they were paparazzi.
“They’re here for me?” the girl questioned quietly, as she stood with the helmet on her head, next to my bike. The tone of her voice was full of fear and puzzlement. I looked again in the direction of the parked bikers, who were not hidden enough in the darkness near a garage.
“Is that true?” I muttered, not expecting an answer.
I hadn’t released her arm; afraid she would run, despite the helmet on her head. I had already climbed on my bike as I tugged her arm, gentler this time. She hadn’t looked away from the other bikers.
“Get on,” I demanded. In a split second decision, she scrambled behind me. I had her once the mean sounding roar of my engine filled the dark night. My Ducati Monster was a testament to speed and style. I loved the sound it made as it roared to life then buzzed down the city streets. I felt her smaller legs straddle my thighs and her hands tentatively gripped the back of my t-shirt, inside the leather jacket. My body was responding again to her touch, but I knew now was not the time for such thoughts.
“Hold on,” I yelled, hoping she would slide her hands around me, but she didn’t. Determined I wouldn’t lose her again, whether she held on tighter or not, I drove too fast for her to jump off. I was keeping her this time, no matter what. I needed answers to the unasked question from years ago.
His home…
[Hollister]
I continued to observe the emptiness of his place, as he seemed lost in thought for a moment. Drum set. Fitness bench. Large couch. Flat-screen television. This was the king of all bachelor pads. It was gray and black and empty. It screamed, I’m a guy and I live alone. More importantly, it was a large warehouse in the middle of who-knew-where-New-York-City.
I watched him process what I had accused him of doing with me.
Kidnapping.
I wasn’t new to the prospect of this being a kidnapping. I seemed prone to getting into these kinds of situations. The problem was I often didn’t know how to get out.
I didn’t interrupt his reverie. He seemed like the kind of guy that might need a moment to consider things.
Was he slow or something?
There was something disconcertingly familiar about him, but I couldn’t place it. My mind was a muddle over the events of the night. Hell, the events of the past week.
I’d been in the women’s shelter for a week. It was decent enough, but it was a hard life. The stories were too sad, the heartbreak too strong, the bruises too deep. Many had already taken the first step. They had gotten out of a terrible situation. Only, some of them would return to their old life. Some of them would sink lower than their previous life. Few would rise above it all for a better life.
I was determined that would be me. I would rise above, despite all that had happened to me. At twenty-three, I was ready to claim my life for myself. What better place to start over than in a large city with too many people to recognize me? The problem was, it was so large, that my uncle warned me I would be lost again. I had to prove him wrong. I had to show him I could take care of myself. Do well on my own. I didn’t need protection. I needed my own path.
I didn’t know whom this dumbfounded guy was that stood before me. Despite being incredibly good looking with his practically shaved head and dark eyes, there was something innocent about him compared to his very large stature. Tonight, he came out of nowhere and was adamant to get me away from the other guy, who I had to admit looked strangely like Mel Agent, a rock star, heartbreaker, and maker of millions. I was familiar with a few of his songs, but not enough that I could name the tune, or even sing a few lines without hearing the melody first. I knew music, but I didn’t care for the bubble-gum stuff his rock band popped out. Pop, was just that: the sound of a bubble snapping.
Not classically trained myself in singing, I somehow just could sing. I did it to soothe my uncle when he was sad about his injuries. I did it to entertain my cousins when my uncle showed his temper. I did it to try and recall the parents I never knew. I felt closer to those deceased memories when I sang. I knew nothing of my father, but I had a sense that I had heard my mother sing often, before her death when I was still a toddler.
“I didn’t mean for it to seem as if I kidnapped you,” he finally spoke, breaking into my thoughts of an unknown mother. Running his hand over his short hair, he took a deep breath. I recalled he had made that motion moments ago as he sat on his bike in the garage area. He was a big man. Solid. Strong. His hands were large. Considered average height for a woman, around five-eight or so, he had to be almost ten inches taller than me. His frame was also large, and broad shoulders with solid biceps bulged from the edge of his tight t-shirt. Firm abs made of solid hills and valleys of muscle graced his torso, which I’d felt as we jumped onto a street in our mad race on the bikes. I had decided the only way to remain on the motorcycle was to hold onto him tighter. His thighs were thick. I knew that from my thinner legs straddling him from behind as we rode. I felt the strength in those legs as he balanced the powerful machine, especially when we took a corner.
“I only want to talk, but not tonight. It’s late. You must be exhausted. You can take my room. I’ll take the couch.”
I continued to stare at him. I didn’t believe him. It couldn’t be that simple. I was prepared to have to share my body with him, knowing I couldn’t possibly fight him off. But I also didn’t have the energy to give my body away to him. I was tired.
He seemed to sense my hesitation, and he waved a hand toward his bedroom, motioning me to precede him.
I knew it. It wasn’t that simple.
Following me into the large bedroom, I noticed a king-sized bed that was a tangle of dark colored sheets, as if he had tossed and turned all night with someone. Clothes were thrown haphazardly on the floor next to the bed and in a corner by the dresser. He immediately pushed past me and picked up the clothing, dropping several socks and what looked like a pair of navy blue boxer briefs. When he bent to retrieve what he lost, I noticed the waistband of another pair of boxer briefs escape the edge of his jeans. These were pure white.
He turned to me, with the clothing haphazardly piled in his arms, and he entered a closet to the side
of the room, in which I assumed he dumped his rumpled treasure. Returning almost instantly, he laid a t-shirt on the dresser then turned to the bed, pulling up the sheets, a blanket and a comforter that had slipped to the floor. He fluffed up two pillows and knelt on the semi-neatly made bed to retrieve two more pillows that slipped off the side, possibly in his previous night’s tumble with another woman. I felt a strange tug in my chest as I imagined his body, in those boxer briefs, tangled with a woman. I dismissed it immediately, scolding myself for silly thoughts.
As my gaze trailed over his back, I noticed a window to the side of the bed. My mind immediately processed my escape. He broke my thoughts as if reading them.
“There’s safety bars on the outside. This is a ground level building, and I didn’t like the idea that someone could get in from the outside so easily. You can still open the window if you want fresh air, but the city noises find their way out here.”
I didn’t move. Damn it. I’d have to find another way out.
Again as if he read my thoughts, he spoke, “This isn’t the safest area in the city. I wouldn’t advise you attempt to wander out there alone.”
“Because I’m so safe in here?” I bit.
“I know you don’t know me. Or remember me. But you are safe here. Even if you don’t trust me, yet.” For the silent type, he seemed pretty confident in his words when he spoke.
“You think I’m afraid of these streets?” I laughed without humor, keeping up my bravado. I’d seen more than I imagined he had ever seen on these streets: the homeless, the diseased, the battered, the bruised, the dead. I wasn’t afraid for myself. I was afraid for other people. The world was a cruel place for the hopeless. Being jumped by someone was nothing more than desperate hope, hoping to score money, even if it was for drugs or alcohol. It wasn’t the act of getting jumped that concerned me. It was what people were going to do with the money after they had it.
“I don’t think you’re really afraid of anything,” he said softly, as he crossed the room and brushed past me again. He paused at the door, balancing on the frame with one large hand, the other hand wrapped around the knob.
“Good night, Hollister,” he said, closing the door gently before I realized, I never told him my name.
I laid down on the cool sheets to be engulfed in the smell of him. A clean, woodsy fragrance surrounded me. My eyes focused on the ceiling and the orange glow of the streetlights that reflected through the blinds. The bars of the security grate on the window made a hashtag symbol in contrasting black and bright orange. I would give him an hour. By then, I assumed he’d be asleep and I’d walk out the front door. Even though he told me they were protective bars, I felt imprisoned. The clawing sense of entrapment overtook me, regardless of the big bed. It was a result of being in this position before.
Snapshots of memory flashed in my mind. A canvas tent stifling in the forest heat; a black so thick I couldn’t see my own hand before my eyes. A seductive voice in my ear that made me shiver but not in pleasure.
“You were chosen for me.”
I felt my body tremble with the weight of the past.
Additional snapshots popped through my memory: a uniformed officer of the law, a police car with bars. Jordan escorted in handcuffs into the opposite vehicle. His torturous smile as he looked at me.
“I’ll be back for you,” he mouthed to me.
I shook harder, despite the warmth of the army jacket, as I recalled his chilling words.
It was a promise, not a threat. Tonight I felt so close to the reality of it. I believed he returned for me.
I was a fool, I reminded myself as I lay flat on my back, my jacket wrapped tightly around my body as I stared at the checkered ceiling. I’d gotten myself into and out of too many situations similar to that one tonight. I only wanted to help others. Being at the shelter was a means to do just that for those in need, while I figured out what my purpose was in this life. I hadn’t planned to attend a rock concert, for heaven’s sake.
Without realizing it, I started to hum a tune to calm myself from the scolding in my head as I lay in this stranger’s dark bedroom. The sound was slow and methodic, hypnotizing in its rhythm. I didn’t know the words, only the melody. I assumed it might have been a lullaby of some type. A song I’d heard long ago, used to soothe me as a fussy child, perhaps. I felt the song vibrate in my throat as a comfort to me, soothing me, as I waited for the hour to pass, and my mind to release the horrible memories of my past.
Finally, I crept to the bedroom door, opening it slowly, hoping it didn’t creak. The lights were still on, but dimmed over the kitchen island. The rest of the room was pitch-black. I’d have to pass where he lay on the couch. Noticing his large arm draped over his head, covering his eyes, and a leg dangling off the side of the couch, I almost felt sorry for him. He looked uncomfortable. It looked like an extra-long piece of furniture, necessary for his large frame, and yet he still seemed to not quite fit across it.
There were two more windows behind the couch, over the workbench, but I noticed now what I hadn’t noticed before. More bars for protection. I almost choked at the thought, but chastised myself to remain quiet. Soundly sleeping, his chest rose and fell slowly. I took only a second to admire the firmness of his mid-section, broad chest, hard abs, large arms. I wondered, only too briefly, what it could feel like to be held by someone so strong and actually be protected. Safe. For once.
I shook the thought from my head as I reached the strong door, placing a hand silently on the knob. Hearing a muffled sound behind me, I froze for a moment, holding my own breath, until the sound clearly became a sleepy voice.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
His arm slid from covering his face, and he turned lazily on his side to glare at me in the dark. “You’re staying. If I have to tie you to the bed, you’re not leaving.”
My place continued…
[Perkins]
The moment I’d said the words, I’d said too much. I hadn’t meant it, but I did mean for her to not leave. Sitting up slowly at first, I stood at the same measured pace. Her back was against the door like a caged animal, and I continued my methodic prowl toward her. I held her gaze like a lion hypnotizes its prey before it pounces. I held out my hand as if I was about to feed a wild animal. Slowly. Slowly. Spreading my palm upward, I held still, letting her gaze fall over my large fingers. Letting her decide if she would take it.
“I need you to come with me,” I said with a confidence I didn’t quite feel. She was skittish, and if she bolted through the door, I’d frighten her further if I chased. But chase her I would. I was too close to what I wanted from her. Answers.
I’d pressed too far, too fast, by bringing her here, but my only thought was to get her some place safe. This was my safety zone: away from the groupies, away from the fans. I could be myself here. I was the type of guy who liked my privacy and my space. I’d never had a girl here before. Never. I didn’t need them to know where I lived.
Right now, I wanted sleep. I was exhausted, from the charity concert, the adrenaline of the ride, and the emotional rush of finding her after all this time. I took one step closer to her, still extending my hand. Even though I was holding it outward for her to touch, I was surprised when she did place her delicate fingers inside my firm grasp. I tugged her arm gently as I took a slow step backward, never releasing my brown eyes from her gray ones.
“I won’t really tie you up,” I said softly.
She blinked. Her gray eyes opened wide, and then she squinted at me.
“Too bad. You don’t seem like the type anyway,” she muttered.
I should have been insulted. I wanted to respond, but I decided again, now wasn’t the time. She was letting herself be led to my room, and once I had her in it, she wasn’t leaving. I released her hand once inside my bedroom and tugged off my own t-shirt that had been laden with sweat earlier then dried as we rode through the late night. I stunk and I knew it, but I reached for her army jacket. She i
mmediately grabbed the lapels, pulling it tight against her chest.
“Won’t you be more comfortable with that off?” I kept my voice low; again afraid I might startle her.
I watched as her shoulders fell, and she turned her head away from my gaze to unbutton the jacket then release the heavy zipper. She still didn’t look at me, but I couldn’t look away. It was like watching an unintentional strip-tease act. She slipped the heavy jacket off one shoulder and then the other, letting it fall down her arms, only to catch it at her wrists before it slid off. The heaviness over her delicate hands made her look bound, as if she was tied up.
Standing before me I saw the shapely figure I knew she hid under such large outerwear. Her breasts were full and her hips curvy, but her stomach was flat. She had a dip in her shape to give her a true hourglass form. I swallowed hard as I couldn’t pull my eyes away, and I cursed a body part that sprang to life within my jeans.
She dropped the coat. I got the full view of her tight black leggings, hugging those thighs that wrapped around me earlier on my bike. The fitted tank top she wore exposed fit arms and a deep scoop at the neck exposed a hint of cleavage. I swallowed hard again as my tongue grew dry from a need to lick her in the crease that formed between her supple breasts.
“Lie on the bed,” I choked. I finally moved my eyes to meet hers as she turned her head in my direction. Her eyes were narrowed at me with a sparkle of evil in them. She wasn’t afraid of me; she wanted to kill me. But she sat on the bed and scooted upward, keeping her eyes trained on mine. I suddenly felt like a sinner being tempted. Come to me, I dare you, her eyes screamed at me.
I climbed up the bed toward her like a tiger stalking his prey. Her eyes shifted briefly to the extensive tattoo over my chest and left arm, like a piece of metal to protect me. Quickly, she returned that steel gray glance to my deep brown. I had her caged in as I towered over her with one arm on either side of her body and a leg slipped between hers. I continued my crawl forward before I lay down slowly next to her, keeping my leg between hers and my arm over her stomach. Involuntarily, she winced when I relaxed my arm.
