I looked up into his smiling face and rested my head on his shoulder.
“The best part of that movie is that everyone started one way and ended another. They had all these theories on who they were and who the other kids were and they were all wrong.”
“Even adults do that,” he said. “We make snap judgments based on appearances, and most of the time we’re missing the real person.”
I looked at my reflection in the blank TV screen and wondered what people thought of me.
“Claire was such a brat. Even if I had all the money in the world, I’d never act like her. What a snob.”
My dad tapped my knee twice and stood to leave.
“Well, that’s not something you’ll ever have to worry about, kid. We’re tragically and forever middle-class.”
We both laughed. When the VCR clicked, letting me know it was finished rewinding, I pressed Play and settled down to watch The Breakfast Club one more time.
I frown and stare at my lap. I had been wrong back then. When my dad died of an aneurism, we were suddenly and instantly left with a huge void in our lives. Though I kept his memories close to me, I was easily led astray by a captivating man with promises to fulfill all my dreams. When Dennis came into our lives, I was thrilled to have the best computers, the newest fashions, and highest expectations of everyone around me. And then it all collapsed into a nightmare.
I slide to the passenger side of the car and lean my head against the cool window trying to slow my racing thoughts. I focus on my breathing and how much more comfortable this new car is than the last one, letting myself sink into its plush seats and dark interior. My adrenaline is fading fast and with Steel’s eyes on the road, the rhythmic passing of street lamps, and thump thump thump of the highway, I find it hard to stay awake.
7. HIM
I turn the radio on, but keep it low. There’s nothing but darkness on each side of the highway. Staring out at the lone set of taillights ahead, I try to work out how Boots found us this time. If there was another device on the car, he could have located us that way, seen the flat tire and gone looking close by. It all seems a little too convenient.
I decide to leave those thoughts behind and focus on the present. Boots may know the direction we’re heading, but I’m positive he can’t be tracking us now. He’s had no access to this vehicle.
In the backseat, Kat’s head bobs up and down. When her chin drops, her eyes pop open and she resumes her battle. Watching her fight exhaustion¸ I find myself needing to comfort her. A piece of me wants to protect her from everything and get her to the Canadian border myself. I feel too connected to Kat. She’s supposed to be a job and nothing more. Somehow, she’s poking holes in my hard exterior and making me feel human again. It’s foreign and makes me wary.
“Kat, you can sleep,” I tell her.
“I know. I trust you.”
I wince at her words. “Don’t doubt what I am or what I do.”
She shakes her head and frowns.
“I know you’re delivering me to prison, or worse,” she says, exhaling a shaky breath. “I know that this is your job. But, you don’t have to be your job. I imagine in some alternate universe—which could actually exist and has been hypothesized, using constructive mathematics and non-halting computer programs, thank you very much—there’s a guy who laughs at my stories, has a favorite football team, and wants more than some anonymous existence. You just don’t see yourself clearly.”
“And you only see what I let you.”
“I don’t want to sleep anyway,” she says, effectively changing the subject. “I feel like these are my last full days of freedom. Well, I’m not exactly free, but you know what I mean.” She sighs and starts again. “I don’t want to waste a minute of it.”
I can’t argue with her. I’ve never known the physical confinements of prison walls, but I know what it is to be alone. In my career, I am a god. I’m who the amateurs want to be and the old pros want to crush. But, each night I sit alone in my small apartment, surrounded by four walls that hold nothing personal or meaningful. My neighbors are strangers and only my bank knows my real name. To most, I am an apparition, a thing they pass and when they look again, I’m gone. With no origin to speak of or family to claim, I barely exist by most standards.
We ride in silence for almost two hours, occasionally making eye contact in the mirror. Kat never looks away first, always questioning and challenging me with her gaze. We are more alike than I care to admit.
I check the car’s gauges and exit to find a gas station. When I pull next to the pump, I throw the car in park and turn in my seat.
“We’re getting close. I can feel it,” Kat says. She plays with the charm on her necklace, sliding it back and forth.
“Just in Madera, the place dividing Northern and Southern California.”
“Fascinating,” she says absently.
“I want to trust you, but an open door may tempt a saint. I’ve seen it a million times. Wait here and I’ll take you to the bathroom when I’m done.”
“Yeah, okay,” she answers.
The gas station is busy, a car parked next to almost every pump. I scan each car and its occupants for anything suspicious and find nothing out of the ordinary. Though, the couple across from us does offer an interesting tale. He stands outside the car, pumping gas. The buttons on his wrinkled oxford shirt are one off, giving his collar a lopsided shape. The woman reapplies lipstick in the visor mirror, rakes her fingers through her knotted hair and adjusts her tits. There are two distinctive handprints on the back glass, each angle hinting at a different position. She wears a wedding band, he does not.
After filling up, I open the door and let Kat exit the car. She stretches her arms to the sky and then bends at the waist, folding her body in half. I’m proud when I only ogle her ass for a few seconds before escorting her inside.
I give her a few moments alone in the bathroom, then step inside and lock the door. She wipes her hands on one of the rough paper towels.
“God, I look like shit.” She smooths down her bangs and tucks stray pieces of hair behind her ear. “I need a haircut,” she pauses and looks at her hands, “and a manicure. In my old life, that’s something I actually cared about. It seems so stupid now, manicures. Now all I see, is a man’s blood on my hands. It never goes away, stained into my skin permanently like your tattoos.”
I watch as her bottom lip trembles and her eyes become glassy. Before the dirty mirrors of that gas station bathroom, Katherine Percle finally breaks down. Her loud sobs echo off the tiled walls and pound into my head. Her hands grip the edge of the counter and her shoulders slump in defeat.
“Kat,” I whisper.
Her red eyes are framed by dark, wet lashes and she questions me silently. I nod, not knowing what I’m agreeing to, just knowing that I should. Kat throws herself at me, wrapping her arms tight around my waist and burying her face in my chest. I stand motionless at first, unsure of what she needs from me or what I’m willing to give. I hate the helpless feeling that scratches at my brain and my body’s instinctual reaction to her. My mind battles between what I shouldn’t do and what I must. Eventually, I wrap my arms around her while she sobs.
I hold Kat close and rub circles on her back. It’s the only thing I know to do. My mom used to use the same sweeping motion when I was upset. Kat’s fingers claw at my back as she pulls in tighter, muffling her sobs against my chest. It’s overwhelming, the feel of her body pressed against mine, along with the smell of her hair and the push and pull of her breaths. I’m not sure what I’m doing.
I want to force her away and tell her to suck it up. I want that familiar detachment I’m used to. For some reason, with this girl, I don’t have the strength to deny her.
We stand there ignoring the voices outside the door and the incessant knocking. We stay until her eyes run dry and all that is left are her stuttered sighs and whimpers. I pick her up, unlock the door, and bypass all the gawking on the way to the car. I lay her in the backseat and
cover her with my jacket.
She makes no move to acknowledge my actions, she just stares ahead. By the time I pull back onto the highway, she’s asleep. We have a little under two hours until we reach Bakersfield.
I chastise myself for getting tangled up with Kat. I’ve never let a case get to me like this. I’ve never allowed anyone to get past my anonymous existence. I shared my past with her, a past that I haven’t thought about in years. The thought of her coaxing me into confessions makes me angry. I have to regain control and remind her and myself of what I’m here to do.
With my professional barricade back in place, I drive the dark highway and enjoy the silence. It’s past eleven when we reach Bakersfield. I pull into a hotel, get a room, and make it back into the car without Kat stirring.
I park the car near our room and scrub at my face. I’m exhausted and frustrated and need to be done with this trip and this girl. When I drop my hands I find Kat staring at me through the mirror. Her eyes are still red, but her face holds no other signs of the breakdown.
In our room, Kat emerges from the bathroom, her face freshly washed. She pulls her hair free from the ponytail and I watch as she shakes the long brown waves down her back. I flip on the television, trade my jeans for sleep pants, and slide into bed. The air around us is uneasy and too quiet to be comfortable.
She removes her shoes and eyes me from her side of the bed.
“Can I borrow your boxers again?”
I dig through my bag and toss them at her without a word.
“Thanks,” she murmurs.
Kat returns to the bathroom to change and I exhale into the empty room. I don’t want to be a dick, but it’ll be easier this way. It’s as if I’m a divided man, half of me wanting to set her free and the other half needing to hold on tighter. Whether those thoughts are professional or emotional, I’m not sure. And I don’t want to explore them to find out. If I can’t hold on to my indifference, then I’ll let anger lead.
Anger is familiar and I am comfortable in it. This girl is making me question everything I know and everything I think I am. She’s making me consider bailing on the biggest payout of my career. She’s forcing her pretty smile and shining blue eyes into my every waking thought. And that, is what makes me angry. While I want to blame Kat, I know it’s myself I’m furious with.
I empty the bullets from my gun and remove the cuffs from my bag. Kat enters the room with my boxers in place and my shorts folded over her arm. She avoids eye contact as she settles into bed.
I slide one cuff around my wrist, motioning for her to give me her hand. I secure her wrist and lie back down, tucking the key into the waistband of my boxer briefs again. Kat’s eyes stare blankly at the television, but there’s no indication that she’s really watching or listening. Our joined hands lay side by side on the mattress. Her pinky sweeps back and forth, sliding closer to mine and retreating again.
“Thank you,” she says into the dark room.
“For what?”
“Earlier, at the gas station.”
I don’t answer her, but return my attention to the television. What am I supposed to say? You’re welcome? Anytime? Everything that crosses my mind seems inappropriate and weak, so I don’t say anything. I simply hand over the remote and watch as she flips through the channels.
* * *
“Mom! No!”
Her bruised face forces a reassuring smile before I hear him coming. Heavy footsteps count off like a ticking bomb. The floor shakes beneath my feet or maybe it’s just my legs. She tells me to hide and turns to face him. He is only a large black shadow bearing down on us. His voice is ice cold. The words are lost on me. She screams, but it’s cut short by the sound of fist meeting flesh. Her body hits the ground with a thunderous finality. Red creeps along the floor, soaking into my white socks. I step away, but it persists. His words come again. I’ve learned that they are a prequel to his violence. I run. And then, he comes for me.
* * *
My own screaming wakes me. My eyes shoot open in the dark to find Kat’s worried expression above me. The warmth of her palms on my face only adds to the heat of my flushed cheeks. I try to fully wake as my chest heaves with stuttered breaths and my blurred eyes work to focus. She runs her fingers through my hair and places her lips near my ear, whispering, “Shhhhhh.”
I close my eyes again and struggle against her, not wanting this comfort. Every muscle in my body is taut and she winces when my grip on her shoulder becomes too tight. I release her and try to push away.
“Don’t let go,” she whispers. “Please.” Her body shifts above me, pleading with prayers on her lips. “Please,” she begs again, sliding her lips against my neck before biting down.
I lay frozen and undecided. The feel of Kat against me makes me dizzy. Her desperation is tangible. It recognizes its counterpart in me and pulls it to the surface. Before I can clear the dark dreams from my brain, Kat gently presses her lips to mine. With one kiss, I am lost.
We taste each other, slowly at first, nibbling and sucking on tongue and lips. My hand slides up her body, loving every inch of soft skin and curve I come across. I pull roughly at her hair. I’m rewarded with a deep, throaty moan.
She trails her lips down my neck to my chest where she places kisses in a sweeping arc over my UNFORGIVEN tattoo. I roll away, trying to regain control, but it’s no use. Kat straddles my body now and shifts backward until I can feel her heat above my hardness. There is no denying I want her. She leans down to capture my lips again.
“I need this. Just one last time,” she begs. Her breaths are fast and heavy, her hair falls like a curtain around us.
Her plea destroys me. I am defeated and hungry for her. We work together to push my pants and boxer briefs down. I tug at her tank top, slipping it over her head and down her arm where it hangs from our joined wrists. I lick my lips just to taste her and try to remember when I’ve ever been so desperate for something.
“Kat,” I say.
I reach up with my free hand and trail my fingers down her neck, across her collarbone and around the swell of her breast. She shimmies free from the boxers and now we are both bared flesh and desire.
Something inside me fractures. My raw and desperate need for her is now the only thought in my head. I sit up and kiss her again, for once dominating this. I nudge Kat backward until my body covers hers. Our cuffed hands grip each other and hold my weight while I align myself with her. Her other hand slides from my hair down to where my neck meets my shoulder. Her thumb sweeps across my hurried pulse. I pause and look into Kat’s eyes. I’m silently asking questions that I don’t dare say out loud.
“Yes,” she breathes.
Our bodies come together and it’s pins and needles on my skin, enveloping warmth and dancing lights behind my lids. Kat cries out and her body arches toward me like a bow pulled tight. Her face, a perfect portrait of pleasure, turns to the side and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. After a minute, I begin to rock my hips against her. Our rhythm matches each panting breath that escapes my lips. She claws and scrapes at my back, unable to use her words. This is heaven and hell and everything in between.
I don’t think of consequences or tomorrow morning. All I focus on is her needy mouth kissing mine, my fingers holding hers, her body owning me. I bury my face in her tits and place hard, sucking kisses there. Kat slides her hand into my hair and pulls, bringing my mouth to hers again.
“More,” she pleads against my lips.
I quicken the pace, as we connect in the most primal way. It’s wild and erratic. Kat wraps her legs around me, her knees digging into my ribs and creating an almost painful bliss. Each breath is carried on a pleasured gasp. The sound is pure sex and it sends a new pang of desire through me. She slides her hand down to my shoulder and digs her nails in. The heat and light inside her finally breaks free. Kat cries out before biting down on her lip. It is a violent and beautiful thing to witness. It’s only now that I wish I had given her my name. To hear that w
ord from her at this moment, with her flushed cheeks and satisfied smile, would be amazing. My entire body quakes as my own orgasm knocks the air from my lungs.
We both lay sweaty and exhausted, drifting off to a blissful sleep.
8: her
It’s still early when I wake. I turn to find my bounty hunter deep asleep. His naked body lays on top of the sheets and I want to touch him again. I roll onto my side and feel something cold against my skin. Sliding my free hand between my hip and the bed, I pull out the handcuff key. My eyes adjust in the dark room as I stare at liberty in the palm of my hand.
I debate staying. Do I really want a life on the run? I’ll always be checking over my shoulder, never able to trust anyone. And then there is Boots, a dangerous hit man who seems to have limitless resources. I weigh my options—freedom, prison, possibly death—and decide that freedom is worth the risk. Maybe what I’d shared with Steel last night was a vivid reminder of what it feels like to be truly alive. Whatever the reason, I wasn’t ready to give it up for a cold, empty existence behind bars.
I push the key into the lock and turn it. The tiny click sounds like a gunshot in the quiet room. Steel does not stir. Gently, I remove my wrist from the cuff and roll out of bed. I am silent and stealthy as I find my old jeans and hoodie in his bag and redress. I check the rest of the contents for anything helpful. Littering the bottom of the bag is a stack of travel brochures highlighting attractions in cities spanning several states. I thumb through them quickly and glance at Steel wondering why he has these. In his wallet I only find a worn photo of myself and eighty bucks.
The picture was taken at my mom’s birthday dinner last year. I’m smiling at the camera while holding a glass of wine. I remember how my mom had to wear long sleeves in the middle of the summer because of the bruises. Dennis’s controlling arm stayed around her waist all night. There was hurt and anger that sat heavy at that table between me and the rest of the party. I wondered if all those people were ignorant or indifferent to my mother’s suffering.
Held Against You Page 8
