SURE (Men of the ESRB Book 3)

by Hollis Shiloh

  "You've let us both down. It's not just a job, you know. You're probably my best friend in the world, but you left without even saying goodbye. I know Ellery will forgive you. He'd forgive you anything, but I'm not sure if things can be the same after this. You never even said goodbye. It wasn't just a job — but maybe it will be, if you ever come back. If you can be bothered."

  "Kev, I'm sorry." I was crying now. "Y-You knew I was a flake." It felt real, this apology. Like I really had let him down on purpose. I'd had no clue I was such a great method actor, or whatever it's called. I'd let so many people down in my life that it felt very real. I was used to disappointing people, but I'd never wanted Kev to be one of them.

  His voice softened. "Look, you're not only an employee, okay? When you can sort yourself out, call me again. I'll — I'll try to get over this. You know I'd help you in anything I could do, if I could. We'll figure something out. You get yourself sorted out. I'm sorry if I sounded harsh. But I have to see Ellery. I have to see how much he's hurting and upset you've left him."

  I gulped. "Look after him?"

  "I always do. But you need to come back and talk to him in person if you're breaking up with him. Don't take the coward's way out."

  "I w-won't."

  "I still love you, okay?" He sighed. "You just drive me crazy sometimes."

  "Mm-hm." I was aware of my cynical, watchful audience, smirking at me, but it still meant a lot to hear those words.

  "Call me as soon as you can. We can sort something out, maybe, with the work environment. I'm still mad, but I'll get over it. I won't give up on you, okay?"

  "O-Okay." I paused to wipe quickly at my eye. "Kev, I love you, too. If you were gay, and I didn't have Ellery, I'd probably fall really hard for you."

  He gave a weird laugh. "Thanks, I think? Just . . ." He sighed heavily, sounding frustrated beyond belief. "Just don't get into any trouble I can't get you out of, okay?"

  "I w-won't. I gotta go now."

  My captor was making motions for me to wind it up. He seemed satisfied with the call, however, which was a good thing. Now if only I wasn't in tears — and if only I'd had a way to let Kevin know what was really going on.

  "Eat some croissants for me, you greedy pig," said Kevin. "And call me soon."

  "I love you, too." I made a fake kissing noise, and he laughed, short and sharp and still a bit angry. Then he hung up.

  I looked at my captor, then reached up and pushed the hair out of my face, my hand trembling. "Well?"

  Was he going to shoot me now? He seemed satisfied with what I'd done, but that was no clue of anything else, was it?

  He gave a nod and put down the gun. "Get along with your boss pretty well, don't you?"

  "He's my friend first."

  "I could tell." He got up from the table, taking his weaponry with him. "I'll be keeping you till everything goes through. After that, if there's been no double-cross from your boyfriend, you'll be moved on to a new job. There are a lot of people who'd like your skills. You still have value alive, although I don't mean to turn you loose. These deals have to go through. I've made a promise to my clients."

  I nodded, quick and hard. It was good to know I might have a chance at survival. Despite how casual he acted most of the time, he was the most dangerous person I'd ever met. I felt like I was always about one inch away from dying when I was in his presence.

  At least he really believed what he was saying. I was still worth something to him, because someone clearly wanted to buy me.

  #

  I tried to be good. I really did.

  I grabbed a bunch of books off the well-stocked shelves in the living room and tried to curl up on the couch and get lost in them. I didn't try to leave the room, hide, or stay away from him. He was more dangerous at a distance. I kept trying to keep my mind and my eyes on the printed words, but I couldn't.

  He was pacing and talking on his phone — the same one he'd had me call on, so it was clearly well-protected by some fancy technology counter to being traced or identified. As he paced, he spoke. He was trying to find the highest bidder for me.

  "No, he needs to be away from any law enforcement. You can strike them off the list," he told someone over the phone. It was a trusted business contact, but right now the man or woman was filling him with irritation. How dare they suggest someone who might have ties with the police?

  He was so methodical about it all; this was a business deal to him. But it was my life. Can you blame me for being a little pissed off?

  "Make sure they have a pool," I added snidely. "I need to get my exercise or I go nuts."

  He covered the mic of his phone with one finger and frowned at me. I hefted up my book quickly and pretended to read it while still looking at him over the top. I was sprawled inelegantly on the couch, in an effort to get comfortable. I still didn't feel comfortable — even though I normally love sprawling — and I suspected my spine was getting twisty.

  "Shut up," he mouthed. The message was clear. I bulged my eyes sarcastically and raised my hands in surrender.

  Then I tried — really, I did — to find a comfortable place on the couch and a book that could hold my attention for more than thirty seconds.

  I'd never been great at that.

  The truth was, it had been days since I'd exercised, days since I'd had someone to talk to without anyone threatening to kill me, and days of living in a powder keg of stress. I wasn't going to be able to sit still for much longer.

  The third time I shifted positions, restlessly moving around on the couch — which had started squeaking — he gave me a disgusted look and left the room. I hopped up and went back to the shelves.

  Ah! DVDs! Why hadn't I thought of that? Maybe because DVDs had begun to feel old-fashioned to me, since I usually watched streaming movies at home with Ellery. We'd been known to binge-watch. I couldn't remember the last time we'd watched a DVD, though.

  Heh. Never thought I'd see the day when a DVD was old-fashioned.

  I popped one into the machine underneath the TV, and then searched for a backup while it booted up, in case I didn't like this one.

  Always so damn slow. I hate that you can't fast-forward the stuff at the beginning. Does anyone actually ever go to jail for stealing DVDs? Dude, what would he even tell the other inmates if that happened? So embarrassing. You'd have to make up a worse crime to save face...

  Could I get a second movie running at the same time? Picture-in-picture? That would be cool, trying to follow both at once; maybe I wouldn't get bored as quickly.

  I guess I had it cranked up pretty loud or something. The opening music started with a blare. I rushed to turn it down, feeling his spike of annoyance from the kitchen, and wincing a little myself. Then I went back to looking for more DVDs, checking out the extensive collection. I hoped they weren't scratched; I hated it when DVDs started skipping.

  Now, this porn collection . . . that might have a few scratches on it. I didn't bother with it; a glance at the titles and covers of one or two told me that I was definitely not the target audience here. Too many lady parts. I slid them back into their slots on the shelf.

  I wondered if they were my captor's style.

  I still didn't know his name; he was pretty careful about that. But I knew his face. Then again, I had a feeling he was wanted for a lot of things already, and he probably didn't show up much in polite society. Not that I did either, but you know what I mean — anywhere someone might snatch him and turn him in. He probably had a dozen identities, like James Bond, and lived by his wits.

  And torture. Don't forget torture.

  I'd begun to whistle along with the opening music. Apparently I didn't whistle very well; he took two angry steps into the room, phone covered, and said, "Will you shut up?"

  I made a lip-zipping gesture across my mouth. And then, because I'm an idiot, I held up one of the porn DVDs. "Why don't you watch this and cool down? You're getting awfully stressed out there." Selling me.

  His eyes got hard,
and his emotions got kind of hard, too. I'm not sure how else to describe it. He pointed to the couch. His eyes blazed at me. His emotions . . . I didn't like what I was feeling.

  I shuddered and moved quickly to the couch.

  "Now sit still. And turn that damn thing down." He gestured rudely to the TV.

  I grabbed the remote and turned the volume down almost the whole way. I was still holding the porn DVD; I dropped it quickly, feeling gross.

  Great, now I was stuck with this movie. I tried to concentrate on it, to concentrate on anything. I tried to get comfortable without getting off the couch. I tried to practice breathing, to calm myself down, to use the techniques I'd learned in therapy. The couch was creaking again, damn it.

  He hadn't heard.

  I should've picked a more interesting movie. This one started so damn slowly, and I'd seen it before. Something with a superhero in it. You'd think it would start out with more oomph. Was that a word, oomph? I wished my brain would shut up. Maybe if I banged my head against the wall. Maybe if I —

  He was back, watching me from the doorway. He was silent, but I felt him there and froze, holding very still, not really breathing at all. He moved away just as silently. I glanced back to be sure — yeah — and then grabbed the nearest book. Maybe I could read until the movie got interesting.

  This was torture, too! He might not be chopping my fingers off, but he'd confined me to the couch. I'd never done well with sitting still for a long time, even under the best of circumstances, and this wasn't. Boring movie, no exercise, fear for my life, stressed out and jittery . . .

  I wondered how Ell was doing. If Martin had heard my calling for him. If Kev was still angry with me. I felt a strange mixture of pride and sadness that I'd been able to convince Kev that I was telling the truth.

  Maybe if I got up and paced quietly around the room. That couldn't cause any trouble, could it? Even condemned prisoners could do that. I slid off the couch slowly and carefully, looking surreptitiously towards the kitchen.

  I saw no sign of him, but I could feel he was engrossed, thinking hard, and not so grouchy now. There was a lot to decide, apparently. He could get some real money for me, and he was used to dealing in big sums.

  Just how much was I worth? And how did people bid on empaths on the black market? That was kind of cool, actually — but in a creepy way. People wanted my skills enough to buy me? I would never be able to function in captivity. I was like one of those high-maintenance zoo animals that die because it's trapped.

  The thought was not a pleasant one. Maybe they were willing to get a year or two out of me, on a very tight leash, as a captive (away from friends, home, boyfriend), and then let me die.

  There were probably international baddies who'd go for that kind of thing, or rich supervillains (great, the movie was getting to me!), or gangsters. Did gangsters need empaths? To tell when someone was lying to them? Yeah, I guessed; why wouldn't they? Their techniques would probably be as crude as my captors'. I definitely wouldn't last long with threats and violence hanging over my head to perform like a trained monkey, probably in some super-stressed-out situations.

  No, I couldn't go along and let him sell me. But what other choice did I have? I had to. If I got sold to someone else, the threat to Ell would (probably) be gone if I got away. What he'd been forced to do — ignore an evil contract — would be done by then. I couldn't stop it, could I? It would be too late.

  I would have to at least try to get away. But if people wanted to pay enough for me that this guy was actually somewhat impressed, then —

  They weren't going to let me escape. I suddenly felt as though I could scream. As though I could've broken through the window, sharp glass be damned, and run screaming down the street.

  Maybe he'd shoot me. But at least I'd be moving when I died. I was going to suffocate in this nice house. Normally, I had no problem with small spaces — and the house wasn't particularly small — but I felt so trapped. I had to move, had to —

  He was back. I stilled.

  We stared at each other. I could feel him picking his battles, his frustration mounting, his annoyance with me clear but resigned, like I was a naughty child he had to watch, but not for much longer.

  On the other hand, he didn't really care if I ate all the candy, just that I not get away or annoy him endlessly. He gave me a hard look and then moved away.

  I turned the movie off. It was awful; I'd never be able to enjoy it now. Hey, maybe if I turned on the porn, it would distract him enough that I could get away! Yeah, right. He had ice water in his veins. He'd shoot me before he even glanced at the screen.

  I had to do something. I was going nuts here.

  Cooking. Maybe I could take up cooking. We had to eat till he sold me, right? But that would mean going into the kitchen, where he was, and no doubt annoying him even more.

  I dropped to the floor and started doing curls. Quiet, intense exercise. Yes. That was exactly what I needed. I curled till I couldn't anymore, then did pushups. He looked in on me once or twice, satisfied with my manic quietness.

  Damn, he was worse than a teenager on that phone! Would he ever get off? Of course if he did he'd probably start paying more attention to me, and as stressed out as I was, and as annoyed as he was, it was probably not the best idea ever.

  I started doing lunges, then jumping jacks.

  That was a mistake.

  A house isn't a gym; the floor sometimes shakes if you do jumping jacks, especially as aggressively as I was doing them.

  He walked into the room, covering his phone again, and snapped, "Go to bed!"

  Eyes bulging, I dropped my hands to my sides, got very still, and nodded hard. He was sending me to my room — but his thoughts were sharp as knives. I scurried to the bedroom he'd assigned me, shut the door, and paced around. The door had no lock (at least on this side), and the windows had bars.

  But were they real bars, or decorative metal that bent back if you pulled hard enough? They looked like decorative metal, not prison security.

  There were no phones, of course, and no TV or books in here, either. The wallpaper was kind of wild, but not enough to keep a person from going nuts. I wanted to scream, to destroy something, but I had to keep caged the wild beast of stress inside me.

  I walked to the window and looked out. I could see a section of nondescript, green, rolling countryside, but no helpful labels on it saying 'the south of France,' nothing to tell me where I was.

  Was I still in France? It didn't feel like it. Then again, what did France feel like?

  Probably not like this, I thought, looking around.

  Regretfully, I stared at the metal bars. Then I laid down in the middle of the bed. I made a few bed angels, doing snow angel movements on the sheets, stretching my arms and legs. It was a decent-sized bed; I could've enjoyed if it Ell and I had a bed like this somewhere private and nice. I could've enjoyed being anywhere with Ell just now.

  No, then again, I couldn't — not really. I wouldn't have been able to enjoy anything if he were here with me. He'd be in worse shape than I was, less restless but still worse. He'd probably be able to sit still and read a book, though.

  Sighing, I rolled onto my side, covered myself with the top sheet, and pulled my pants down. It was undignified as hell, but it might calm me down. I focused hard now, trying to bring Ell to mind, recalling sexy times in the past.

  If I could just get through today without going nuts, perhaps tomorrow would be a little easier, or at least offer me more opportunity for movement. I couldn't even be restless without pissing my captor off now — and I couldn't turn myself off.

  Well, now I tried. I jerked off a couple of times, cleaned up, and took a quick nap, a little ashamed of myself, but feeling somewhat relieved.

  #

  In my dream, I saw Martin.

  "Pete," he called, looking all around for me in a foggy area where he couldn't seem to see me. It was out in the open somewhere — the landscape from outside this buildin
g, perhaps, somewhere greenish and mild, but foggy and half-dark. "Peter!"

  "I'm right here!" I started towards him, wondering why he couldn't see me.

  He turned to look at me, his mouth opening into a smile, about to say something, a look of glad greeting and relief on his face.

  I woke up.

  My sleep had been light enough that my dream disturbed me out of it. My limbs all gave a great twitch as I woke up, and I groaned aloud. The light hadn't changed; I had barely slept at all.

  Great.

  I got up with a sigh to go and take a shower.

  My captor had supplied clothing more or less in my size, so I was able to grab some sweatpants, boxers, and a t-shirt. But my shower was hot, and I was still kind of warm from all that . . . well, exercise. When I dried off, I didn't feel like getting into those sweatpants. I shoved on the boxers and wandered out, barefoot.

  If he'd been worried about my whereabouts, he gave no sign of it.

  "Can I do that?"

  He was doing something at the stove.

  He looked up and gave me an irritated look, mouth opening to say something. He stopped when he saw me, and the irritation turned to an outright glare. "Put some clothes on."

  "Hey." I spread my arms, offended and wounded. "The human body is a natural thing."

  "If you want to keep it all in one piece, go and cover it up."

  "Seriously, can I cook? I want to do something." I edged closer to see what he was making.

  "Clothing. I do not want to have to look at that."

  "What, this? I've worked hard on this chest! Okay, okay. I'm going." I raised my hands and backed away, sniffing at the air as a hint that I wanted to know what he was cooking. Was that spaghetti? I couldn't tell. He was stirring something; it was all very domestic. Or it would've been, with someone else.

  He pointed a finger at me, eyes narrowing.

  "Anyway, nobody says you have to stare," I muttered as I walked away.

  He let out a loud, angry breath.