by Nikki Chase
“Your old life doesn't exist anymore,” he says casually, as if he wasn't the one to blame for that.
“I’d still have my old life if I didn’t take this job.” I’d still be working at The Local and living in my own cozy apartment, lonely but free.
“Believe me, you wouldn’t. It doesn’t even matter whether you took this job.” Seth gets up from his chair and stands in front of me, blocking my view of the fountain. “Also, it's not the cops I’m worried about. There are more dangerous people out there. People who want to hurt you, not just lock you up.”
“So you're saying, you're the good guy here?” I look up at him and stare flatly.
“It's not about being a good guy or a bad guy, Alice. I don't care about that.” He crouches down in front of me and levels his gaze at me. His blue eyes darken as his pupils dilate, drawing me in. His lips part. “It's about something else.”
“What is it about, then?” My breath catches in my throat. Seth’s nearness is almost suffocating. I feel like Seth’s essence is seeping inside me, overpowering me. As if hypnotized, I lean closer.
“Something way more important,” he says as he lifts a big, warm hand to my cheek, tempting me to melt into his touch.
“Like what?” I look down onto Seth’s gorgeous face, only inches away now. I can feel his breath on my skin.
“Protecting you,” he says as he puts his hand on the back of my head, pulling me even closer. “I’ll do anything to keep you safe from them.”
I close my eyes and part my lips slightly, letting Seth's hand guide me closer until, finally, our lips touch.
He's gentle at first—introductory, exploratory. His lips are hot and intoxicating. The more I taste, the more I want. From the way the kiss gets more and more intense, I guess Seth feels the same way, too. He bites my upper lip almost painfully, making me gasp. Somewhere along the way, the pain in my lip turns into pleasure in my core. My muscles tense.
Seth pulls away and looks at me intensely, his gaze claiming and dominating. He grabs the hair at the base of my skull and pulls it hard, making me whimper. He puts his mouth by my ear, his hot breaths heavy and erratic.
“I’ll protect you,” he whispers, “even if I have to hurt you.”
Before I have time to process his words, he grabs my left ankle. I shriek from the shock.
For a moment, I realize how vulnerable I am. He can do anything to me, and I can scream all I want, but nobody's going to come to my aid, not if it means going against the boss’ orders. We're still in Seth’s little kingdom, where what he says goes.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
I look closely when he pulls out something black from the pocket of his suit jacket. A thin, black metal band, and a plastic square. It looks like a digital watch.
“Don't worry. This won't hurt at all,” Seth says as he wraps the thing around my ankle. It feels cold and foreign on my skin.
“What the hell is that?” I try to kick my ankle free, but Seth has a firm hold on it.
“It's just a nifty little device that keeps me updated on your location.” Seth tightens the thing around my ankle until it locks with a click and lets out an electronic beeping sound. “It gives you freedom to roam, since you like to wander outside so much.”
“You mean it’s like a tracker? You're tagging me with a damn tracker?” I yell, even though he's right in front of me.
“It's for your own safety,” he says with a mocking smile. He gets up to his full height, puts his hands on his waist, and looks down with satisfaction at the unwanted, intrusive thing around my ankle.
“You keep turning things around on me. You turn me into a hostage in your house, but you say it's for my safety. You track my movements, but you say it gives me freedom. What is wrong with you?”
“You ask too many questions,” he says. Danger flashes in his cool blue eyes. “That can get you killed.”
His words strike fear into my heart, sending my pulse rate way up. That's a threat, right?
Like nothing strange has happened, Seth shoots me a sad smile and walks away, leaving me alone on the balcony again.
I grab the tracker and pull it with my fingers, trying to pry it open. It doesn't budge, of course. It looks expensive and sturdy as hell.
Seth Wayne only buys the best equipment for his captives, I think to myself cynically. Figures.
I wonder how many women he has kept here against their will. Maybe that's how Alejandra and Ana started living here. There's no other reason I can think of for him to have trackers in the first place.
God, it makes me feel like an animal. I remember my first conversation with Seth, when I mentioned cow bells used to track cattle in Switzerland. Well, with this annoying thing around my ankle, I can sympathize with their plight even more.
As I continue to pull on the tracker, it occurs to me that everything I’ve been afraid of, I’m experiencing now.
Starvation? Check. Had that the first twenty-four hours of my captivity.
On that note, captivity? Yeah, check. Just look at that damn tracker curled menacingly around my ankle.
I thought I’d finally made it when I accepted this job. Two-hundred-thousand dollars a year? Yeah, sign me up. I’d have had so much money in the bank by the time I quit, maybe even enough to start my own restaurant.
Instead, I end up here, at the lowest point in my life—held hostage by a man who admits he’s not a good guy, and apparently being hunted by some seriously bad guys.
15
Alice
There was only one time in my life when I truly feared losing my freedom, and that was the one and only time I ever shoplifted.
This happened more than a decade ago, yet I still remember many of the details. I guess that’s just how it works with life-changing events like that.
I wasn’t legally an adult yet. I was seventeen, to be precise.
I remember that because, as I was weighing the pros and cons, I thought at worst I’d go to juvie—not that it wouldn’t be a big deal, but at least I wouldn’t have it on my permanent records. At least I’d still be able to find work afterward.
It was dumb, but I was a dumb teenager facing some serious money issues. Still, I cringe when I’m alone in bed and randomly remember the event.
My mother, being the irresponsible parent that she is, hadn’t come home for two weeks. Meanwhile, Emily and I had no money for food. I was between jobs at the time and we were starving. Looking back now, as an adult, I know it wasn’t my fault. But back then, the guilt was crushing.
So, without knowing anything about how not to get caught, I went to the convenience store near where we lived, wearing an oversized hoodie.
I went down the quietest aisle, then stuffed the hoodie full of nuts and confectionery. We’d been subsisting on instant noodles and I thought we needed something with lots of fats and sugar because we hadn’t been getting enough calories.
Long story short, it turned out there were cameras all over the store, and the guy at the register saw me stealing the whole time. He just waited until I was done to bust me.
The guy was a young man himself, probably in his early twenties. Whenever I saw him at the store before that day, I’d always thought he had kind eyes, although we’d never talked much.
I nervously walked up to the counter and put a single ninety-nine-cent bag of baby carrots on top.
I was shaking as I waited for him to ring me up. But instead of scanning the bag of carrots, he said, “I know what you’ve done. I saw the whole thing.”
My whole body turned cold as I looked up and saw him staring sternly back at me. His gaze traveled to the irregularly-shaped bulge in my hoodie, then back to my face. He points to a monitor that displays footage from the security cameras.
“Please don’t call the cops,” I pleaded. I was on the brink of tears, and my voice was shaking. “I’ll put everything back. I’m so sorry.”
“Was this a dare?” He asked.
“Huh?”
“I know someti
mes kids dare one another to do dumb shit.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t call the cops on me.”
“You don’t look like the kind of kid who’d pull something like this. Why did you do it?”
“My sister and I are hungry. I don’t know where our mom is, and I don’t have a job right now.” Even as I said the words, they sounded fake. I knew I was telling the truth, but he didn’t.
“Show me everything you took,” he said after a long pause.
He scanned every single item, then pulled out his own wallet and took out a twenty-dollar bill. My mouth hung open as I watched his every move. Could he really be doing this? Could a stranger be so kind he’d repay my shoplifting with kindness?
“Here you go,” he said as he held out the plastic bag of goodies.
“Thank you,” I said softly, afraid to break the magic of whatever was happening.
“That’s not a gift,” he said as he handed me the change from his twenty dollars. “That’s a loan. You owe me twenty dollars now. Pay it back when you get a pay check. You can start working here next week.”
I was so touched I started bawling right there and then. It felt so good to finally be able to share my burden with someone, even if he was a stranger.
I ended up working at the convenience store for a couple of years, and Mark is still a friend to this day, although I haven’t seen him in a while.
That whole experience was the reason why I signed up to volunteer for the prison program. I knew how easily I could’ve ended up behind bars myself, if it wasn’t for the kindness of a stranger.
Maybe that experience made me vulnerable to job offers from strange men, I don’t know.
I feel dumb for having taken this particular job offer, although, to be fair, it seemed like a no-brainer to accept at the time.
I feel even dumber for having kissed Seth.
The kiss felt so right to me, but it wasn’t real. He was just trying to distract me so he could put the tracker on me.
Nothing about Seth is real.
Basically, all I know about him is, he owns this big-ass mansion in the middle of nowhere, and he knows how to appreciate good food. And yet, based on that knowledge alone, I was eager to kiss him.
I feel like such a chump. Am I really that starved for affection?
I take a deep breath as I walk down the opulent hallway, steeling myself to see Seth in his office.
He's given me space these last few days, which is good. I don't think it's a good idea to see him because, despite everything he's done to me, my heart still flutters whenever I think about him. He makes me want to make bad decisions.
Still, there's no other choice. This sedentary life is driving me crazy and I need to put an end to it.
I asked Alejandra if I could get a few things from the store so I could cook, but she just told me to ask Seth and disappeared, leaving me alone with the lingering scent of her floral perfume.
I raise my hand up to the door of Seth’s office and pause for a couple of seconds. I know he's in there because I hear the faint typing on a keyboard and the rustling of papers from inside. I hold my breath and knock on the white wooden door.
“Come in,” says a deep voice from inside the office.
I slowly push the door open, hoping it will help slow my heartbeat down, too. But nothing could prepare me for those steel-blue eyes, hard and unyielding, staring straight at me. My breath catches in my throat.
“Alice, what a surprise.” Seth turns from his computer and clasps his hands together on the desk in front of him.
“Hi.” I pull the corners of my lips up to form something resembling a smile, hopefully. The walk across the room to the desk feels like it takes forever, with Seth's watchful eyes on me.
I pull out the chair and sit down in the same spot I did when Seth interviewed me on my first day here. I can't believe that was only two weeks ago. It feels like I’ve been here forever.
“I want to get a few ingredients for cooking,” I say. “I think you owe me at least that.”
“I thought you didn't want to cook anymore,” he says, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“Wrong,” I counter. “I said I don't want to cook for you, seeing as I’m not your personal chef anymore. I’m talking as a hostage now. I’m negotiating something that will make my life here a little more bearable.”
I’ve thought long and hard about what to say, and I hope my words sound as bad-ass as they do in my head. I don't want to get all flustered and start talking about some nonsensical thing again, like how poor Chinese sharks are being hunted for their fins and then released back into the ocean to slowly die.
“Why didn't you just ask Alejandra?” Seth asks.
“I already did. She told me to ask you.”
“I see,” he says, nodding.
I feel like a child, being passed from one parent to another, when neither one wants to make a decision.
I guess that's what being held against my will means. I no longer have the authority to make my own decisions anymore.
Anger flares within me. I hate being told what to do, when my whole life I’ve only had myself to rely on. Other than at work, I’ve never had anyone try to tell me what to do and I bristle under Seth's strict control.
“So?” I ask, restraining myself so I don't say too much and hurt my chances of getting Seth's damn permission to do something I’ve always done my whole life.
“Sure, you can cook,” he says. “As long as you share the food with me, and eat it with me.”
“I told you I’m not cooking for you.”
“Well, those are my terms.” Seth shrugs. He knows he has all the power. I’m more invested in this than he is. I can take it or leave it.
“Why would you even want to eat with me? Is it not enough that I’m literally in your house twenty-four/seven?”
“You might decide it's a good idea to kiss me again,” he says with a cocky smirk.
“That's not going to happen.”
“So what's it going to be, Alice?”
“Fine. I’ll cook for you. I don't guarantee my food will be dairy-free, gluten-free, or poison-free.”
Seth laughs, making my heart jump, reminding me of that nice conversation we had over our first breakfast.
“I guess I'll just have to hire someone to taste my food and check for poison, like the kings in the movies,” he says.
I suppress a smile. Seth is as entitled as a king. Of course he thinks someone else should die to save him.
“So we have a deal,” I say as I hold out my hand for a handshake.
“Deal,” he says.
When Seth's hand touches my skin, my heart starts pounding in my chest. His hand looks so big over mine, making me feel small and vulnerable… Which, curiously, makes me want to pull him by the necktie and ask him to kiss me again.
Seriously, what is wrong with me?
I pull my hand away, a little too abruptly. Heat spreads across my cheeks when I realize he has noticed me losing my composure. I can tell by the wicked glint in his eyes.
“By the way, the tracker is a little overkill, don't you think? You already have all that security.” I point at a couple of guards who happen to be passing by the window behind Seth's chrome-and-leather swivel chair.
He looks over his shoulder, which means my attempt at distracting him has succeeded. He says, “Call it risk minimization.”
“Oh, I get it. Because I’m an escape risk.”
“No,” he says, turning back to look at me. “No, it's because of the risk to you, if you go out there.”
“Right. And you can't talk about what kind of a risk it is. Just admit that you're just a sick, sick person who likes to keep people captive for your own sick pleasure.”
To my surprise, fury flashes in Seth's eyes. He clenches his jaw. Through gritted teeth, he says, “You don't know what you're talking about.”
I flinch from the wave of anger emanating from him. Quietly, I ask the
question that's been plaguing me, “Are you ever going to let me go?”
“Of course.”
“When?”
“When it's safe.”
“And who decides when it's safe?”
He pauses and sighs before finally saying, “I do.”
“I thought so.”
With that, I get up and walk toward the door as fast as I can without looking like I'm running away.
As soon as I close the door behind me, I start hyperventilating.
I remember now why Seth looks so familiar.
I didn't recognize him in his designer suit, with his sleek appearance.
It's been a long time, but I would've recognized him in an orange jumpsuit.
He was my best student in the cooking classes I conducted in prison.
Shit.
He’s an ex-con.
What kind of messed-up situation have I gotten myself into?
16
Seth
As the door clicks softly into place, Alice’s words ring in my ears.
She said what I’m doing to her is a crime. She said I’m a sick person for keeping her here, even though I’ve told her again and again that I’m only doing this to protect her. Why can’t she get that through her stubborn skull?
Sure, technically, I was a convicted criminal, and some people say ‘once a criminal, always a criminal.’
I know I haven’t told her too many details, but...
The way she looked at me toward the end, it was like the way I look at them.
She thinks I’m no different from those dregs of humanity.
And that hurts.
Damn, why do I have to care what she thinks of me? I’m not even being paid to do any of this. I’m spending a lot of time and resources of saving her sexy ass, and all it does it make her hate me. None of this makes any sense.
In the movies, the guy who saves the damsel in distress would at least get to fuck her. In my case, I’m pretty sure the reason the girl is not already in my bed is because I’m trying to protect her.
I could still see the yearning in her eyes. She kept biting her lip sensuously, playing with her hair, rubbing her thighs together. I was never more glad to have chosen a glass desk, because I wouldn’t want to miss seeing those legs wiggling deliciously on the chair. It made me want to spread her like butter and have my way with her.
