Spiked Lemonade: A Bad Boy Sailor and a Good Girl Romantic Comedy Standalone

by Ryan, Shari J.

  As I stand back up, waiting for him to pull my pants back up over my hips, he tears the duct tape from my mouth and smashes his lips against mine. The taste of rotten breath mixed with a mint gum nauseates my already upset and starved stomach. I used to kiss this man for pleasure, and now he feels like a burning poison against my mouth. As he pulls away and my eyes dare to peel open, he utters, “I missed my girl, Sasha. We were a team. We are a team. We were always in this thing together, so what made you switch teams?”

  “Switch teams?” I question with confusion. I was never on his team. I didn’t know what he was up to, so how could I be? I thought he was simply a chef at a restaurant. Come to find out, he’s doing dirty jobs to earn money on the side.

  “You know what I mean,” he grunts while pulling me back to the car by the links between the cuffs. The pain from the metal rubbing against my bone is nearly unbearable, and I want to kick him and do to him what he’s done to me, but I’m worried I don’t have the strength to fight him. He’s much taller and might have at least a hundred pounds on me. Still, this might be my only chance.

  As much as it hurts, I ignore the pain and yank my wrists, something he wasn’t expecting. He doesn’t release his grip, but he turns around to see what I’m doing. It’s now or never. “What are you doing?” he asks, confused as to why I’d fight him at all.

  “What am I doing?” I ask. “Really, Landon?”

  He places his hands around my shoulders in an endearing way, unknowingly making what I have to do so much easier. “Is this because I put duct tape over your pretty lips?”

  I try not to narrow my eyes and look at him the way I want to look at him right now, but how does someone hide their true self like this for years and suddenly come out of the closet as a psycho nut-case. Is he that good at games or am I that naive? I’d hate to think the latter.

  Cali has told me many stories of her tricks and games with pushing an ex off a cliff, maybe more literally than I’d like to believe, but if I’ve learned anything from her, it’s to make a man feel weak and then crush him. She told me it works every time. If I was to ever believe her and take her words of wisdom as a lifesaving technique, the time would be now.

  “How could you do this to me?” I force through a cry. “Don’t you know how much I love you? And you felt the need to do this to me?”

  “I didn’t think you’d go willingly, baby,” he says, running the back of his hand up and down my hot cheek.

  “I feel like I don’t know you anymore, Landon. One day we’re making plans to get married, and the next you’re using me as bait just to make a little extra cash. How could you?” I ask, looking straight into his eyes, seeking a truth I know he won’t ever give me.

  “I wanted the extra money for the ring I promised you. I wanted to give you the wedding you had been dreaming about. Is it so wrong to want to give your girl everything?” For a half a second, I believe him. For a second I almost forgot how many times Cali has told me to know everyone and trust no one. I thought Landon was that exception. He’s not. He’s as bad as all of Cali’s ex-boyfriends. They all want something. They’re all after something I know nothing about and I probably never will. I just know there is a goldmine of some sort somewhere, and Cali knows where it is. Because I’ve been associated with her and her family for so long, I have become bait just as she has been her whole life. Bait that for some reason people think will lead to her father and whatever he has that is so important. I don’t get it. I don’t understand. I know nothing. and I don’t want to know. Cali has told me many times that knowing is dangerous. I listened. I agreed. And I never asked for this.

  Forcing a smile, as if I’m eating up every one of his last words, I rest my head up against his chest and mutter, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. All you have to do is help me and we’ll use the money together. We’ll run away and start our lives and want for nothing. Can we do that? Can you help me?”

  “I can help you,” I whisper.

  His face lowers, and his lips press against the top of my head. I squeeze my eyes shut, bend my knees a little and jump as hard as I can, smashing the top of my head right into his jaw. The pain is nothing against the release of endorphins swimming through my adrenalized gut. I kick my knee into his balls and shove my shoulder into his rib cage, forcing him to fall to his knees. Lastly, I give another good kick, knowing full well what Tango and Jags did to Landon weeks ago. I know he’s recovering from bullet wounds in his legs and his shoulder, so I don’t know how he’s had the energy to drive around and continue this chase but, whatever. I kick him again, and he’s turning white, probably from the pain, which makes me want to keep kicking him. There’s blood dripping from his mouth, and he’s now curled up in a fetal position on the dirt ground. Considering my hands are still cuffed, I won’t be able to take his car, but I start running. I’ll run until I pass out at this point. I’ll run until I die because at least I know I’ll have died trying.

  Running without my arms is difficult, a struggle I hadn’t imagined fighting against. The air is thick today and the sun is hotter than its normal blazing temperatures. My skin is burning, and I need water badly. What’s worse is this highway is dead, and there isn’t a car or a person in sight, but there’s a sign ahead, and I’m praying it’s to warn of a nearby exit or gas station.

  As I approach it, though, I’m gutted to see a sign that says twenty miles to the next rest area. I won’t make it twenty miles, and if I did, it would be dark, and I’ll be eaten by a frigging coyote or something. Fear is still running through me, though, and adrenaline keeps me running at a fast enough to pace to put as much space between Landon and me as possible. Although, he has a car and I don’t, which makes this rat race almost impossible to finish when he finds his feet again.

  I have no way to measure the distance I have already gone, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find out it has been less than a mile. Sports and physical activity haven’t ever been my strong point. If you ask my mother, a woman’s physical activity is in the house: folding, cleaning, cooking, and prancing around her man. Every day of my life up until I moved out a few years ago. she was training me to be someone’s housewife. I hardly knew how to pay a bill on my own or pump gas. I can paint my nails with my eyes closed, but so far that hasn’t gotten me very far in life.

  Today will probably be the end for me, and I’ve accomplished nothing except breaking a few of my own rules these past few weeks with Jags. At least someone has made me laugh and smile. I guess I can be thankful for that. He’s made me live a little but I’ve recently decided I want to live a whole lot, and now I’m running down a highway surrounded by nothing but barren desert, with handcuffs around my wrists. This is like a scene from a bad movie.

  With the sound of my own footsteps crowding the air around me, I don’t hear an oncoming car until it’s too close to run from. Though, running from an oncoming car on this road would be like running into a middle of a battlefield holding a white flag. You can see anything and everything for miles.

  The car slows as it approaches me. If it’s Landon, he’s obviously going to throw me back in the car. If it’s anyone else, they’re probably a little freaked out to see some girl running down a highway with handcuffs on.

  “Ma’am, do you need help?” I look toward the vehicle, finding a rusty old pick-up truck and an unkempt man with a straw hat. I’m officially a hitchhiker and yet, anytime I’ve seen some cruddy looking man or woman walking backward down the street with their thumb in the air, I’ve curled my lip and pressed a little firmer on the gas. I don’t deserve kindness. Then again, who’s to say he’s kind. He could be just as bad as Landon, or worse. If that’s possible.

  I’m in handcuffs. I do need help.

  “Is there any chance you could take me to the nearest gas station?” I ask, breathlessly.

  The man leans over and opens the passenger side door for me, and I walk closer while praying to God
he doesn’t have a gun, knife or something else to hurt me. His truck is lifted higher than a normal truck, and I’m not sure how to get up without my hands.

  The man notices, though, and reaches for my arm. “Place your foot up on the running-board, and press up when I say so.” I do as he says and he pulls as I press up, trying to keep as much pressure from my wrists as possible.

  Once I’m inside the truck, the man leans across me and closes the door. “What’s your story, girl?”

  “My ex works for some bad people. Evidently, I somehow ended up with a dollar sign on my head and his love for me just couldn’t compare,” I explain in as brief a way as possible.

  “I’ve heard that story too many times,” he says, lifting the gear into drive. He has? Here I thought being kidnapped by my own boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, wasn’t normal. “We live in a sick world.” The way he says “sick world”, and the way he’s still looking at me while driving, makes the pains in my stomach return.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” I mutter below my breath.

  “I’m not that type,” he says, with a confidence that doesn’t make me feel much better.

  Fifteen miles. A lot can happen in fifteen miles.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, trying to start a conversation that could remain civil for the twenty-minute drive I need to survive.

  “Manny,” he says. “And you?”

  “Lara,” I tell him. No need for real names right now.

  “That’s a pretty name, Lara.”

  “What do you do for a living?” I ask, keeping the conversation rolling.

  “I’m a drug importer.”

  I laugh quietly at his joke, looking over to find nothing but a straight line across his lips. “Oh, you’re serious.”

  “Serious, Ma’am.”

  I bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself from saying anything else. I’m in the car with a criminal. This must be my new kind of luck. I escape one loon, only to end up in an enclosed vehicle with another. Is this some kind of nightmare? If so, I’d love to just wake up right now.

  “Fascinating,” I finally say, holding my gaze out the dirty window.

  “I’m kidding. I’m actually a soldier, home on leave for a few days.”

  “For real?” I ask, looking over at him, feeling the slightest bit of comfort. After being around Tango and Jags now for a bit, there’s something to be said about being in the presence of a man in the military. “Heading to Mexico?”

  “Yes, Ma’am, just across the border at Del Rizo. Meeting my lady there.” And he has a girlfriend. Thank goodness. Not that he should have been looking at me the way he was just a few moments ago but I’ll let it slide.

  “My boyfriend was in the Navy, he was a corpsman and traveled alongside the Marines for eight years. He’s probably going nuts looking for me right now.”

  “I thought you said your boyfriend was the man who just put you in cuffs?”

  “Ex,” I correct him. “My life is a mess right now.”

  “I’d say so,” he laughs. “Let me help you find your man. I got a cell. You have his number?” I think for a minute, realizing I’m such a dumb-butt. I’m so good at putting phone numbers in my phone and not so good at remembering anyone’s number. I’m not usually without my phone, but I didn’t really have a chance to grab it as Landon dragged me out of the house earlier.

  “I don’t have my phone and…”

  “No one knows anyone’s numbers these days, hun, I understand that,” he laughs. “Do you know anyone’s number, just so someone can help you?”

  “I do,” I tell him. “Cali’s number is one I remember. It hasn’t changed in six years now, so I made a point to finally remember it.”

  He leans to the side and his shirt separates from his waist a bit, showcasing a pistol. The sight of it makes my heart flutter but it shouldn’t. He’s a soldier. We’re in Texas, and this shouldn’t be a surprise. Everyone around here has guns. Now, if I could just repeat that to myself over and over for the next however many minutes I’m in the truck with this man, everything will be okay.

  He slips his phone out of his pocket and hands it over to me. I quickly dial Cali’s number and press the phone to my ear. It doesn’t even ring.

  “Who is this?” she answers.

  “It’s me,” I respond.

  “Where the hell are you? The locks are broken at the house, and shit is everywhere. Please tell me you’re okay,” Cali shouts so loudly, I’m not a hundred percent sure I heard every one of her questions and statements.

  “I’m not okay. I’m heading toward Mexico, somewhere. It was Landon. I got away, but now I’m with some soldier, Manny, in a truck going to…”

  “Del Rizo,” he whispers. “And I’m not just some soldier. I’m a Sergeant, in case you were wondering.”

  “Holy fuck, Sasha. Okay. Where can we find you?” she asks, while I hear Jags yelling in the background. “He wants to know why you didn’t call him?”

  Right now, seriously? “I don’t have my phone! And I didn’t memorize…”

  “It’s fine,” she says. Except Jags is yelling that “it’s not fine” in the background. “I need her coordinates. I need her exact location. I want his ranking. I want this man’s name. Why are they almost in fucking Mexico?” Jags is still yelling. The phone wrestles against something and I hear Jags breathe into the phone. “Where are you, doll-face? Tell me you’re okay. Tell me that dickwad didn’t lay a finger on you.” I can’t tell him any of that. I’m not okay. I’m scared to death. My wrists are bleeding. Everything hurts. And all I want is to see is Jags’s face. I want him to tell me this will all end well, but he’s freaking out. Cali’s freaking out. Tango’s yelling at someone in the background too, and that’s scary to me.

  “The man said we’re heading to Del Rizo, off of 140. We’re going to the nearest gas station, I guess in that town, and he’s dropping me off there.”

  “I’ll wait with your girl until you get there,” Manny shouts over me. “I’m Sergeant Manny Ralph. I’m stationed at Camp Bullis, and I’m on leave for a week. I’m driving a black 1975 Chevy Pickup with the license plate 703AL4.” I thought the truck was blue and I didn’t think it was that old.

  “Jesus. Don’t trust him,” Jags says. “He wouldn’t be stationed there; just don’t trust him. Don’t trust anyone, you understand?”

  “Yes,” I say quietly.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can, doll-face. I’ve been going crazy looking for you.” His compassion for me makes my heart swell, and it makes me feel protected, even if I’m still in a lot of trouble right now. “You’re about four hours south of here. It’s going to take me a bit.”

  I’m not sitting with this soldier for the next four hours in a gas station. “Jags, I should find a hotel or something and wait for you there.”

  “No, I don’t want that man taking you to a hotel, Sasha.”

  “All he did was help me off the side of the road,” I explain.

  “No!” he snaps. “No, you understand me? Sasha, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, okay? Just please wait at the gas station until I get there.”

  “It’s fine,” Manny says. “I’m not meeting my girl until tomorrow morning. I can wait with you.”

  “I don’t like him,” Jags says softly into the phone.

  I’m not going to argue with him on this man’s phone, so I tell him, “Okay.”

  By the time I end the call, we’re pulling into the gas station, which is attached to a diner, where I see myself sitting for the next four hours.

  The moment the truck is shifted into park, Manny looks over at me and grins against his yellowing teeth. “I’m not really a soldier,” he says, taking his phone back. “I’m sorry I lied.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THREE HOURS AND TWENTY-TWO LONG-ASS MINUTES LATER

  JAGS

  I DON’T TRUST that dipshit. I don’t care how good of a man he is to pi
ck up a pretty blonde on the side of the road, I don’t trust him. While whipping into the parking lot of the gas station where Sasha told me she’d be, I take inventory of every vehicle in the lot, not seeing a truck. The sinking feeling I’ve had in my gut since the second I saw the opened door of Tango’s house, has just grown larger. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that dick, but I had no choice.

  I park in front of the diner and run inside, scanning the place from right to left. At the last table on the left, I see a blonde-haired chick with her back facing me. The dude facing her has a stupid smirk etched over his crooked features, and the dark look in his eyes doesn’t sit well with me. That’s gotta be them. I run down the row of tables and place my hand on the girl’s shoulder, but I’m immediately disappointed when she turns around with a pair of brown eyes that don’t belong to the girl that I have ridiculously fallen for.

  “Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” I tell her as the man stands up from his seat.

  “No problem,” she says sweetly. The guy isn’t being so sweet, though.

  “What’s your deal, bro?”

  I raise a brow. “Chill, man. It was a mistake.” The guy eases and sits back down in his booth.

  “Jags?” I hear her voice; the voice I’ve wanted to hear in person all fucking day.

  I turn around and find Sasha running toward me with open arms and tears in her eyes. She’s a mess, and her wrists are cut up and bloody. The anger already brewing is in a full-blown boil right now, and there’s not much getting in the way of me hunting Landon down, then killing him slowly and in the most painful way.

  I lift her up, and her legs wrap around my waist as she squeezes the life out of me. Her head is draped over my shoulder, and her arms are tight around my neck. I carry Sasha out of the diner and over to my car where I place her down on the hood. My hands find her face, forcing her to look at me. “Where’s the guy who picked you up?”