Years ago while visiting her grandmother during a summer in New Orleans, Nailah had snuck out of her Gram's shotgun shack one late afternoon and headed over to the bayou to catch some crawfish. She'd done this against her grandmother's expressed order to stay indoors that day. But Nailah had defied her grandmother, thinking that once she brought home all of that succulent crawfish her grandmother would forgive her disobedience. At least this time, anyway.
But instead of catching crawfish, Nailah nearly caught the teeth of a gator in her ass. The predator had hidden near the base of a cluster of bald cypresses and had broken through the low hanging branches, rushing at her. She'd temporarily stood frozen, the shock holding her in place. Then the gator snapped its teeth as it continued its beeline in her direction. The sound of the snapping teeth, the imagined feel of those teeth in her flesh, brought her out of her temporary stupor and she'd run like she'd never run before. But the gator was quick and she could hear it pursuing her, snapping at her all the way, at times making a hideous grunting sound.
Somehow she made it to the nearby road and as luck would have it, Mrs. Moore, her grandmother's neighbor, happened to be driving by and stopped her car to let Nailah in. After the neighbor brought her home, her Gram had lit into her with a sharp tongue and an even sharper belt.
Even then she had a way of getting herself into trouble. And an equally resilient way of getting herself out.
She prayed for some of that resilience right now as her kidnapper brought the bike to a stop in some low-budget motel parking lot. Doors fronted the lot, providing guests direct entrance to rooms without having to go through a common lobby. It was early evening and only a few cars were parked in the lot. Still, if she screamed now maybe someone would look out a window, see her distress and call the police.
"If you're thinking of making a move, don't," he said, evidently guessing her thought as he knelt to secure the bike, his back to her. Then he stood and turned to face her.
"If you try to run, I'll simply catch you. If you try to call the police, I'll know it."
She looked at him resentfully but said nothing.
"Look, I need you to stay cool, at least for a day or two. And then I'll try to get you out of this mess. If you try anything before that, we're both in a lot of shit."
A day or two? God, she couldn't bide this situation even one or two minutes more, let alone days.
"Why do you have to keep me that long? Why can't you let me go now?"
"Because I don't like the idea of a knife in my gut which is what will happen if I let you go now. You can give me looks all you want but lady I didn't get you in this mess. That's all on you. As a matter of fact, you should be thanking me for getting you this far without a bullet in the head."
"I'll thank you in spirit when I'm safe in my own home, far away from you and your buddies."
She hadn't expected the smile. It lessened the menace in his face, humanized him a bit. Then he shook his head.
"Let's get inside. That ripped shirt's gonna get too much attention."
He took her arm, guided her through the door.
Another dismal room, but this one a little neater and less funky than the other one back at that shit hovel. At least the bed was made.
He indicated the only chair in the room and she walked over, sat down.
"I'm sorry the guest quarters aren't more to your liking, but hostage situations are usually less than optimal."
"'Optimal?' Big word. Must've read a dictionary once in your life."
She didn't know why she was being so mean-spirited. He was trying to help her. But then again, she had a right to cop an attitude. She was effectively a kidnap victim and he might turn on her any minute.
A soft throaty laugh this time. Strangely, she liked the sound of it. He took off his denim jacket, tossed it on the floor.
"Witty. You must be the life of all those snooty cheese and wine parties you attend," he said as he settled on the edge of the bed, spread his jean clad legs.
"I don't go to wine and cheese parties."
"No? You look like you'd fit in well at one of those. Dressed up with makeup."
"Are we actually having a get-to-know-you conversation? You're holding me against my will."
"Only because you threw a piece of meat at me. God! What was up with the rib?"
"You and your pals almost ran me over! I had the light and you made me drop my lunch."
"Shit, all of this for a rib lunch? OK lady, let me personally apologize for my friends' propensity not to follow the rules of the road. They tend to be resistant to authoritarian laws."
"Oh, more big words. You must've done a lot of studying with cue cards. I'm surprised you could find time between the rapes and murders you probably pulled."
He'd been smiling somewhat up until that moment. "I don't rape women…or men for that matter. What happened at the house was the only way I could keep you alive. Otherwise Rez would have trounced you himself before slitting your throat."
She realized the truth of his words. She had immediately sized up the other biker as someone who would kill before he asked any questions. Most of the bikers had seemed equally murderous.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Actually you don't seem the type…not like the others, anyway. Why are you so different than the rest of them?
He shrugged, rose and walked to a little kitchenette area made up solely of a sink, a small microwave sitting on a chair and a mini refrigerator. He grabbed a glass from the one cabinet, ran the water in the glass then drank it in three swallows.
He turned to her. "Sorry for my bad manners. Want a glass?"
She shook her head.
"I don't want anything."
"Well, I'm going to have to feed you sooner or later. I'll probably go out for burgers later. You like In-N-Out?"
She didn't answer.
"You should try their "Double Double" burger. More meat than you can possibly fit into that pretty mouth of yours."
"What's that supposed to mean?" She sat up straight, suddenly suspicious. "If you're insinuating something…"
He held up a hand.
"Hold on, hold on. I'm not suggesting anything. Trust me, if I was expecting anything from you, I wouldn't simply imply it. I would tell you outright."
"So if I'm staying here tonight, where am I going to sleep?"
He nodded toward the bed.
"And where are you going to sleep?"
"Where I always sleep. My bed."
Her stomach did a somersault.
"I thought you said you didn't expect me to sleep with you."
"Oh, I expect you to sleep with me, alright. I just don't expect you to fuck me. Look, don't get your panties all twisted up. I can't take the chance of you taking off, so we're going to have to be handcuffed together. Nothing more than that, I promise."
"And why would I trust anything you say?"
For the first time in the hours she'd been kidnapped, she saw real anger on his face.
"Fuck! If I'd wanted to fuck you I would've done it back at the house! You're not here because I want you! You're here because I have no choice! It's my life…and yours! I'm not willing to die and mess up months of investigation…"
He cut off suddenly.
"Investigation?" she asked confused.
"Forget it! Just forget it!"
He paced the kitchen area for a few seconds. Then grabbed the jacket off the floor, held it out to her.
"Put this on. We're going out."
She took the jacket, held it like it had cooties hidden in its seams.
"Where're we going?" she asked.
"Does it matter?"
She bit back a snap. Not wise given the circumstances.
After a second, he said, "We're going to get something to eat. I'm hungry and you'll be hungry soon enough even
if you're not now. Don't need you starving to death."
"I don't want any burger."
"Too bad. 'Cause that's what you're getting."
She started to protest than thought better of, instead gingerly putting on his jacket. It was a few sizes too big and smelled of male musk. Surprisingly the smell wasn't offensive to her.
He opened the door, indicated with a wave of his arm that she should go out first. After he locked the door behind him, he straddled the bike. Unprompted, she took up position behind him. So strange how this was becoming a regular thing, almost normal somehow. Her life had changed so drastically in only a matter of hours.
He hit the throttle, took off with a roar. Instinctively, she clung hard to his waist. At times during the ride, she had to rest her face against his back to shelter her skin against the flailing wind. Years ago, she'd entertained the thought of getting a moped. After today, any lingering desire she'd had about becoming a speed queen was duly dashed. She'd be lucky if she ever want to get on a Schwinn two-speed again.
In a few minutes they were speeding down Sunset Boulevard. The rush hour traffic was already in full flux and the cars sat at a standstill. He deftly maneuvered between the standing vehicles, hardly slowing down, and always somehow making the lights. Soon they were at the telltale red-roofed white restaurant. He maneuvered into the drive-thru line, drove up to the speakers and ordered two Double Doubles, fries and strawberry shakes. She hated strawberries.
He grabbed the order at the window, paid the blond woman wearing a cutesy hat. The woman spared Nailah a glance which instantly turned into a questioning stare. To the woman, she and the biker probably made a strange pair. Nailah thought for a second that now was the time to give a signal, maybe even cry out. Maybe the woman had seen a news item about her kidnapping. Just as she'd decided to mouth a plea, it was already too late as he pulled off. And she mentally kicked herself for missing a vital opportunity.
Yes, he'd promised to keep her safe. But what good was the word of a gang member? Oh, he wasn't a Crip or a Blood, but in the end, he and his gang were no better. Straight up criminals. And her proven philosophy in life, criminals were never to be trusted.
They got back to the room and he led her in, his hands laden with bags. Inside, the smell of the food hit her, made her stomach rumble. She didn't want to admit to herself that she was hungry because it would give him a point. She resumed her seat on the chair. When he handed her the wrapped double burger with cheese, her mouth began salivating. She warily bit into the sandwich, hiding the pleasure of the taste of it. Had to keep from wolfing it down in several bites.
She still wore the jacket but didn't make a move to take it off if only because she didn't want to sit around in a torn tee. By now she had become accustomed to its smell, his smell. She was becoming accustomed to him. Still, she didn't relish the idea of lying next to him tonight or the next night.
She'd missed one opportunity. She wouldn't make that mistake again. If she was going to get away, she would have to make a move soon, at least before he handcuffed her and she was bound to him for the night.
He sat on the bed, chomping down his own burger, all of the bags set beside him. Without a word, he picked up a bag of fries, handed them to her. She took them, finished off her burger before tasting the first fries. Hot and salty the way she liked. Another point for him. Why did they have to taste so damn good?
Finally he handed her the shake. She hesitated then took the proffered cup. Although she hated strawberries she needed something cold to offset the heat of the room and the warmth of the hot food in her stomach. Surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as she'd thought it would be. Actually, it was kind of tasty. Damn. Strike three.
The thing about straws is that some have more pull than others. And this shake was particularly thick. She'd had to work her mouth to get the first taste up. Sometime during the third or fourth draw she realized he had stopped eating altogether and was sitting totally still. Staring at her. Or more specifically, at her lips working the straw. The look was fixed and disquieting. She stopped, the cold long cup still in her hand.
"What's your name, anyway?" he asked out of the blue, his stare locking her eyes. After all this time, he only now thought to ask.
"Nailah."
"Pretty name. How you spell that?"
"Why is that important? After all, you won't know me in a couple of days. And hopefully we won't ever cross paths again. Please God."
He was quiet again, his stare still unwavering.
"I guess your mother never taught you that it's impolite to stare at people like that."
"My mother didn't teach me a lot of things. She couldn't. She died before I was three."
She hadn't expected him to be so candid. That little tidbit was something she'd rather not know. She'd didn't want to know anything about him for that matter. It made him too human, made him seem something other than a biker creep capable of kidnapping and probably much, much worse. No, she didn't want to share sad tales. There'd be no Stockholm Syndrome for her.
At least he wasn't looking at her now, but was gathering up the empty bags and cartons around him. Good. She'd been surprised at her stomach's reaction to those dark eyes skewering her. Something like the fluttering she used to get back in school during the first giddy days of one of her crushes.
It didn't help that he had that unkempt dark looks going for him. He'd probably bedded every woman in that house. Especially those two blondes who'd looked as though they would murder her on the spot.
She definitely had to get away from here. From him.
He discarded the trash in a bin next to the bed. Still the smell lingered. Mixed with the smell of the jacket. She wouldn't forget these smells anytime soon…if she managed to get out of this mess alive.
"So what do we do now?" she asked. The sun wasn't due to set for hours. The thought of just sitting there was maddening. If he didn't kill her, she'd die of boredom.
He sat back down, this time with his back to the headrest. He leaned back, pulled his legs up on the bed, let them stretch out over the bottom of the bed. He was much taller than its length.
"Sorry I couldn't provide you better accommodations. I wasn't expecting any guests tonight. Since I don't have the bare necessities like a TV, we might as well talk."
"I don't want to talk."
"That's up to you. But I've found that time goes a lot faster when you're not just sitting around."
"So you've found that talking keeps your hostages happy?" She just couldn't seem to stop her tongue.
He chuckled softly. "You've got some lips on you. And you'll be honored to know that you're my first hostage."
"I feel so privileged."
"As well you should. I can be an engaging kidnapper when I want to be."
"So what's going to happen in two days that's going to allow you to release me?"
He was quiet for a few seconds before he finally answered.
"There's something that's got to go down first. Then all of this will come to an end. Just trust me."
"You're asking a whole lot of me."
"Yes, I know. And don't think I don't know how scared you are. I would be too in your position. To be honest, I'm scared for you, too."
"Well, that's very nice of you since it's you who's keeping me here now."
"I've told you why it's necessary. Don't relish dying."
She sat quietly for a minute. The thought of death – anyone's death, especially hers – was too disturbing to contemplate.
Curiosity began to nag her. "How did you become a gang member? I mean how did you join up with those hoodlums? They're so horrible. And you're…"
"I'm what?" He was looking at her again. And her stomach was doing that fluttering thing again, too.
She looked away from his eyes.
"You just seem to have more decency than them. You don't b
elong with them." She meant this last part.
"Is this you trying to save my soul? Turn me onto the right path?"
"I'm not trying to save anything. I was just stating what I thought was a fact. I'm not so sure now."
"Oh, so you're taking back the compliment."
"Oh fuck it. You're twisting everything I say."
"You're right. Sorry about that. It's just something I do. So Nailah, what are you when you're not being my hostage?"
"Why do you need my bio? The less you know about me the better."
"OK, no personal facts then. Let's talk about the weather. Or sports. How about those Packers?"
Silence.
"What, not a Packers fan? OK then let's talk about favorite pets. I had a bird once when I was about twelve. A parakeet. Had it for a full week…before my cat ate it. I still miss that bird."
She didn't know why the tears started. Maybe the stress had finally gotten to her. It was just that normal talk made her realize how abnormal everything was now.
He stopped, rose from his lounging position, walked over to her.
She stiffened as he placed a hand on either of her arms.
"Look, it is going to be OK. There's a lot going on, stuff that I can't tell you. And it's just bad luck that you got pulled into it."
A finger brushed at a tear. The finger was callused but the touch was surprisingly comforting. She felt at that moment that he was telling the truth.
But she still had to escape. One man couldn't outgun a whole gang. And if he took her back to them she would die. Or face something much worse. The memory of the simulated rape was horrible. The thought of a real gang bang was unfathomable. She'd rather die.
Ingenuity took over. Playing the soft damsel in distress could work for her.
"I hate the idea of being locked up. Even for just a few hours. Do you really have to handcuff me tonight?"
He straightened up, looked at her suspiciously.
"If I was going to run away, I would have already tried to. It's just that I miss my family. My mother's sick. And I do have a pet…a cat. And she's probably starving now. And now I have to deal with all of this. Please, do you really have to treat me like a hostage?"
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