by K. J. Dahlen
The dream dissolved this time leaving me standing in his hotel room. I braced myself, knowing if I fell, I’d shatter across the floor like painted glass. I couldn’t look away. He fucked her, but looked only at me.
The morning came far too quickly and with it, a flood of groggy questions that overflowed from my restless sleep.
Why did Remy give me his room key last night? Had he wanted me to watch him with another woman out of cruelty? Was that his way of punishing me? He saved me, raised me up just to watch me fall. Was he trying to see how much he could break me down?
Despite all of that and every rational thought in my head, why did I yearn to trust him so badly? Was he truly just the lesser of all evils, or was it something more?
Stockholm Syndrome.
That explained it. I listened for the rain, but it sounded like the storm was long since over. I wasn’t crazy for falling in love with a sadistic psychopath. I could get therapy for that, provided I survived long enough to do it.
My skin was bruised, my bones ached, and I was still exhausted. I felt terrible. At least the room was dry and warm, unlike still damp clothes. I should’ve taken them off last night before falling asleep, but I wasn’t thinking clearly.
It didn’t matter now.
I crept out of the small closet and saw through a window that the sun was still low in the sky. It was still early. I needed to leave before the bikers woke up. Maybe I could steal a car. It couldn’t be that hard, right?
The coast was clear, so at a brisk pace, I made my way toward a fire exit. Praying it wasn’t one of the alarmed doors as I pushed it open. Nothing. Thank God!
I had no idea how to actually break into cars, so I pulled at door handles until I found one of them that was unlocked. Okay, there had to be a set of keys on the floor or in the visor or glove compartment, somewhere.
There was nothing, no keys. Dammit!
“Well, now. You don’t look like the elderly black man that actually owns this vehicle.”
A sultry voice froze me in place. The voice belonged to the woman who owned the hotel and bar. I was pretty sure she went by the name of Muse.
I was also pretty sure I was fucked.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” I lied, backing my way out of the car.
“Oh, no?” She cocked her hips and shot me a look that saw through my bullshit. “Because it looked like you were trying to steal Mr. Holmes’ truck.”
Muse wore an elegant, if a little tight quarter-sleeved black blouse above the knee grey skirt with one inch heels. Her lips and nails were immaculate. Her black hair hung in layered waves that perfectly framed her face and the sun made her flawless, brown skin shine with warmth.
Basically, she looked as put-together as I was taken-apart.
“Listen, I’m so sorry. I need to get out of here. I was kidnapped—”
“I know who you are, Little Bird.” Muse’s voice sounded calm and empathic, as she looked me over. She held out a hand to guide me out of the truck. “C’mon on back inside. I’ll get you fixed up and into some dry clothes.”
“I can’t go back in there.” I raised my hand defensively. “I can’t.”
“You gotta trust me, honey.” Her eyebrows rose with motherly concern. “You’re safer in there with me than you are out here alone.”
I shivered at the thought of being discovered by any of the bikers, especially Top.
“It’s gonna be OK.” Muse dipped her head and leaned in closer.
I desperately needed to hear those words.
Cautiously, I took her silky hand and let her lead me back inside.
We walked through the lobby and into the breakfast dining area that was empty save for one couple who’d wrapped up eating. They’d started clearing their plates, but Muse had them leave it for the maid then filled the room with light, small talk pleasantries.
I scanned the room while she talked, planning an escape if necessary.
LCD TV was playing the news and morning talk shows hung mute on the wall separated by generic corporate paintings and a beautiful unlit fireplace. Soothing, morning ambiance music played through speakers. Plain but nice tile mosaic covered the floor, and the wooden tables were inlayed with granite.
How could this place exist next to such a scummy bar?
The smell of standard-fare continental breakfast food was amazing. My stomach growled angrily. When was the last time I ate?
“Poor dear. You must be famished,” Muse remarked, seeing me lustfully eye the discarded scraps of eggs and the half-eaten Belgian waffle on the couple’s plate. I didn’t even care about the used napkins and creamer packages littered on top.
“I am. May I?” My stomach grumbled, hunching me forward slightly as I looked longingly into the kitchen.
“In a moment. I want the staff to make a fresh batch.” Muse winked as she poured me a cup of tea and sat me down at a table.
My stomach groaned and twisted. Waiting was torture, but I didn’t want to argue with her generosity.
“So tell me, little bird, how is it that you are joining me for breakfast today?” Muse crossed her long legs and sipped her tea, her beautiful almond eyes flared with curious, playfulness. It reminded me of a cat, sizing up a caged canary. “The boys usually don’t bring in too many strays.”
We chatted and before I knew it, she’d pried open my floodgates. I told her everything about the Steel Veins showing up at my aunt and uncle’s gas station, the shooting, and most of what happened with Top last night. I didn’t tell her about Remy for some reason. I wasn’t sure why I kept our interactions to myself.
“Oh, you poor dear. That’s horrible.” Muse laid a hand over mine, consoling me. She then glanced into the kitchen. “I bet you they’re done in there. You wait right here, Little Bird, and I’ll fix you up some breakfast.”
The second she was gone, I scanned the room. It was almost impossible not to like Muse, but after last night, I couldn’t take any chances. I spotted a phone on the wall by the concierge desk. I scurried over as quickly, and more importantly—as quietly, as I could.
I hesitated for a moment, struck by a new anxiety. This was the first time I’d ever called the police. Was there a certain way you were supposed to say things? I chastised myself for getting hung up on stupid, little things and dialed the number.
You don’t have the luxury of being scared anymore.
Right away, a dispatcher picked up, “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“Hello? Hi. I’m at the Crowne Rock Hotel,” I whispered as loudly as I dared, my eyes darting frantically around the room for signs of movement. “I need help! There’s these bikers here. They’re trying to kill me and—”
“So Star, is it?” Muse called out from the kitchen. “I like that name.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I hung up in a blind panic, but didn’t actually see her. She must’ve not finished plating my food yet. Small miracles. I slunk back to the table, hoping that was enough of a message for the police to come and not think it was some kind of prank. Along the way, I grabbed the serrated knife the couple had left with their dirty plate, then stuffed it in my pocket.
“My girls tell me you had quite the eventful night.” Muse appeared a moment later with a plate of eggs, bacon, and a Belgian waffle that looked incredible.
“Eventful. I guess you could call it that.” It was eventful in the same way being eaten by shark was a fishing accident. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I got your name.”
“I’m Mercy, but the boys all call me Muse because I inspire them to be such upstanding members of society.” She cocked her head, overtly reveling in self-deprecation.
I choked swallowing my food, and started down a coughing fit. When I was able to collect myself, I realized I was actually smiling. That’s exactly what I needed right now, some food and mercy...“Mercy…” I gulped down some tea to clear my throat, but just ended up scalding myself. “…Mercy is such a pretty name.”
“Why thank you, sweetness.
I of course, would love to take all the credit for it, but my parents in Georgia might be none too pleased if I did.” Muse fluttered her eyelashes appreciatively, before getting up to bring me some juice. “Tell me, who did you ride in with?”
“Remy,” I blurted out in between heaping mouthfuls. I forced myself to slow down despite my growling stomach. “Do you know him?”
“Oh Little Bird, I know everyone.”
If Mercy could thrive in this barbaric world, I didn’t doubt that she did.
She smiled hungrily. “Now, Remy…There’s a dangerous boy.”
“They all looked pretty dangerous to me.” My mood took a dark turn as I remembered where I was. I wouldn’t be safe until this place was a distant memory. Maybe not even then—or ever again.
“You say Remy brought you here? Interesting.”
“Why?” Despite my hunger, I slowed down and just picked at my plate to give her a little more attention. I was curious as to what she could tell me about him.
“Out of all of them, he’s the least likely to wrap himself in…shall we say, the troubles of others. Although...” Muse flashed me an odd look, like she’d suddenly remembered an actor’s name that’d been on the tip of her tongue all day.
“What?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, sweetness. You just remind me of someone Remy used to bring here a lot. Back when the Steel Veins first started showing up.”
“Who?”
“A pretty little thing named Maria, but that was a lifetime ago. The Veins were a different club back then.”
“Maria...” I said the word aloud absently. Was that why he took me? “Who was—”
“Oh, Star-honey, that’s none of my business. Best we don’t talk about that.” She patted my knee in a polite, but assertive way that told me in no uncertain terms that the conversation about Remy’s past was over. “Remy is a complicated man.”
Was she afraid of Remy? Muse didn’t strike me as a person who could be intimidated. “I’m beginning to see that. I don’t know what to make of him. He’s so guarded, but I think there’s a decent man in there somewhere. Or there might have been at one time. He saved me from that...man.” I caught myself. Muse and Top knew each other so I’d have to choose my words carefully. “I don’t know his real name, everyone just calls him Top. I don’t think I’d be alive right now, if Remy hadn’t gotten me out of that bar last night. That was some pretty serious shit.” A shiver tore through me, the scene replayed in my mind. That giant’s grizzly hands tearing through my clothes like paper. I shivered again.
“I know. My bar is going to need quite a bit of work.” Muse frowned. A subtle severity crept into her features, but only for a moment, before it was replaced again by her sympathetic smile. “Poor dear, it’s okay, you’re safe. That’s over now.”
I desperately wanted to believe her.
The conversation became lighter and easier as I finished breakfast. We were even able to joke a little bit. It felt like I was having tea with a friend I hadn’t seen in forever and that was such a good feeling. Maybe it was going to be okay after all.
I even managed to not think about Remy, at least for a little while.
She’d said the nearest town was an hour’s drive and that she’d be able to bring me there in a few days when she picked up groceries for the hotel. The thought of being stuck out here that long twisted my organs into knots, but Muse promised to put me to work cleaning the rooms.
“No one ever looks twice at the maids,” she said, before handing me a little sign-up cash. When I was abducted I didn’t have anything with me, no phone, no money, or ID. It felt good to stuff something into my pockets again.
Something other than a stolen steak knife.
Although Mercy said she didn’t know for certain, she figured the bikers would probably be gone tomorrow regardless. Most of them had civilian jobs and had to be back home for the work week. If I just kept my head down for another day or so, I’d be fine. “Excuse me a moment, Little Bird. I can’t have an employee wearing soggy clothes.” Mercy winked at me and waved down one of her girls that walked by. They talked over by the concierge desk as I finished my tea.
I’d never cleaned rooms before, aside from my own. It couldn’t be that difficult. Besides, I could stay busy and not be in that bar.
Mercy came back with a housekeeping outfit—a pair of khakis and a brown collared shirt—then took me to a room to shower and change. The clothes didn’t fit great but they were dry and at this point, that was all I cared about. When I had cleaned myself up, I met my new “mentor” one floor up in the middle of cleaning a particularly trashed room.
Gloria was the woman’s name. She was a Latino woman in her late fifties who didn’t speak a word of English. My pitiful high school Spanish was seriously put to the test, but Gloria was all warm smiles.
I struggled through sentences, outright butchering words until I became so flustered, I ended up acting out the points I was trying to make. Gloria nodded emphatically and before long, we worked out a system.
“Mira. Mira,” she repeated. She’d hold up a finger and then make the vacuuming motion, then run off to the bathroom where she would hold up a second finger and feign scrubbing.
I watched the way she cleaned first, then she watched me to make sure I was doing it thoroughly enough. The woman was so efficient and clearly took some measure of pride in her work.
Not being able to speak my language didn’t stop the wonderful woman from making very simple jokes about very smelly customers that even I was able to understand. She’d plug her nose and wave away the fake stench, and then she would laugh, and laugh, which in turn made me laugh. I wasn’t laughing at her, I was laughing with her.
Gloria had a little radio with her that played cheerful salsa music, and used the melody to dance around the room as she cleaned. She swept, dusted, mopped and made the bed, which I immediately had to touch because it looked so perfect. She was quick to playfully slap my hand and make the tsk tsk sound as she cocked one finger back and forth.
My smile beamed as I backed away, apologizing.
She palmed her forehead and gave me an exaggerated sigh, before bumping me with her butt and dancing back to work.
Gloria seemed to have this boundless joy within her. I loved it. It was the first time during all this insanity that I felt a sincere level of comfort, like I’d just woken up from an extremely vivid nightmare. It was all so delightfully mundane.
It was so nice to see someone so full of life in a miserable place like this. She was such a beautiful woman. Begrudgingly, it gave me a little hope that yes, this would all be over soon and yes, everything would be okay.
Almost through the first room, Gloria’s seemingly fixed, pleasant smile eroded, and her dancing stopped.
A figure was leaning in the doorway.
It was Remy and immediately my pulse began to quicken.
His presence alone seemed to drain the light from the room.
“Qué quieres? Estamos trabajando.” Gloria protectively stepped between me and Remy.
Seeing Remy there was stark reminder that my normal wasn’t here. It felt like someone sucked the very air from my lungs. He wore his black denim pants and a dark grey collared shirt with the buttons undone. His sculpted, naked chest beneath the loose fabric sent tingles down my thighs. His red rimmed eyes and lazy posture spoke volumes to what was probably a severe hangover.
“Sal un momento, necesito hablar con Star.”
Remy knew Spanish?
“No. Ella está trabajando y no tiene tiempo para desperdiciar con motociclistas.” Gloria sounded really defensive. I could tell she was trying to protect me.
“No te preocupes, sere buena. Seguro que a Muse no le interesará. Después de todo, el cliente siempre tiene la razón. Y ahora mismo yo soy el cliente.” Remy pulled out a hundred dollar bill.
Gloria turned back to me with upturned eyes, looking worried.
I gave her a weak smile and nodded to her that it was okay.
<
br /> “Diez minutos.” She regarded Remy with the eyes of a mother bear facing down a hunter, then slapped away his outstretched hand. “No quiero tu asqueroso dinero. Dáselo a la chica.” Gloria brushed past him with a considerable amount of disdain. Just before she stepped out of the room, she tapped her wrist and held up both hands, fingers stretched wide.
I was pretty sure she was telling me she’d be back in ten minutes.
Remy took me in with his tired eyes for a long moment before advancing.
If my face hadn’t betrayed my worry my legs certainly did, because before I knew it my butt hit the wall behind me. I was finished retreating, apparently.
He didn’t say a word he just advanced.
I wasn’t willing to let him drag me away from my normal life, at least not without a fight. “Stay back!” I dug the knife out of my pocket and waved it at him.
Remy smirked and walked forward. He was completely unfazed, even after the long, shallow slice I put on his chest. With startling dexterity, he grabbed my wrist and discarded the knife as if he was removing a child’s plaything. Then he bound my arms to my sides.
His chest blossomed red, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Those piercing brown eyes, so dark they might as well have been black, tore through me with laser precision.
I was paralyzed by his grip, and hypnotized in his gaze.
He said nothing.
After an agonizing silence he leaned in, the long stubble from his chin grazed across my cheek.
Goosebumps ran down my spine. His hot breath prickled my ear as he finally spoke.
“Don’t trust Muse.” His throaty voice rumbled into my ear, then worked its way through my entire body as a full shiver.
My body lit up at the points where we connected, growing hot. His knee on my outer thigh, his bicep pressed into my breast. The heat that emanated off him was almost enough to make me swoon. Damn, this man and what he could do to me.
“She helped me.” All the strength I had left poured from me to keep my voice from cracking.
Remy hadn’t showered yet, his scent was thick and manly. I should’ve been repulsed, but I drank it in. My eyes closed, I let it—him—permeate me. He reeked of raw, carnal masculinity.
