by Ana Sparks
She fidgeted at my side, and I breathed a sigh before unfastening my seatbelt and stepping out of the car. She was quick to follow, lurching out of the passenger side of the SUV with a grin on her face.
“This is the place?” she asked, much more exuberant than the situation called for.
I offered her a smile, circling around the car to offer her my arm.
“Yep, this is it. Home sweet home, for a while,” I said carefully.
She squealed with delight, all but dragging me towards the front entrance of the building. I tried to refrain from laughing, internally cringing at how open I’d been with the girl. She was my prisoner when it came down to it, and I was slowly realizing that the fantasies I’d been having about her would have to remain just that.
I’d not intended to take her first kiss, and for all the banter we’d lobbed back and forth about it, I felt immeasurably guilty.
“What are you waiting for? I have no idea where I’m going; lead the way,” she eagerly requested—well, more like demanded.
I shook off my negative thoughts, focusing on leading my cheery captive to her new cage, as it were. We strode arm in arm through the complex, with Emily oohing and ahhing somewhat strangely every time we passed something of interest.
“All right, this should be it,” I laughed, unlocking the door and pushing my way inside.
Emily nearly bowled me over trying to get past me to get a look at the interior. Once inside, she stood in the middle of the small living area, examining the room with an intent expression.
“Is it everything you hoped for?” I asked, prepared for her disappointed pout or disgust-wrinkled nose.
“It’s quaint! It’s perfect,” she sighed dreamily, walking towards the ripped sofa and sitting delicately on the middle cushion.
“This is the most uncomfortable sofa I’ve ever sat on,” she said, as if it were the happiest experience of her life. “Can you believe it? The floor of my old apartment was more comfortable than this,” she continued, patting the seat next to her.
I might have found her actions borderline insane if I didn’t know how sheltered her life had been prior to that moment. As it stood, I resigned myself to sitting in squalor beside her.
“There’s a spring poking my ass,” I declared, and she laughed, winking slyly at me.
“Wanna switch? I could use a good poke,” she all but purred, and I outright guffawed in response.
“Easy, tiger. You gotta learn to walk before signing up for a marathon,” I said, feeling a bit flustered at the expression she was facing me with.
It looked as if she would like nothing more than to eat me alive, and I realized I would have to rein the situation in a bit. As much as I’d have liked to screw her on that sad excuse for a sofa, I had to keep the mission in mind. Strange how all I’d fantasized about was essentially being spread before me, but I was forced to resist for the sake of my job. For her sake, as well, truth be told.
As much as I lusted for the girl, I was certain that she was too innocent to take a one-night stand at face value. Especially when we’d be forced to stay together until I turned her in to the FBI.
“So, about that poking…” she began, and I swallowed a retort, instead rising from the sofa and gesturing to my seat.
“Help yourself. I’m going to make some dinner for the two of us. Just don’t expect anything too fancy; I don’t know when the last time they stocked this place was,” I said in a rush, walking briskly into the kitchenette.
There weren’t too many amenities in the place, but as I rummaged through the cabinets, I figured I could throw together a pot of mac and cheese. It was just the boxed junk that kids love, but I had to admit it was a guilty pleasure of mine. If I couldn’t enjoy one guilty pleasure, all the better to replace it with something a bit more acceptable.
“Do you need any help?” Emily asked from the entry to the kitchen, leaning across the bar that partially separated it from the living room.
I forced my eyes away from her breasts, which she seemed so keen on having displayed. I wasn’t a fool by any means; I knew when someone was trying to seduce me. It was simply a matter of resisting her charms, and thank God that I was a stronger man than most. She certainly knew how to work what charms she had, and it was all I could do not to sweep her up in another stolen kiss.
“No, I’ve got it. You can come and sit, though. It shouldn’t take long,” I offered, pouring the noodles into the pot to boil.
She watched with obvious fascination, blessedly distracted from her innocent little surge of hormones for the time being. Her eyes were alight with delight, and I tried to ignore the little tingles of arousal rushing through me. She was so adorable it almost felt sinful to be so attracted to her. I managed to get it under control, focusing on the task of cooking.
Draining the excess water from the noodles, I poured in the powdery cheese sauce and stirred dutifully. The smell was tantalizing, even if the visual probably wasn’t nearly as extravagant as she was used to. I grabbed two bowls from the cupboard, scooping a heaping helping of macaroni into each of them.
She actually trembled with excitement when I placed her bowl in front of her, pressing a fork into her hand.
“This…is dinner?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yup. Eat up, buttercup,” I said, digging into my own bowl.
She hesitated for a moment, then dipped her fork into the bowl. Her lips parted, and I found myself watching with baited breath as she took the first bite. A low rumble of pleasure thrummed from her throat, and another surge of arousal shot through me.
“It’s so good,” she mumbled, eagerly taking another bite, then another. I watched in fascination as she polished off the whole bowl, resting her hand on her stomach with a content smile. “That’s quite possibly the best meal I’ve ever had,” she said, grinning goofily.
“You act like you’ve never had mac and cheese before,” I teased, and she smiled a bit strangely.
“Nothing like this,” she replied, staring longingly at my bowl. Realizing I wasn’t all that hungry, I handed her over the second helping. It wasn’t like I could resist those puppy dog eyes, even if I wanted to.
“I can’t believe you can say this old cruddy box of macaroni is the best meal you’ve ever had,” I chuckled.
She paused in the middle of taking another bite, swallowing what was in her mouth and giggling.
“It’s my first meal as a free woman. Don’t you think that deserves to be celebrated?” she asked.
My heart nearly broke in two, and I certainly wasn’t about to tell her that she wasn’t free—not by any means. I simply nodded, sitting opposite her at the table and watching her eat. If she was self-conscious, she gave no indication, simply humming along and enjoying her meal.
“You’ve never had stuff like this? Not even as a kid?” I asked, resting my elbow on the table.
“My dad always saw that every meal was eaten at or catered by some five-star establishment. I’ve eaten food prepared by some of the best chefs in the country, but…it was all handed to me. There was no joy in it,” she mumbled.
I nodded slowly, realizing that her life had been lived in a bubble, similar but completely unlike the one I knew in West Virginia. I couldn’t exactly blame her for wanting to escape. Who could? The girl never even had mac and cheese out of a cardboard box!
“My dad was strict, too. I’ve mentioned him—a real sour sort of guy. He wanted me to take over the convenience store he ran in town, but I wanted more than that life could give me, ya know?” I confessed, the words spilling past my lips unbidden.
She nodded, reaching out to grip my free hand in her own.
“So, you joined the military to get away? Would you say you’re happy with the way your life is turning out?” she asked gently, as if she almost knew the answer.
I laughed somewhat bitterly, giving her hand a squeeze in spite of myself.
“It’s… I’ve seen a lot of things in my lifetime. Different countries, the m
ajority of the United States…but I’ve never really had someone to share it with. I’ve never had a meaningful relationship in my life, parents aside. As much as my dad pushed me, I knew he did it with love. I’ve started to think love isn’t in the cards for a guy like me,” I continued, feeling strangely vulnerable under her attentive gaze.
“I’m sure that’s not true, Owen. Any woman would be lucky…” she trailed off, looking almost pained.
I knew, in that moment, that the girl had it bad for me, and truth be told, I was beginning to feel a little something more than lust myself. I also knew it was foolish to allow Emily to get so close to me, to puncture my personal bubble.
That was the thing about living in a bubble—you thought you were safe until you realized how fragile your foundation really was. Emily’s affection cut me to the bone because, God, did I want to show her that same tenderness.
The reality of the situation was that I’d have to turn her in to the feds in a short matter of time. I would likely never see her again, and while I’d have the comfort of a job well done, I couldn’t help feeling as if I was missing out on something more—something better.
“Well, I’ll get these washed up while you explore the place some more. You should check out your room, you know,” I muttered, taking the bowls to the sink.
I felt her eyes on me for a long moment until she sighed and obligingly shuffled away. Once she’d disappeared, I found myself immediately missing her presence.
Christ, I was in trouble.
Chapter 13
Emily
As I stepped out of the kitchen, I decided that it was time to get my thoughts in order, once and for all. I had to decide what path I was going to take regarding my father. I had to deliberate on whether I was willing to turn him in, just for the chance at a better life for myself.
It seemed selfish, almost like taking the easy way out. Although, what Owen had said was true; he could get the help he needed in prison. I could be helping him, in a way. Not a way he’d necessarily enjoy, but if it was what was best for him…
Then again, when had I ever known what was best for anyone? My father had always seemed to think that taking me away to Guam was the best decision for me. For a time, I’d believed him.
Had so much changed that he was wrong and this new way of thinking was suddenly right? Was I just being self-centered? Had Owen somehow warped my way of thinking? Nothing seemed to make sense in that moment, so I retrieved the bag that had my photo album wrapped protectively inside.
Withdrawing the book, I flipped open to the first page, where everything started—the day I was born. My parents looked so happy in each photograph, young and full of life. One never would have suspected my father of his dirty dealings, and no one could have predicted that my mother would be murdered thirteen years later. It was when their love was still fresh and new, and nothing could come between the two of them and their baby girl.
Flipping through the pages, I studied my parents’ expressions as the years passed and we got older. The twinkle of mirth that had been present in my father’s eyes seemed to evaporate, replaced with worries and insecurities. I imagined he was only a few years into his criminal lifestyle at that point, driven to bankruptcy by the company he’d worked for and unwilling to leave his family wanting for anything.
I wished I had been old enough to know at the time, old enough to tell him that it would have been enough to have a simple life. None of the extravagance—just the three of us and our love to get us through any hard times.
For my mother’s part, she seemed to almost deflate as the years passed. Where she’d once stood with proud posture and a big smile, her confidence had been ripped away by a husband who had inadvertently made her feel as if she weren’t enough. I would never tell my father about the nights I’d found my mother crying alone in their bedroom, clutching one of his shirts and praying that he would stay safe. If only we had known. If only we had been smarter.
Age thirteen was completely absent from the photo album, and pictures didn’t really reappear until I turned sixteen. My father’s face was ashen in every shot that I’d managed to take of him, though most of the pictures were just awkward teen selfies that I wouldn’t have thought to keep.
It had been so long since I’d been through that photo album. For the first time, I was almost able to consider the situation as an outsider. I felt strangely detached from the awkward teenager, the sickly-looking father, and the mother that would never appear in another photo.
When my mother died, my father had gone all-out trying to fill the void in our hearts. Every day was spent grieving for the life she’d lost, disguised as a celebration for the health we could still claim. My father drank himself sick. I thought he may take what had happened as incentive to come home, to be a father again. He only threw himself harder and harder into his work, until there was nearly nothing left to give.
I hadn’t wanted riches or five-star restaurants and bodyguards. I’d just wanted something that resembled a family. That was all.
As I sat staring into the pages of the photo album, I noticed a change in myself. A change similar to the one I had seen in my mother, but somehow more profound. I didn’t smile anymore. My expression was always a bitter one, or a forced smile when my dad happened to be watching.
He had thrown our entire lives away, all so he could keep living the high life. Part of me wanted to hate him, and I couldn’t deny that some small part of me resented him, at the very least.
If I were to turn him in to the federal government, he truly could receive the help he had needed for many long years. Since before my mother had died, since before we had even known what it was like to hit rock bottom. I could only imagine how my dad felt, seeing that note I’d left behind for him.
Would he realize what he was doing, then? Would he be willing to change, in the hopes of a better future? I wasn’t sure, but I was determined to find out.
Closing the photo album, I resolved that I had shed more than my share of tears that day. I had been granted a new opportunity, and I wasn’t going to squander it.
My thoughts turned to the military man with the cheeky smile and the lonely heart. I could tell he was trying to push me away, and I couldn’t blame him. I had been all but throwing myself at him, when he scarcely even knew me. As far as he knew, I wasn’t someone worth fighting for. Certainly not someone worth losing his job over.
Even if that were so, and I wasn’t worth his time, I wanted to at least get to know the man who had taken not only my first kiss, but who had stolen my heart. After everything I’d been through, it seemed to me that the perfect stress relief would be hitting the bars and having some drinks with Owen.
It seemed unlikely that he would allow it, but I hoped that he would at least consider the thought. I deserved a chance to enjoy the taste of freedom I had been granted. I couldn’t do that locked in the apartment, as much as I truly enjoyed the quaint nature of it.
The only thing I wanted was to have a day where I could at least pretend to be a normal 21-year-old woman. I wanted to hop from bar to bar, drink, eat some greasy food, and go to my temporary new home with a buzz in my gut and desire running through my veins.
I wanted Owen to take my virginity. It was a thought I had been battling with since I’d first been kissed by him, and there was no denying it. I was used to getting what I wanted with a flick of my wrist, but this I was willing to fight tooth and nail for. That is, if he would have me.
I strode out of my bedroom, spying him sitting on that couch I’d somewhat ridiculously come to adore. He was staring straight ahead, and while I could hear the TV, it seemed as if he were looking straight through it. There was a distant look in his eye, and I could only guess that he was troubled by how much of himself he had revealed to me.
I couldn’t imagine it was easy, being assigned a job like that and trying to keep distant from your captive. I should have made it easier on him. Then again, I never should have fallen for him either.
/> “Owen,” I called out, walking towards the couch.
He didn’t seem to hear me, only glancing up when I repeated his name. He looked tired, but I prayed that he would agree to spend the night on the town with me. I didn’t want to press him too hard, but being a doormat was the catalyst that had gotten me into this situation to begin with.
I stepped towards him, easing into a seated position at his side. He forced a smile, but it was obvious that it didn’t come from the heart.
“What’s up, Emily? Everything okay in your room?” he asked softly, brushing a hand through his gorgeous blond hair.
I tried not to sigh dreamily, focusing on the task at hand as much as possible.
“It’s fine, but I actually wanted to ask you a question,” I began nervously, hoping he would hear me out.
Already, I could see the subtle narrowing of his eyes, the glint of suspicion reflected back at me. He reached out to take my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing it.
“What’s the question? There’s only so much I can tell you. I have no idea what they’ll do with your father, I don’t honestly know what they’ll do with y—” He cut himself short before I could properly interrupt, but it suited me just as well.
“It’s not about my father. You should be happy to know that I’ve decided to tell the FBI everything. He needs help, and this might be his one chance to get it,” I said, wanting to start on a good note and butter him up.
He seemed all too aware of my intent, though.
“That’s good. I’m happy to hear that, Emily—more than you can begin to know. But there’s obviously something else on your mind, so just spit it out,” he said.
I knew there was still time to back out, but if there was an inkling of a chance he’d agree to go with me, I was going to take it.
“I thought, after the long day we’ve had, that you and I could go out for drinks. Visit a couple of bars, get to know each other. Relax for the first time since we escaped,” I suggested with a hopeful smile.
