Time and Space

by Rachel Robinson

  Yes, this will haunt me more than anything else. The man I was in captivity is still there. I think of him sometimes, but traumatic incidences in the past are better left in the past.

  “How does it feel? Tell me. How does it feel to be so far away from everything you’ve ever known? That life as you once knew it is moving on without you?” V asks, his lips next to my ear and his vile breath blowing in my face. My hands are tied behind my back with thick zip ties and my feet are bound with an even larger sort. They cut me, dig into my skin, causing blistering pain. We’re in a small office not long after they stole me out of the damn swamp. I only know his name because I’ve heard other men call him that. They respect him, take orders from him. He is the boss around here. I can’t say how much time has passed because of the drugs they use to sedate me. V peels the tape off my mouth without taking his beady, dark gaze off my face.

  The second it’s off I yell, “Fuck you!” V tsks me, shaking a finger in front of my nose. Mentally, I add it to the list of all the reasons I want to kill him. The tally has far surpassed anything I would have previously thought possible. I’ve killed for much less. He has a world of hurt coming to him.

  “Is that any way to treat me? I have all the power,” he exclaims, picking up a pair of rusty scissors from a table. “I can free you from those restraints.” If he does, I’ll fucking kill him with my bare hands. And then what? my subconscious asks. Kill all of the other men on the other side of the door with your bare hands? Get out of here alive? Probably not. Playing it cool is difficult when you’re being held against your will in a disgusting place without food, water, or any glint of promise of a future.

  “What do you want? Information? Money? Power? What do you want?” I ask through gritted teeth. My mouth burns from the tape residue and the fact that my lips are raw from being gagged. The assholes don’t like when I speak. So I yell any chance I get. V wants all of these things, I’m sure. Why else do you kidnap a fucking Navy SEAL unless you have a death wish?

  He shrugs. “Nothing really. You’re merely a pawn for revenge.” What does that mean? I’m surprised.

  “They’ll look for me. They’ll find you,” I threaten. My brothers won’t give up. They’ll come and pop me out of this hellish place at some point. I hope it’s soon. V can’t have been that thorough. He messed up somewhere along the planning line. My kidnapping was well-thought-out, but the problem isn’t how he took me, it’s that he took me hostage. Not some average Joe. Not only am I important, I’m lethal. Give me the fucking chance. I’ll never stop fighting. For my life. To get back to her, I’ll do anything. I can’t give up, but I’m tired.

  With a closed fist he punches me in the face. The force knocks my head to the side. I feel warm blood trickle from my nose and down my lip. The stinging on my lips worsens. I clamp my jaw shut and add this to the list. “They’ll never find you. Give up that dream now, X.” The letter irritates me. This man infuriates me. If anything, I’m glad because it dulls the pain.

  I spit blood at his feet. I just miss his scuffed up dress boots. “Fuck you, asshole. When they do come, I’ll make sure they know exactly who is responsible for fucking up my face,” I reply, smiling. Blood sprays out of my mouth as I speak. It drips down my chin.

  I’ve pissed him off more than usual today. His left eye twitches as he takes three measured steps toward me. He’s cautious. He knows how dangerous I am. He grabs my chin with one hand and leans his face close, uncaring that my blood is getting on his hand. “There will come a day when you don’t even remember your name. I will take the life you once knew and loved and bury it so deep that you’ll never even dream of it. You will be one of my men. Your life as you know it is over. The sooner you accept your new fate, the easier your life will be. Do you really not know why you’re here?”

  I wish I did. Hostages are taken all the time with no good fucking reason. It’s usually a power play. Or for intelligence. I cringe thinking of the power this asshole feels knowing he’s successfully kidnapped a goddamn Navy SEAL. It makes me fucking sick. The blood is falling at a steady pace out of my nose and down my face. It’s broken. “Why would I know?” I ask. The draw for information is strong. Along with my physical strength, he also has this to hold over me. I may be tied and bound, but I won’t let him see my curiosity outright.

  He grins. His crooked, dirty teeth peek behind cracked lips. “Because it’s all her fault.”

  “Don’t play games with me,” I growl. “Who do you mean?”

  “Why, Elena Rostov, of course. Who else?” My body melts into the wooden chair. A chair many a man have died on, I’m sure. He’s said the only name that could illicit a reaction. Lainey. I choke on my own blood and spit a mouthful on the floor beside my chair. Anything to break eye contact from this monster.

  “Taking you is her punishment. She loves you, no?” he asks. I can’t respond. My breaths are coming too fast and I want to destroy this atrocious man for letting her name pass from his lips. Lainey is a spy with a history I was never sure of. I knew she gathered basic information about SEALs to pass on to her superiors. This man is her superior. Her life is far more secretive and dangerous than I ever would have dreamed. He hits me with an open fist. “I asked you a question, X. Answer me.”

  “Yes,” I reply. I answer honestly because I’m too busy piecing the puzzle of Lainey Rosemont together in my mind. I can’t make up lies when I’m too busy reeling from the truth.

  “That love is the reason she stopped reporting back to me. I need this information; you see? I sell it for a lot of money. Elena has cost me a lot of money. Her love for you, more specifically her disloyalty, makes me angry. She was my best agent. I thought about it for a long time. About what the proper punishment for something so costly should be. Take what she loves most? Yes. That’s what I needed to do. Either that or you give me the information I need. You know how I caught you so easily?” He pauses, watching my face. I’ll never talk. He knows that.

  When I don’t say anything he says, “Go ahead. Ask me! Come on, I know you want to know.”

  “How? How did you catch me so easily?” I humor him. It has to be blind fucking luck. I swallow, anticipating his words. My spit tastes like iron and stale air. Oh, God, Lainey how deep was she? To be working for a man like this—a man capable of orchestrating a kidnapping successfully and fuck knows what else he’s into. Drugs, sex trade—anything that makes a lot of money the illegal way. V is the type of man Navy SEALs hunt down and extinguish. He’s surely responsible for mass amounts of lives lost.

  He cackles, exposing disgusting teeth again. My empty stomach flips. “With the information she gathered from you in the beginning, before she fell in love with you. Isn’t that ironic? She did this to you. I love a good romantic story gone bad.” He laughs. It’s loud and echoing and pure evil. “She’s the reason you’ll live in a cell for the rest of your days. I mean, I’ve debated whether I should send you back into the world after I’ve dismantled you beyond recognition, but in the end I think it’s better if she suffers your death,” V explains through laughs. His hands are on his fat stomach as he chuckles. I envision him dead on the ground. His fucking fat stomach is what I will shoot first, just to watch him suffer. Men like him don’t deserve a quick death.

  My head is spinning. I can’t think quickly enough to form coherent questions. Lainey. Oh, God. Is she strong enough to survive this? Knowing she is responsible for this atrocity? “Kill me,” I spit out. He shakes his head, a knowing, evil look in his eye.

  “Oh, I’m not going to kill you. No.” Leaning against the shitty desk, I watch as he grabs the old scissors and then approaches. Every muscle in my body tenses, readying for pain.

  “How did she get messed up with you?” I ask. My voice is a quiet whisper. He hears.

  He laughs again. “She never had a choice. She was born into this. That little bitch defied her heritage when she cut contact with us. Think she’s crying right now? She’ll never suspect it was me because you were on a miss
ion with the rest of the SEALs. I mean, how well planned was this?” I’ll admit, he’s good. This will look like a normal hostage situation to the rest of the world.

  I shake my head. She’s an artist. Better at her espionage than any other person I’ve met. Had I known I could have better protected myself. I could have protected her. “You’re going to help me with the rest of the master plan. Faking your death. A true death isn’t warranted, I don’t think. I enjoy your company after all.”

  “I’ll never crack. I’ll never give you any information. Make it a true death.” Begging for my death isn’t part of my skill set. It’s an odd combination of relief and sheer terror.

  V rubs his hands together. “I’m thinking of a beheading video. Those have gotten so much play lately, though. You’re so good with computers. What are you thinking? How shall we fake your death?” He’s so far gone in his reverie that he’s basically forgotten I’m here. “We’ll send it to Elena first. It needs to have a lot of gore. Lots of macabre.”

  I swallow down my blood. It makes me wretch next to my chair. Bloody bile spills onto the cement floor. He hasn’t forgotten me completely, because when I look up he has the sharp end of the scissors pointed at my chest. My eyes widen in shock. I try to jerk away, but I can’t. He carves a fucking V on my pec with the dull blade. He leaves me passed out in the little chair in the little office when he’s finished.

  I awake listening to my blood drip on the cement floor. It pools in a huge puddle. That’s how I want to kill V. I will drown him with my blood—until my life essence takes away his.

  Merely remembering V and that little office chills me right to the fucking bone. That is one of the memories from my horrid past that I’ll never forget for as long as I live. I think it was the moment I truly found out who Lainey was. And I realized it didn’t matter. I love the woman regardless. It didn’t matter then, of course. I was prepared to die. Now, though, still in light of everything that has transpired between us, my love for her has only grown. It’s because I love her that I’m letting her go. I need to kill V, and she needs to move on with her life.

  Molly calls my cell, but I let it go to voicemail. The ceiling in my bedroom is far more enticing right now. I don’t ponder things nearly enough. Maybe if I did I wouldn’t make such poor decisions. As I send her call to voicemail, I notice I have a new email. The lure to rid my inbox of the red number one is too strong. I click the icon and see her name. My heart starts hammering and my eyes search for her words.

  From: LaineyRostov@Memail.com

  To: Cridge@ridgecontract.com

  Subject: Wedding

  This is the last email I’ll ever send to you as a Rosemont…or a Rostov. Or to make it less complicated I will just say this is the last email you’ll receive from me as a single woman and perhaps the last email ever. I feel bad about the other night. Dax deserves better. Hell, I think he even realizes his mistake now. There’s no turning back now, though. I told him everything. Well, not quite every detail, but I couldn’t lie because honestly, it left me emotionally wrecked. He was angry, hurt, dismayed. All the things he was before when I was ‘figuring things out’. He’s been programmed to expect the worst from me and still love me. That’s how I know I’m probably making the right decision. Through thick and thin, it’s hard. Especially when I’m mostly thin, with a penchant for getting a wild hair up my ass.

  That night at the club, I thought it meant more than it did at the time. I waited for you to say, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Fast Lane.” Or maybe, “Let’s take a weekend at Dances like the Wind.” I thought it was the turning point, that you finally realized we belonged together. Instead I just got a goodbye. I get it, I do. It’s just hard for me to wrap my brain around the fact that the man I’ve loved for a good portion of my life isn’t going to be the man I love for the rest of it. Granted, I can’t magic my love for you away even if I wish I could, but I can love Dax in the spaces you left. While you may see me smiling and kissing him (I’m not sure if you’re coming to the wedding), know I’m probably still thinking of you. Love takes time to forget—especially a love as thick as ours. I hope you know I’m okay—I’ll always be okay. I’m taking care of myself, if you catch my drift. In return I want you to take care of yourself. My world is better knowing you’re in it. When I walk down the aisle to him, know it could be you just as easily. You’re right, though, it would have never worked out between us. Love isn’t enough during this time. Maybe next?

  The Space between your Time and his,

  Lainey Rosemont (soon to be Redding)

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lainey

  It’s ten o’clock at night and my house is abuzz with guests. It’s mostly my family from overseas and a few of my close friends. It’s like a florist puked in my kitchen, and a dress shop opened up in my formal living room. I have four spare bedrooms and all of them are piled high with bitch stuff. You know the kind, shirts tossed over bed frames, makeup bags and hair tools on dressers, and seventy different kinds of perfume wafting in the hallways at any given moment. I can’t be in there with them. They’re too happy, too excited for the wedding tomorrow. I’m outside by the pool with a lowball of bourbon. It’s the expensive shit Dax left in the bar. I’ve killed almost half the bottle and I’m still lucid enough to remember what the fuck I’m doing tomorrow. The sane decision of emailing Cody for a final time was made during glass numero uno. I check my email on my cell phone again. Nothing new. This time, the last time, he’ll leave me to my life without inserting any more confusion.

  I take a sip and relish the burn down my throat as I gaze to my left. My neighbors must already be asleep because all of the lights are off at their house. Their boat bobs in the water off their dock. I wonder why it’s not on the lift. It’s odd. The husband is usually meticulous about maintaining the expensive boat and he’s just left it out here to bang against the dock all night.

  The raucous noise coming from behind me signals that someone said the word ‘wedding’ and has to take a shot of vodka. Oksana is creative like that. Drinking games are her specialty. I tried to tell them to tone it down. My side of the aisle will have the drunken lunatics still hung over from the night before. I shake my head, check my email one more time, and then wander across my plush lawn to the neighbors’ back yard. I pull my silk ‘bride’ robe a little tighter around my waist to cover my pajamas. My feet get wet in the grass because I’m wearing a pair of cheap flip flops to balance out the pain I’ll be in tomorrow with the sky high heels. My mom said I should cheat and wear flats under my wedding dress because no one would see them. The last thing I need is to start my marriage off with a lie, even a small one about fucking shoes. I groan. A little because wet feet suck and a little because weddings are stressful. The bourbon hits me tenfold as I consider the fact that sitting down and drinking all night was a bad idea. Standing up after is like a ride on a Ferris wheel you’re forced to endure after a bag of cotton candy.

  “What are you doing over here?” a male voice asks. I turn toward the sound. Squinting in the dark, I see the outline of a man, my neighbor. I startle. He’s standing in his yard in the middle of the damn night.

  Forcing a smile, I put up a hand to wave. Can he even see it? “Hi. Sorry,” I say, and then point toward his dock. “Your boat wasn’t put away properly. I wanted to make sure everything was okay.” Turning on a small light, he approaches. I get that sinking, chilly, hair prickling feeling that signals something’s not right. Fuck. I’m unprepared. Embarrassingly so. I glance behind me at my house, but everyone is still inside. I see figures dancing through the large glass windows. It looks like a movie screen from this angle. My neighbors can see into my house like in a fish tank. Chill bumps rise on my arms and legs. Why didn’t you check out the new neighbors, Lainey? Dumb move.

  I take a step back toward my property line. “I’ll just head back home now that I know you’re here and will, uh…take care of it, I guess.” I take another small step and my foot slips in the wet flip
flop. It also squeaks. Irritated, I blow out a small breath.

  “Why are you leaving so quickly? You just got here,” a female voice chirps from behind me. I spin and come face to face with a pretty brunette. Her face triggers a memory and I realize she’s familiar. She smiles as she watches understanding cross my face. “I, I, know you,” I stutter, trying and failing to place her. I don’t have long to ponder because my other neighbor, the wife, comes from the side, her gaze focused on me in a scarily intense way. I take another step toward my property. I should scream now. Call for help or fire or tell someone to throw me a fucking gun, but they’re too close to me and my house is too far and loud. No one would hear me. My cell phone is sitting next to my glass of bourbon next to my goddamn sunning chair. I make a run for it, but the women catch me almost immediately. These fucking shoes aren’t just cheap and ugly, they are dangerous.

  “What do you want from me?” I yell. They each have me by the arms and their grips are like vices. You know how in moments of importance you can put on a sober face and feel fine, when you’re actually drunk off your ass? This isn’t one of those times. My vision is whirring and my head is lighter than a kite in summer. Through the bourbon haze, my mind is flicking through images of women I know. Is this woman a client? Someone met in passing? I don’t get the friend vibe when I look at her. I must not like her for one reason or another. The darkness of night doesn’t do me any favors either. It’s hard to see her true features.

  The man speaks to someone on the phone. His voice is low and measured. His conversation is quick and matter-of-fact. He snaps the old school flip phone closed. It’s a burn phone. He’s going to toss it when his job is done. My stomach sinks as I understand what exactly is happening right now. It’s not my fucking crazy neighbors trying to rob me, it’s way more sinister than that.

  He clears his throat. “It’s up to you. Easy or hard.” I can fight like a cat in a mesh bag, or I can hope that my pliancy gains me a favor. I pull away from the women and they let me go.