Stockholm Syndrome

by Melissa Yi

  Tucker squeezed my hand one last time before he started to let go

  I said, “Don’t.” My throat garbled the words. I clung to him. So much for me cast as the fiery, independent heroine. I just wanted him. “I can help you. Two hands—four hands—are better than two, right? Right. I can do spic and span. Where’s the soap?”

  “No, darling,” said Bastard. His voice changed, dropped into throatiness. “You just take off that thing, give it to your boyfriend, and come lie on the bed with me. You’re my insurance.”

  CHAPTER 37

  I didn’t move.

  I held on to Tucker as Bastard backed toward the bed, his eyes looking me up and down, even inside the fucking burqa.

  “And take off your shirt. Hell, take off all your clothes. You won’t be needing ’em.”

  Even more than Bastard raping me, one thought echoed through my head: I can’t have Tucker see me naked for the first time like this. It would have been bad enough for Ryan, to pollute the memories we’d built together. But for Tucker, when we’d been dancing back and forth so many times, fantasizing about each other, to end with me stripping down for a murderer…

  It was killing what we’d built together. Sacrificing it on an altar of blood and pain, just so we could survive a few more miserable minutes.

  “I’m covered in blood,” I told him. “I’m contaminated.”

  “Shit,” said Bastard.

  “That bed is contaminated, too,” I said.

  “Fuck.” He glanced at it in irritation.

  “Plus I have my period.” Might as well go for broke here. I read once, in The Joy of Sex, that grossing out your rapist is a good strategy.

  “Jesus. What don’t you have?” His gaze fell on my and Tucker’s hands, still intertwined, although partially hidden by the too-long burqa sleeve. He said, “I told you to let go.”

  With the last word, his left hand karate-chopped toward us, smashing into our hands. My thumb took the brunt of it. Pain firecrackered through my hand, which spasmed and somehow let go of Tucker.

  Just as Tucker reared back and kicked Bastard square in the crotch.

  Bastard fell back with a grunt.

  Tucker screamed, “Hope, RUN!”

  CHAPTER 38

  A split second.

  They say that all the time, that’s all you have, a split second.

  Less than a breath to turn and rush for the door, abandoning my man in order to outrace a bullet.

  I started to. Because he told me to. Because I wanted to live. Because I knew he’d just sacrificed himself for me.

  I wheeled to my left, away from Tucker, away from Bastard.

  Toward the door.

  But I couldn’t. I stopped after one step.

  I couldn’t leave Tucker, even if we both died.

  I turned back to Tucker.

  Bastard had raised his gun up. He was red in the face and had death in his eyes. It sounds like a cliché, but the bar had just been raised from “toying with you” to “premeditated murder.”

  I said, “Don’t do it.”

  Bastard’s eyelids hardly flickered in response. His gun levelled at Tucker, who shouted again, “Run!” But the note in his voice was futile. He knew I wouldn’t run.

  The agony in his voice seared through me, raising goose bumps on my arms. He would die for me, but he didn’t want it to be in vain.

  Still, I had to make our nightmare complete. I lifted my hands in the air and said, “I’ll take the burqa off.”

  Bastard gasped, “I don’t. Give a shit. About that. Anymore. He fuckin’ hit. Me. In the nuts.”

  Must’ve been pretty hard, too, because his voice was hollow and I thought I could detect a sheen of sweat across his forehead. Good. He’d be less interested in using them if they were newly injured.

  Bastard pointed the gun at Tucker’s head. “Say goodbye, Blondie.”

  Tucker blinked before he stared at me, willing me to flee like a good girl.

  Instead, I hollered, “Wait! I can make it up to you.”

  “No one can make it up to me, bitch.” But he didn’t cock the hammer. Maybe he’d gotten tired of killing people. He’d shot Stan and June right away, but he let Manouchka and David go. He wasn’t just a brainless machine gun. I could appeal to, well, his baser nature.

  That was all I had left.

  We’d worn out the Casey card. He’d already set a time limit on her arrival, which was now ticking down to maybe less than fifteen minutes. If the cavalry was going to bust out, now was the time.

  So now the trick was to lure him away from Tucker without having sex with him.

  I knew this was a dangerous game. Even if Bastard’s usual equipment was temporarily on pause, I remember a man, maybe a soldier, in Rwanda who raped a woman with a gun and shot it off inside her vagina.

  Still, when you’re a doctor on call, you just take it one hour at a time. If it’s a really bad night, you take one minute at a time. You might not think that you can survive another eight hours, but eight minutes? That just might be possible.

  I might be able to Mata Hari him for fifteen minutes. “You want me to get clean, right? So I’m ready for Casey and your son?”

  “Yeah. Show me your tits.”

  Right. Mardi Gras at St. Joseph’s Hospital. I took a deep breath.

  “It’s really hot in here,” I breathed, trying to sound sultry. “I’m going to take it off anyway.”

  “Hope,” said Tucker.

  Bastard whipped toward him. “Shut your motherfucking mouth, or I’ll blow it off.” He turned back to me with a crooked grin. “All right, bitch. Entertain me. Show me your mouth.”

  My hands faltered for a second. I remembered how, on Reddit’s Girls Gone Wild page, one girl had posted a picture of herself lifting her top, with the title something like, “Do you like small tits?” (I clicked on it for obvious reasons.) To my surprise, not only had the guys slavered over her breasts, but at least two of them drooled over her lips in the top left of the photo.

  And her lips happened to look like mine.

  So I wasn’t crazy about revealing my naked face to Bastard, even though he’d already seen it before. In fact, it could be even more of an aphrodisiac that I was all covered up, so a glimpse of my arms or my hair would make him think he’d scored.

  But this wasn’t about me. This was about saving Tucker. Already, the energy in the room had dipped from murderous to...still powder keg, but at least now he’d shifted the gun between us, no longer aiming it directly at Tucker’s forehead.

  I didn’t say I would take everything off. I didn’t say I would fuck him. I was just taking off the burqa.

  I picked up the hem and joked, still a little breathless, “Could I have some music?”

  CHAPTER 39

  Bastard laughed. “Would that put you in the mood?”

  “Would it put you in the mood?” I countered. Somehow, it was easier to vamp within the confines of the material. He couldn’t see my mouth twisting in disgust. He probably wouldn’t have picked up on the sarcasm in my gaze anyway. I thrust one hip out, and his gaze dropped down to it.

  Yep, his testicles were feeling better.

  Should I strip sooner, before his throbbing balls recovered from Tucker’s shoe?

  Or later, to draw this out as long as possible?

  Later, I decided. Tucker would do his level best to kill Bastard if he dropped his pants. So I needed to delay that moment as long as possible, for all of our sakes.

  Bastard chuckled. “I like you, girl. Hell, let’s get some tunes.”

  “I could use my phone,” I said, my body suddenly on the alert. If he let me access my technology, I could check my texts. I was willing to bet my eyes that Ryan had posted something useful as well as supportive.

  “Naw. That would ruin the show.” He snapped the fingers of his stray hand. “Blondie. Get on that.”

  I tensed. Forcing Tucker to play the music for me to strip for this inglorious SOB might just shove him over the
edge.

  Bastard tilted his head up. “Let’s see. Something good. You got ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’?”

  Ugh. I’d heard that on the radio the other day. Changed the station. I also thought it sounded completely ludicröus (get it? Ludicrous with an umlaut, in honour of Motley Crüe), since I was the only female in the room. Girl, Girl, Girl doesn’t have the same ring to it.

  Or “’Cherry Pie’? You know that one, by Warrant?”

  How old was this guy, anyway? The only reason I knew that one was because once, at Ryan’s church, they played it when a bad guy swung on stage, before he was saved, of course.

  “No, wait. The one where she’s on her knees.” Bastard eyeballed me. “That’s what I want.”

  CHAPTER 40

  “I don’t have that one.” Tucker’s flat voice cut through the testosterone haze, but Bastard didn’t flinch.

  “That’s the one I want,” said Bastard. He took a half step toward me, and I had to fight not to move backward. I totally would have done it, except it’d ruin the illusion of me flirting with him.

  I was so bad at this. I’d dated Ryan for four years, then basically only did school, before getting touched by Aphrodite as soon as I landed in Montreal. I would have traded back every ounce of sex appeal at this point, just to have Bastard treat me like one of the guys, except he probably still wanted to whack Tucker.

  “I bet I could download it!” I said brightly. “Just let me get out my phone.”

  “I bet you could download anything,” said Bastard, taking another step toward me, close enough that the smell of his sweat clogged my nostrils, and I tried not to gag. Dang. I’d never thought of download in a dirty way before.

  Bastard was still talking. “No phone for you, though. Blondie can take care of it.”

  “What’s the name of the song?” said Tucker. I could tell, without looking at him, that he’d decided a song was a better delaying tactic than anything else.

  Bastard sneered. “You’re a doctor, but you don’t know shit about good music.”

  “I can get good music, if you tell me what song you want. Or I’ll have to search for it.”

  “It’s about a girl who’s giving him a blow job and begging for it,” said Bastard, his tone dropping.

  “By Nickelback?” Tucker inputted the information into his phone with sluggish fingers.

  “Jesus, you’re slow,” said Bastard. “I could have your girlfriend’s mouth around my dick before you press enter.” He turned his flat eyes on me. “As a matter of fact...”

  Oh, God. Not my favourite activity at the best of times. If Bastard tried it on me, I would literally puke. And I wasn’t sure that would stop him.

  “You wouldn’t want Casey to see that,” I said, which was not a good segue, but I was desperate. “She’s coming any second now, right? That’s what you were asking for.”

  Bastard snorted. “What she don’t know won’t hurt her. I’ve got the rest of my life with her and my kid. I might as well get one more freebie before I’m up with the ball and chain. And you’re better than nothin’.”

  Gee. Thanks. “Um, really, I think—I know—she’d feel betrayed if she came in the room, about to have your baby, and you were messing with another woman. You’d lose her forever.” Because otherwise, she’d want to spend forever with a kidnapper and murderer. They’re so attractive. “Not worth the risk.”

  “I’ll decide that,” said Bastard, but his tooth-flashing grin told me he wasn’t pissed off, he was already imagining his happy ending. “Now get on your knees.”

  I was still wearing the burqa, so for half a second, I considered it. Was that part of the burqa design, that you kept a barrier of material between your mouth and a passing penis?

  As if reading my mind, he added, “And take off the potato sack. It’s killing the mood.”

  “Hey, I have an idea. Do you have that song on your phone?” said Tucker.

  “’Course I do.”

  “Why don’t you bring it up for us? I still can’t find it.”

  “Jesus, numb nuts. What the fuck is wrong with you? Is that what you’re like with your girlfriend, taking ten minutes to figure out where your dick is?”

  Tucker flinched, and Bastard paused for a second. “Wait a minute.”

  My heart thudded. Whatever Bastard was thinking, I could guarantee it wasn’t good.

  Bastard jabbed his thumb at me, but he was talking to Tucker. “You’re fucking her, right?”

  Tucker paused. “We…” He glanced at me.

  I turned red. With rage, but also with shame. If I’d known we’d end up here and now, hell, yes, I would have fucked him a hundred times over.

  “Shiiiiiit.” Bastard glanced me up and down. “I saw you kissing her. So what the hell happened?”

  I licked my lips under the burqa and said, “It’s not relevant.”

  “Bitch, what’s relevant is whatever I say is relevant.” He rolled the last word on his tongue in a way that made me feel self-conscious about my vocabulary.

  Should I pretend to have another asthma attack? But he’d just force me to perform sexual favours in exchange for a puffer.

  Bastard turned back to Tucker. “You’ve never fucked her, you poor shit.”

  Tucker didn’t answer. His hands clenched before he forced his fingers to extend.

  “I could blow you away and her away, and you’ve never gotten into that slit. That’s so fucking sad, man.”

  I forced myself to breathe. He was trying to upset us. It was working. But we couldn’t annihilate him if he got us on the wrong track. I tried to signal Tucker with my eyes that I loved him, that this was bullshit, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring directly at Bastard.

  “That makes it even better,” said Bastard. “You’re like a fucking eunuch, and I just met her. And I’m the one who’s going to fuck her brains out while you watch.” He snapped his fingers at me. “I’m not going to ask you again, baby. Take off the potato sack, or I’ll take it off you.” He grinned. “Maybe you’d like that. You’ve been waiting for a real man all this time. Am I right?”

  I glanced at the door. If I was going to run, I should have run when Tucker told me to.

  Back to the original algorithm. If you can’t run, hide.

  If you can’t hide, fight.

  So fight.

  This guy was bigger and stronger than me, but there were two of us. It was as if we were dogs tossed in the Coliseum to fight a bear. He was a giant savage with bigger weapons, but we were fast and we could work as a team.

  If he would work with me. Because Tucker was still staring at Bastard.

  Tucker was so good at psych, it had never occurred to me that it could work both ways. Maybe he was more vulnerable to words, even when spoken by a lying, treacherous numbskull.

  Also, the back of my brain whispered, maybe Tucker was incapacitated because he’d spent the past five months offering his heart to me while I pranced around with other men. Even for someone as cocky as Tucker, it had to take a beating on his ego.

  Maybe I was the one who’d been holding Tucker hostage. And Ryan.

  Maybe I was the bad guy.

  Shit! I shook myself. Now I was doing it. Doubting myself.

  We couldn’t afford this.

  Especially not when Bastard grabbed a fistful of material between my breasts and said, “Get naked, sweetheart.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Tucker took a step forward and said, “She’s mine.”

  “Your what?” said Bastard, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his lips, a miniature, mocking smile that made me want to slap him around. He was such a little fuck. If we could separate him from his weaponry, we should be able to take him down.

  “My everything,” said Tucker, and his words were so bare, it took a second for them to penetrate Bastard’s brain, and the grin fell from his face while he worked them out.

  I should have focused on survival, but my heart gnawed at me. I didn’t want to be Tucker’s everyt
hing. Didn’t deserve to be. Not unless he could share me with Ryan, and I’d never seen either guy share more than a handshake. Even that was grudging.

  Tucker deserved a good and gorgeous girl who’d hang on his every word, be forever faithful, and bake him apple pies every Christmas. But for some stupid reason, he’d latched on to me.

  “I don’t see your name on her,” said Bastard, which struck me as another little kid thing to say. You can’t sit there. That’s my chair! vs. Well, I don’t see your name on it.

  “It’s there,” said Tucker, quiet but sure. “We were working on a case last week, and one of her patient’s wives read my palm.”

  I started for a second. Mme. Bérubé read his palm? I’d never heard about that. She never told me, and Tucker is not one to keep a secret. Or so I’d thought.

  Bastard snorted. He didn’t let go of the burqa. His hand still rested between my breasts. “You believe in that shit?”

  “I don’t believe everything,” said Tucker, “but she’s the real deal. She has quite a following. It’s an honour for her to read your palm.”

  “Well, what did it say?” said Bastard.

  Tucker didn’t look at me, but I could feel his attention and the way he kept tabs on me out of the corners of his eyes. “She said that my love life is crooked.”

  I twitched. Mme. Bérubé read my palm. She never talked about boys, but if she did, I’d probably have the most crooked line out there.

  Bastard snorted and torqued his fist a few more degrees. “That you? You bent?”

  I didn’t like the sound of that, but Bastard was laughing at his own joke too hard to care.

  “She described Hope to me. Smart, funny, stubborn. Beautiful.” His voice cracked.

  Bastard stopped laughing. “That could be anyone.”

  Tucker kept talking. “You see this line?” He pointed at his hand. Bastard unclenched the burqa a tad so he could lean toward it.

  “You see how it has a break in it? She told me, ‘Wherever you go, go with your whole heart.’ I told her that was from Confucius. She laughed and said, ‘That’s fitting, considering the source of your affection.’”