Begging for Bad Boys

by Willow Winters

  He unlocked the door and stepped back to let her in. She walked inside, the dark wood of the foyer threatening to swallow her whole. She looked around as Sam closed and locked the door, seeing a cubby where people were supposed to sit to take off their shoes and a slender dark wood table with a stack of mail on it.

  Sam set his keys down on the table and looked around.

  “The house is a family heirloom,” Sam said, seeming to notice for the first time that their presence in the house might strike her as odd. “My parents offered me the ski chalet in Liechtenstein, and the penthouse in New York, but I wanted to stay close to D.C., so I got this place.”

  “Uh… uh-huh,” she said.

  He cleared his throat and walked down the hallway. She followed him into a huge kitchen, done in dark wood floors and cabinets, with white marble countertops. He didn’t even bat an eyelash, just kept going.

  There was a set of dark wood stairs in the next area, leading upward. Sam headed up the stairs, leaving Kat to poke her head in the back room.

  There she found a living room, shockingly white after the dark kitchen. There were a number of overstuffed couches and chairs, all brought to life by the light thrown from the French doors that opened into the backyard.

  She hastened to catch up with Sam, who was disappearing up the stairs with his suitcase in tow. When she got to the top, she saw a long corridor of dark wood, the same as downstairs. The hallway was lined with closed doors.

  “My room is here, on the left,” he nodded. “I don’t really have any guest rooms made up, or even furnished. We’ll have to make do with the room all the way down at the end.”

  She caught a glimpse of his room as he opened the door and stuck his suitcase inside. It was sparsely furnished, like the bedroom of the lodge they’d just left. A bed, a bookcase, a chair. Dark wood, dark colored sheets on the bed.

  He closed his door quickly, though, moving down the hall. He opened her room, revealing an unmade bed with a new mattress. This room was more fully furnished than the other bedroom, having twin bedside tables and a chest at the foot of the bed. At least this bedroom had windows, something that she just now realized the other had lacked.

  “Sorry, I haven’t really been here since…” he said, then abruptly cut himself off. “I haven’t been here in a couple of years. I’ll have someone come and clean, but we’ll have to deal with it like this for now.”

  Deal with it? she thought, looking around. Other than a fine layer of dust, everything looked pristine.

  “Okay,” she said. “Don’t bother cleaning for my sake.”

  He smiled. “I need to go to the linen closet to get some sheets for your bed. I’ll be back.”

  Sam headed down the hallway. She could hear him bounding up the stairs, listened to his footsteps as he walked around upstairs. She wandered over to the bedside table, where several framed photos sat collecting dust.

  She picked one up. It was of a young child, with a handsome older man and beautiful woman, on a small yacht. She guessed that it was Sam and his parents. She put it back, picking up another.

  It was Sam in a full tuxedo, grinning cheesily at a pretty dark-haired woman in an elaborate yellow gown. She squinted at the picture. She didn’t think the photo was very old.

  She heard his footsteps on the stairs, then heard him come back down the hall.

  “Okay, I got you some stuff,” he said, entering the room with armfuls of linens.

  He spotted her looking at the photograph, then frowned. He dumped the linens on the bed, then came over to take the photo from her gently.

  “My fiancée,” he said. “Well… former fiancée.”

  Her brows shot up. She watched him place the picture in a drawer of the bedside table before shutting it closed with a snap, then turn back to the bed.

  “Do you have any idea how to put this on?” he asked, unfurling a striped duvet cover. “My nanny taught me once, but it didn’t stick.”

  “Of course,” she said, taking control of the duvet cover.

  It was almost automatic, performing one of the many duties she’d been responsible for at Ted’s. In less than two minutes, she had the entire bed made with neat hospital corners.

  She flinched a little when she thought of how she’d learned that particular skill. Ted had beaten her until her hospital corners met with his approval, whipped her upper back and threatened worse. She’d unfurled the same set of sheets over and over again, until her back was raw, until blood dribbled onto the sheets.

  Now she smoothed the sheets down with precision, but inside she shook with rage and fear. She needed to get her emotions under control; it wasn’t as if the abuse was happening to her now.

  Sam looked at her a bit oddly while she spent another minute sharpening the creases of the bed and making her mind blank. When she was done with making her mind perfectly empty, she smiled at him a bit stiffly.

  “Are you… done?” he asked.

  His voice was kind, but there was some hesitation there. She frowned a bit. It was almost as if he could tell that she struggled inwardly, although she was positive she showed no outward signs.

  “I’m fine,” she said, brushing it off. If only it were so easy to put away her emotions.

  “Alright, well… I guess we should go downstairs. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  He led the way downstairs, into the kitchen. She moved to the refrigerator, automatically taking over the kitchen, but the fridge was completely empty.

  “Ah… yeah, we’re going to have to order delivery,” he said. Pulling a drawer open, he grabbed a fistful of menus and laid them on the counter.

  She guessed that he really didn’t come here that often, then.

  “Pizza okay?” he asked, wading through the menus.

  “Yeah. Anything will do,” she said.

  He smiled, flashing that hint of a dimple again. He ordered for them both, a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza with a side salad.

  “It’s going to be about forty minutes,” he said. “Why don’t we go wait in the living room?”

  “Sure.”

  He led her into the living room, sprawling on the couch. He was always big and tall, but when he sat down he dwarfed the couch. She sat down on the very end couch, not wanting to seem off-putting by sitting a mile away.

  As he turned on the television, she started to wonder what his plan was. Did he plan on staying here indefinitely? Or perhaps he had people he’d call in that would arrive and take charge of her.

  “What will you do with me now?” she asked.

  He looked at her. “I hope that getting you away from the lodge is enough.”

  “Oh. I didn’t mean… you don’t owe me anything.”

  “No, no. You mistook my meaning. I mean that, as far as Ted is concerned, getting you away from him was tantamount.”

  She nodded slowly. “What is your plan for me, though?”

  “I don’t honestly know. Do you have anywhere to go?”

  “No,” she said, ashamed. “I guess… I guess we call social services?”

  Tears bloomed in the corners of her eyes.

  “Hey,” he said, moving closer and putting a calming hand on her shoulder. “It’s not a big deal, okay? Everyone needs help sometimes. We can make an appointment with social services, or not. It really doesn’t matter to me.”

  “What are the other options?” she asked, losing patience.

  “Why don’t we sleep on it, and decide tomorrow? There’s really no rush.”

  “You say that, but—”

  “I mean it,” he finished. “Listen. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re safe and happy, okay?”

  She nodded, rubbing away the sheen of tears in her eyes. “Okay.”

  Sam reached out a hand, tucking some hair behind her ear.

  “I need to talk to you about something else.”

  She looked up at him, uncertain.

  “What?�
��

  “I think… I think I need to ask around about Ted. Discreetly.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I was just thinking that now that Ted and his friends are without you, they might find another girl.”

  Her mouth opened in a silent O. The thought that Ted might do something to someone else hadn’t occurred to her, but obviously it should have. She imagined some underage girl, barefoot and hungry. She imagined the girl having nowhere to go, forced to stay with Ted.

  She felt the fury bubbling up inside, but she pushed it down. Ted needed to go to jail, rather than the hundred other nasty demises she could envision for him.

  “Of course,” she said, grabbing Sam’s hand. “Do whatever you can to stop him from doing this again, to another girl.”

  He smiled, his eyes straying to her lips. For a second, she wanted him to kiss her more than anything. But then she looked at their surroundings and snapped out of it. She remembered that Sam was from a different world, a world without drug addict’s daughters dragging him down into the darkness and muck.

  She pulled away. “I’m going to go upstairs and take a shower.”

  He looked a little hurt, but he stood when she did.

  “I’m sure there are some women’s clothes here somewhere. I’ll hunt for them and wait for the pizza.”

  She gave him a ghostly smile. “Thanks.”

  Kat made her way up the stairs, careful to keep reminding herself again and again she was who she was, the child of a junkie. She undoubtedly had some kind of captivity-induced attachment to Sam, and it was manifesting as romantic feelings.

  She kept up the narrative, because if she didn’t, she was afraid part of her was bonding with Sam. Part of her that wouldn’t want to let him go, if she had the chance to keep him...

  Chapter 7

  Sam walked around his townhouse, checking to see that the windows and doors were secure. It had been a while since he’d come here. Looking around at the blank walls and under-furnished rooms, he felt out of place.

  He’d felt this way a lot in the past two years. Like a visitor in his own life.

  He had come here often before with his fiancée, Lauren, when she was still alive. She’d been a high-powered attorney whose work took her to D.C. fairly regularly. Sam’s work with the military did the same, so the townhouse had become their place.

  Lauren, who hadn’t come from money like Sam, had especially loved the area. She’d thrown parties as often as her schedule permitted. They’d become known around town as a place newcomers to D.C. could come for good food and conversation. It was unusual in a town known for being so openly disinterested in cultivating relationships beyond the office.

  After her death, though, Sam couldn’t handle even visiting. He’d tried staying here a few times, but there were too many memories. Every corner of the townhouse seemed to haunt him.

  Losing Lauren had blown a hole in Sam, one he had no desire to repair. Friends and family told him that time would lessen the pain, but Sam hadn’t wanted that. Every reduction in grief only removed him further from his love. Every day passing pulled him farther from the days when she’d been alive.

  There had been times in the past year that Sam had felt he absolutely couldn’t live another minute without being able to touch or talk to her. He’d hated himself sometimes for making it through those minutes. He worried obsessively that he’d forget her, so he’d spent months forcing himself to recall her. Her laugh, her eyes, the way she spoke with her hands when she was excited - all the little things that combine to make a person cherished.

  No matter how much it hurt, he forced himself to think about her, intentionally probing the emotional wound.

  Sam knew the term for it. Survivor’s guilt. Feeling like you should have died instead of the person who did. Feeling guilty for being happy again. It added an extra layer to regular grief.

  Some of his friends had urged him to sell or rent the place, but that didn’t feel right either. In the end, Sam had paid a crew to come in and move the furniture, art, and rugs to a storage unit. Then he’d left the place shuttered, until a time when his grief wouldn’t be so fresh.

  He’d gone to his winter cabin, hoping to recapture some smidge of happiness; instead he’d found an unconscious woman in the snow and been led right back to the townhouse he dreaded.

  Shaking off the memories, Sam gently opened the door to Kat’s room and looked in. She was sleeping peacefully. His heart gave a pleasant little jump. It had been doing that a lot lately. Initially, he’d chalked it up to the usual rush of helping someone, but it felt like something more now.

  Being around Kat, Sam realized, made him feel like he was home. This was the first time he’d been in the house since his fiancée’s death that he hadn’t been miserably depressed.

  What he couldn’t figure out was whether his happiness came from having a sense of purpose again, or from just being around Kat. Maybe both? Sam had a definite savior complex, and Kat brought out his most protective side.

  It was an odd thought. Sam didn’t quite know what to make of it, so he put it aside and continued his tour of the house.

  Suddenly, he heard the sound of glass shattering. The hair rose on the back of Sam’s neck. He thought immediately of Kat, then remembered he’d just checked her room.

  More noise now. Footsteps were crunching across the glass. Whoever was in the house was being loud and careless. Maybe they didn’t realize he was home. Maybe they felt confident that they could take him.

  Sam pulled his gun out of the hip holster and quietly walked in the direction of the voices. He paused in a doorway.

  How many were there? He heard two men’s voices, then a third. They were in the kitchen now, coming toward where he was hiding.

  Sam stayed where he was and waited. When the first man rounded the doorway, Sam shot him without a word. The man crumpled to the ground, his eyes widening in surprise as he registered that he’d just been shot.

  The other two men came running in at the sound of a gunshot. One was dressed entirely in black, with a ski mask over his face. Sam heard Kat screaming from her bedroom and turned his head, giving the man in black a chance to land a punch around his ear and causing him to drop his gun. Sam launched himself at the man in response, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

  The other intruder ran toward Kat’s room.

  “Stay in your room, Kat!” Sam screamed.

  The man in black punched him in the gut, causing Sam to double over in pain. Without thinking, he headbutted the man around the knees, knocking him to the ground. Sam got in three good punches before the man wiggled out of his grasp.

  “Give her to me and I’ll walk out of here right now!” the man panted.

  “Go fuck yourself!” Sam spit out, lunging again. The man dodged him and ran behind the couch. Sam took the brief opportunity to reclaim his fallen weapon.

  “Stop, stop! Okay? Stop!” The man slowly raised his hands.

  Sam kept his weapon trained on the man’s head.

  “Why should you die for someone you don’t even know?” the man asked in a low tone. “She’s nothing special, trust me. Trailer park trash.” The man smiled in a way that made Sam’s skin crawl, then continued, “I can bring you any kind of girl you want. This one I just want out of the way. She’s too much hassle.”

  Before Sam could respond, the third man stormed into the room, dragging Kat with him. He had her in a chokehold. She was sobbing and kicking against him. The man in black rushed over and slapped her hard across the mouth. Kat stopped crying.

  “Just let us take her,” the man in black said.

  Kat’s eyes met Sam’s across the room. She looked defeated, hopeless. “Do it,” she told Sam.

  “See, even the slut agrees,” the man laughed. “You can’t win anyway. Why die for her? She’s worthless.”

  Sam had never wanted to hurt anyone as much as he wanted to hurt this man.

  “Why? Because fuck you, that's why! You’re not taking h
er!” Sam screamed.

  Kat looked over at Sam with an indecipherable expression, and then, so quickly that he almost missed it, snatched the knife the man restraining her was holding and stabbed him in the arm with it several times. He screamed in pain and Kat launched off him, running over to Sam’s side.

  Sam used the precious seconds of distraction to fire at the two men, but in the chaos, his aim suffered. They ran from the house through the front door, the injured man bleeding wildly all over the place as he escaped.

  Sam ran after them and slammed the front door, then locked it.

  He ran over to Kat.

  “Are you okay?”

  She was sobbing on the ground. Sam took her in his arms.

  “I’m okay,” she managed to say. “Did they hurt you? I’m so sorry! This is my fault. It’s all my fault.”

  “It’s not your fault, and I’m fine,” he muttered into her hair. “You were amazing. I think you nicked that bastard’s artery! I hope he bleeds to death.”

  Kat gripped him even harder.

  Sam held her for a few moments. He could feel her pulse jumping. So was his, but his tone was gentle when he spoke.

  “I know a place we can go. I’m calling my driver. Pack what you can. I’ll stand guard here.”

  Sam kept his gun trained on the door while Kat packed. With his free hand, he called Hakim, who picked up on the first ring.

  “I need some helpers at the place with the view,” Sam said without preamble.

  Hakim knew exactly what Sam meant.

  “How many?” he asked simply.

  “As many as you can get, plus a cleaner,” Sam said.

  “You got it.”

  Sam hung up and put his full focus on guarding the door. In a few minutes, his phone buzzed. He called out to Kat, “Time to go!”

  She appeared within a few seconds holding two duffel bags.

  “I packed your stuff, too,” she said.

  “You read my mind. Thanks.”

  Although they hadn’t heard any footsteps, a man appeared suddenly at the front door. He stared at them both. Kat jumped in fright, then hid herself behind Sam.