Begging for Bad Boys

by Willow Winters

  “Here goes nothing, I guess,” I grunt to the empty desert.

  The little hunk of shattered metal falls to the desert floor, clinking against a rock. I pause there for a second. The sound reminds me that I can’t take that action back. Whatever happens, even if I deliver this package to the client, they’ll know I opened it.

  I shrug. I’ve already decided I don’t give a crap. I’m done doing what the man tells me to do. This is my life, and I’m gonna live it the way I choose.

  I throw the lid of the trailer open, and freeze. I barely believe the evidence my eyes are showing me. Given what I’m doing – the job I’m on – I guess it would be understandable if you called me a criminal. But I’ve always thought that I’m a man of honor.

  There’s nothing honorable about this.

  A girl is trussed up; her tied body is curled into the fetal position. She’s squashed into what little space the trailer allows her; her face is obscured by a black hood. Her chest is barely moving. My throat clenches up. This is sick. It’s disgusting. If I’d known what the job was, I’d have never taken it. I don’t have many rules, but right at the top of the short list I do have is that I don’t fuck with women.

  I press my head to the girl’s side, by her rib cage. I can barely detect her breathing. I shake her, but she doesn’t respond. Whoever they are, they’ve drugged her, and used too much. The way this girl looks, she could die at any minute.

  I reach forward with trembling hands. The hood covering her head isn’t tied down. I pull it back, and strands of red hair escape. They look the color of dried blood in the dark. My stomach clenches. This girl reminds me of Alex: her height, the style of her dress, the color of her hair.

  I pull the hood free and almost double over with shock. Every ounce of air in my lungs escapes in a panicked, wheezing hiss. I gasp for air, but I can’t suck it into my chest.

  It is Alex.

  I’ve finally found Alex Hunter, the girl I loved – love. And she is about to die.

  And it’s all my fault.

  Chapter 3

  Jax

  “Come on, baby,” I squeeze out from a chest that’s closing up with panic. I’ve moved Alex to the front seat of my truck, strapped her in as firmly as I dare, but her head is lolling from side to side. Every time the truck hits a pothole – I’m now traveling twenty miles an hour over the speed limit – Alex’s body jerks and convulses.

  I feel like crap watching her, but I don’t have a choice. Her breath is so shallow I’m not sure that her brain is getting enough oxygen to regain consciousness. I need to do something about this situation. I need to wake her up.

  “Alex, baby,” I shout. The inside of the truck sounds like we’re in a damn Hercules mid-flight. Gravel rattles against the chassis and the engine growls in protest as it strains under the demands I’m putting on it. “Wake up, will you? I’m here, baby. It’s Jackson.”

  But nothing I say does a damn bit of good. Alex is comatose, and nothing is getting through to her.

  There’s a glow in the sky ahead; enough light that I figure it’s a small-sized town. I grab a map from inside the door and scan it. We’re coming up on a town called Needles, straddling the border with Arizona. At any other time, I would have thought that was one hell of a name for a town. Right now, I could care less. “Needles” is salvation, and I’m going to take it.

  A couple of miles outside town, I see a dark cabin; it’s about half a mile from the interstate. It’s a lucky spot. The truck’s headlights catch it in a turn and I figure it’s as good a hideout as any.

  I gun the truck down a small dirt track. We hit a huge pothole, and my eyes dart to Alex’s prone body, but she doesn’t make a sound. She is as still as the dead.

  Don’t think like that.

  “I’ve got you, baby,” I mutter. I’m speaking to myself as much as I am to the girl lying on the verge of death next to me. I can’t stop believing that I can save her. She’s all I’ve been living for. If I lose her, then I may as well give up as well.

  “Don’t give up on me now,” I whisper, because I won’t give up on you.

  I step on the brakes a couple of feet from the cabin’s front door. The truck stops in a haze of dust and a spray of rocks. I throw myself out of the driver door, and run to Alex’s side. I unbuckle her seatbelt and throw her over my shoulder. I don’t remember her feeling this light.

  I stride up to the cabin’s front door. It looks empty. I don’t give a crap if anyone’s inside. If they try and get in my way, then they’ll have to go through me. I promise it won’t be a fair fight.

  I shoulder the cabin door open. It gives way with a squeal. It’s a small place – with an iron woodstove in the corner, and a single cold faucet leading into a chipped enamel sink. There’s a single bed in the opposite corner, and not a whole hell of a lot else – just a few wooden cabinets stacked messily against the far wall.

  I lay Alex down on the bed. For a fraction of a second I’m paralyzed over her barely breathing body. I wish someone would give me orders – tell me who the hell I’m supposed to fight to make this better. But I can’t fight my way out of this. I need to think.

  “What have they done to you, baby?” I mutter, sitting down next to her. I cup her cheek with my palm, and lean in so that I can count her breaths. I don’t have to wait long to figure out that Alex is neither breathing deep nor hard enough to last much longer.

  I spring into action. There’s a small metal bowl on a draining board next to the basin. It’s covered with a couple of months of dust: deep enough that I know this place has been empty a while; thin enough that it’s obvious the cabin still sees some use. My heart’s in my mouth as my fingers toy with the faucet; droplets of water pound against the sink like hailstones on a thin tin roof as a fast stream of water explodes out.

  I fill the metal bowl and rush back to Alex’s side, barely noticing the water that sloshes from side to side and stains the wooden floorboards dark beneath me.

  “Come on, Alex,” I hiss. I upturn the bowl over her face, hoping against all hell that it’ll be enough of a shock to wake her up. She needs to – soon – or she might never.

  The water lands with a splatter on Alex’s tired face, soaking her hair and clothes, but the girl I love doesn’t react. Whatever drug they have pumped into her body, it’s potent: strong enough to keep her asleep.

  It’s strong enough to kill her. For the first time, fear rises in my chest. It explodes out of me as anger. My fist pounds against the bed, rocking Alex’s body from side to side.

  “Hold on, baby.” I pray. “I won’t let them kill you. Just hold on…”

  Every muscle in my body is strung tight, vibrating with nervous tension. I know that Alex’s life is in my hands; I need to move fast.

  Needles.

  I sprint to my truck without a backwards look over my shoulder. Years of combat taught me that if you aren’t moving forward, then you’re moving back. There’s nothing I can do to keep Alex alive, not here, not without supplies. I know what I need. The only question is whether I have the time to get it.

  I gun the truck’s still running engine into action. The driver door clatters closes by itself, propelled by the momentum of the truck bouncing quickly down the uneven dirt track back to the interstate. I look at the cabin in the rearview mirror – no light. Other than my own car’s tire tracks, there’s no sign anyone has visited in months. Alex should be safe – as safe as she can be, in her state.

  It’s after ten in the evening, and Needles is as quiet as you would expect a tiny, isolated desert town to be. A couple of dive bars are still open – neon signs lighting up the street – but other than that, no one’s awake.

  My neck snaps left and right. I’m looking for a doctor’s surgery, a clinic, hospital –

  – or a pharmacy.

  The bright green, glowing sign draws me in. I slow the truck down. The last thing I need is for a cop to see me, not now. I park up right next to the pharmacy, and grab the crowbar – and
my 9mm. If I have to shoot my way out of here to save Alex’s life, I will do it in a heartbeat. The Glock is heavy and comforting in my palm – the only constant in all this mess. It feels the same tonight as it has always done.

  The pharmacy is closed for the evening. It looks like it’s been that way for a few hours. It’s the last in a row of single-story shops. Metal shutters scythe the glow from displays inside like torchlight shining through a cheese grater. I weigh up my options. The crowbar is heavy in my hand, but there’s no way I’ll be able to batter my way through the shutters, shatter the glass windows, and grab what I need without someone noticing. I could ram the front with the nose of my truck – but that’s hardly a recipe for escaping attention either.

  I keep the idea in my back pocket, just in case.

  I decide to go with Plan C.

  I walk around the brick wall that marks the end of the row of shops. There’s a back entrance, and it’s only secured by a normal lock. I guess they don’t get too many code inspections all the way out here in the boonies – or addicts who would do anything for their next fix. It’s the first bit of luck I’ve had all day.

  I force the lock with the crowbar. The door splinters easily behind my weight. I move fast, figuring that an alarm will sound, but I don’t hear anything. That doesn’t mean jack, so I don’t slow down. For all I know the system is dialed in to the local police station. I don’t figure that Officer Friendly will be nearly so cheery if he catches me with my hand elbow-deep in the drug jar.

  I know exactly what I need. Adrenaline: not the type that’s flowing through my veins, but the kind that comes in a tube. I grab a few packets of opiates from a shelf and stuff them in my back pocket. I don’t plan on using them, but I want this to look like some junkie passed through town and hit the place up for pills.

  Boxes of medicine drop from the shelves clatter against the counter as I search. Every second it takes, every second I waste, I’m imagining Alex’s piercing blue eyes watching me. The Alex in my head sees everything: my guilt; my shame; my desire to save her life. I shake my head, clearing it. My eyes scan the shelves. I’m starting to wonder if I’m going to find what I need in here.

  My head tilts forward, I clench my fist.

  “Perfect,” I grunt as my eyes finally flicker over what I came to find. I let out a huge sigh of relief, grab a stack of tubes and sprint for the truck. I take a second to pull the shattered door closed. Every second before this burglary is discovered counts. The way this town is, I figure I’ve got almost twelve hours until someone comes to open up – if I get lucky.

  I throw myself back into the cabin, tossing the medicine onto the passenger seat. The truck’s wheels spin as I gun the engine. My knuckles are white around the steering wheel as I speed back towards the cabin.

  The whole way I barely see the road; I’m driving on autopilot. Instead, memories of the six months I shared with Alex flash through my mind. They were the best six months of my life, and they were cut short way too soon. I would do anything to have that time back. I will do anything.

  The second I get back, I leap out of the truck, grabbing the medicine. I leave its door hanging open for the second time as I run up the short slope to the cabin.

  “Come on,” I whisper, urging myself on as I pass the doorframe. I’m dreading what I’ll find. For all I know, this was all for nothing. Alex could be lying dead and cold on that bed.

  When I reach her, that’s the first thing I see. Her lips are blue. She’s barely breathing. My heart squeezes; it stops beating. My skin goes cold. I’m lying there with her: feeling her fear; feeling her pain.

  But I wrench myself free from the terror that’s threatening to overtake me. I can’t wallow in my own fear. Alex’s life is on the line. If I let her die, I’ll never forgive myself.

  I throw myself to my knees by the body. I rest two fingers against her throat, checking her pulse. It’s still there, but it’s faint: weak and ragged. “Don’t die on me, baby,” I mutter, fingers tangling with a cardboard box. They feel numb. It’s almost like I’m trying to do this blindfolded. Finally I give up and tear the box open. A yellow-capped syringe falls out. It’s an EpiPen – pharmaceutical adrenaline in a tube. They use it to stop allergic reactions from killing people. It’s the same shit that doctors give someone dying of a heart attack.

  I fumble with the buttons holding Alex’s dark jeans closed. I feel sick doing it. Some part of me – watching from above – realizes how sick this must seem. I’m in a dark shack, with a drugged girl, and I’m undressing her. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve done this with love in my heart and lust in my eyes – this time it just feels wrong.

  I drag Alex’s jeans down and leave them by her ankles. I flick the cap on the end of the EpiPen open, and jam it into the fleshy part on the front of one of Alex’s pale, soft thighs. My eyes snap to her face. I need a sign – anything – just some evidence that it worked.

  Nothing.

  Alex’s breath is still as reedy and thin as it was an hour ago: perhaps worse. I tear open two more cardboard boxes, free another EpiPen and stick it into Alex’s thigh once again. The liquid adrenaline inside it drains into her body. I press my head to her chest.

  “Please baby,” I say. I’m not talking to Alex. Not really. I’m praying. Try to keep myself sane. I shut my mouth. I need silence. I listen for Alex’s heartbeat.

  Thump.

  My own breath catches in my throat. I can’t bring myself to believe. If I let myself hope, and Alex still dies … I feel like the pain will hit doubly hard.

  Thump, thump.

  My fists clench, fingernails biting into my skin. Pain flares, but I ignore it. I can’t stop the fireworks of belief crackling in my skull. Alex’s heart is beating more strongly now. I’m sure of it.

  Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump. Thump, thump.

  Alex’s heart explodes into a fury of action inside her chest. Her back arches, and every muscle in her body contracts. There’s an open space underneath her back large enough to put my head through.

  “Breathe!” I cry, starting upwards. Alex’s eyes are wide in their sockets, but I only see their whites. The rest of her eyeballs are rolled back in her skull. I don’t know what the hell’s going on in her head, or her body. “It’s me, Alex. It’s me: Jax.”

  I look down at Alex with fear. She looks like a puppet, with someone pulling on every one of her strings at once. Air flies into her lungs in a long, drawn out wheeze, like nails dragging down a chalkboard.

  Alex throws her body backwards, scrabbling with her hands and her feet, and presses herself against the far wall. Her long red hair surrounds her face like she’s lost in a forest of blood-red tall grass. Her head swivels left and right – searching the dark, dismal cabin for a way out.

  “It’s me, Alex!” I say, begging her to listen, to understand, but she doesn’t.

  “Get away from me!” Alex screams in a high, terror filled voice. I know what’s going on inside her body. The amount of adrenaline flowing through her veins right now – it has to be the worst fight or flight reflex anyone’s ever experienced. She must be feeling like a gazelle trapped by a pride of lions. Hell, in Alex’s place, I would be scared as well. She’s in a strange, dark, terrifying place with her pants around her ankles.

  It’s not weakness. It’s smart.

  I don’t make any sudden movements. I don’t want to scare Alex any more than I already have. “Listen to me – Alex, please,” I beg. “It’s Jackson. Listen to my voice, you remember it – right?”

  Alex freezes. Her head stops moving, she even stops trembling. Her whole manner shouts that she can’t believe what – who – she’s hearing.

  She says something. I lean in, trying to make out the whisper escaping her mouth.

  “Jax…” Alex sighs, her voice frail. “Is it… Is it really you?”

  I nod. I feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. This is everything I’ve wanted for months, years, but I never wanted it like this. “I
t’s me, baby. You’re safe.”

  Alex falls forward, and I reach out and catch her. She clings to my body with the strength of a drowning woman holding onto a life raft. Her fingernails dig into my back, but I couldn’t care less. She’s here, holding me, and that’s all that matters. Her tears pour like heated lava down my shoulder.

  “How…?”

  Chapter 4

  Alex

  The second Jax lets go of me, I start shivering. The adrenaline seeps out of my veins, and shock replaces it. I’m cold, so goddamn cold; I think I might just freeze into an icicle right here and now. Jax looks at me anxiously, and crouches down in front of a woodstove. His hands strike a match,

  “Just give it a few seconds, ba –,” Jax catches himself, “Alex. It will warm up before you know it.”

  I know what Jax was going to say – what he stopped himself from saying: baby. It’s a name he’s whispered in my ear so many times before. It’s a word I’ve missed for so long. I can’t believe this is real.

  I can’t stop looking at him: at Jax. Every time I blink, I worry he might disappear. I’ve daydreamed about him – on and off – for years. These last couple months, it’s been more like every single day: every hour. I can’t close my eyes without seeing his face emblazoned on my eyelids. Now he’s right here, in front of me, it’s almost too much to bear. He’s been my lifeline for so long.

  “I don’t understand …” I whisper. “How … How did you know?”

  Jax’s facial muscles do a dance. He’s holding back on me – hiding something from me. I haven’t got the energy to press him for it, but I know that look. He can’t hide a damn thing from me; he never could. I can read him like a book.

  “Alex, I …” Jax says.