The Hitchhiker

by Kathy Coopmans

  7

  Caitlin

  I wake to the grumbling of my stomach and a pounding headache. An uneasy feeling settles around me until I inhale that scent. Cigarettes and him. Masculine. I hate him.

  “Nice. He has me in his room,” I say, sit up, and my entire body starts to shake as everything hits me all at once.

  My life is a mess all because my father guilted me with so many issues about never being good enough. About never thinking that love would make your world complete. That those who claim they care will use you, come and go when they please. He was right about so much of it, but he was wrong about me. I deserve to be loved. To be treated with respect, and even though I may be a bitch, want the pretty things out of life, I did not deserve a man who I don’t really know, hurting me the way Katch did.

  The funny thing is, I wanted to get to know him. Intimately at first, then when he said he was going to protect me, it all changed. I saw a man who was true to his word. Who would have someone’s back even in the most dangerous of situations in spite of the fact he has a mouth that matches my own. A temper that flares with a strike of a match.

  I hate him.

  “I just want to go home.” I lean my head back and shove that bastard out of my mind. I have more life-threatening things to deal with than the likes of him. If I don’t learn to control these emotions when it comes to my memories of my mother, I’m going to fall off the edge and never crawl back up. The suppressed feelings that have been buried and locked away for so many years are threatening to escape their prison.

  I want to remember her. I need to see her smile and hear her laugh, but I know that will never happen again. My dad took down all of our pictures of her when she died. I tore his house apart after his murder to try and find them. They were nowhere to be found. It’s something I need to ask Curtis to see if he has any of. It’s time I face the stages of properly grieving.

  “What I need is to start using that shampoo. Start remembering the good things about her.” My stomach lets out a loud growl, letting me know it’s going to drive me insane if I don’t feed it. I haven’t eaten a thing today.

  I swing my legs off the bed and take a look around me. Curious to see how this fucker lives.

  “You have got to be kidding me.” This room is immaculate. Definitely male dominant with blacks and grays. The bed sits low to the floor. It has to be custom made. It’s huge. Larger than any I have seen before. Black padded frame, gray comforter and pillows. Lots of pillows. What surprises me the most is the stark-white painted, wooden floor with matching walls and curtains that hang from floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “It is badass.” I run my hand down the soft bedding. My feet patter across the floor. I have no idea where I’m going, but I open the door and use the dull hallway lighting to guide me.

  I halt, unsure what to say to him. I told him to fuck off before I had my breakdown in the store. I must have blacked out, because the last thing I remember is seeing that bottle of Suave on the shelf. Mocking me to pick it up, daring me until I did.

  Just say you’re sorry, you understand. And get something to eat. Ask about your clothes and a shower and see if you can call Rachel. Good idea, inner self.

  “You going to tell me who those clothes were for? And why the clerk asked me if my friend who collapsed on the floor was okay?” I stop just outside the door to what I assume is the kitchen at the sound of a woman’s voice.

  “None of your Goddamn business. Now, get back to doing what you’re good at, and no more questions, you get me?” He sounds pissed. Royally. I feel sorry for the girl until I walk around the corner. Then I fucking hate her.

  “Oh, God,” I whisper.

  I stand there in the open doorway. My eyes are shutting at the sight before me and then opening again. It’s like a horrible accident you can’t turn from. A bleach-blonde woman is naked on her knees before Katch. His pants are unbuttoned, zipped down with his dick hanging out. Katch’s tanned chest is bared, displaying all of his tattoos painting his body, but I’m not seeing them. I’m seeing the man for what he really is. A rotten son of a bitch.

  I watch her as she takes the entire length of him in her mouth, moving up and down on him as if she’s done this dozens of times before. Katch has his eyes closed, a bottle of Jack in his hand.

  I step back, ready to run and get the hell out of here. Mentally and psychically, I am tapped out. My life has been gutted, and now my nerves have as well. On my second step backward, I crash into the wall, sending a framed picture crashing to the floor. I peer up the same time Katch does. His evil eyes bore holes straight through me.

  Once again, I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’m going as I rip through his house and enter through a room, slamming the door and locking it. I hear Katch roar, but don’t give a fuck. My whole body shudders, threatening to shut down again. Blackness may be welcomed once again. I don’t know how much more I can take.

  “Caitlin, open up this Goddamn door.” He pounds his fists. Yelling at me. AT ME!

  “Fuck you, Katch. I’m warning you right now. If you come in here and manhandle me, I will file assault charges against you so quick you will wish to God you never met me.” Once I start yelling at him, letting go of my anger, my energy builds to tear this fucker down. “Wait, that’s it, isn’t it? You do wish you never met me? Get away from me!” I scream so loud the lining in my throat strains.

  “Come on, Hollywood, you don’t have a right to be pissed off. This is my Goddamn house.” I push myself off the door. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he crushed me by what he said or what I saw. He is a son of a bitch. This life he leads. Killing people, or whatever the hell it is he does. It’s not for me. He’s more dangerous to me than the people who are out to get me.

  “I hate it when you call me Hollywood. In fact, I hate everything about you, Katch. You are a liar, a fucking coward, and I want out of here. I don’t need your help, nor do I want it. Call Curtis and ask him to come and pick me up.”

  “Not happening.” He slams the door again.

  I swear I hear the woman’s voice in the background, only fueling my fucking anger. I slide down a wall in the dark room, pulling my knees to my chest. All thoughts of being hungry have vanished without a second thought. Even though I feel hollow from head to toe, I feel nothing else at all.

  “I’ll bust this fucking door down, little girl. You might want to rethink your options.” It sounds like he drops his forehead to the door.

  “Before or after the whore finishes sucking your dick? I mean, I’m flexible. My schedule is wide fucking open, so whenever you’d like to kick that door fucking wide open is just fine.”

  I know I just told the man not to dare come in here, but I’ve decided poking an angry bear is much more enjoyable. Let the bastard storm in. The joke will be on him. He’ll have a busted door, and if he lays a hand on me, a very pissed-off Curtis.

  “You have five fucking seconds, Caitlin, to open the fucking door.”

  “Okay, Rambo.” I smirk in the dark, entertained at my own joke.

  I’ve lost all sanity. I’d be safer if someone locked me up.

  “Out!” I hear Katch roar. “Get the fuck out, Mindy, and don’t come back.” Don’t make your whore leave on my account. You insensitive fucker.

  “Who will cook or clean for you?” Her voice is sickly sweet.

  “Not fucking you.” The sound of drywall shattering is the next song in this fucked-up playlist. “This wouldn’t be happening if you hadn’t kept pushing. Fuck, I couldn’t even get it up for you.” What a jerk.

  “Has never stopped you from fucking me before. You’ve fucked me all over this house.”

  “That’s a lie, and you know it, Mindy. Out!”

  “You were fucking hard just now when I was deep-throating you.” I’m going to throw up.

  “Don’t worry, Mindy. He’ll find someone else. Men like him always do. You’re better off without that bastard. Word of advice, if there is a next time
, make sure you bite his dick off,” I holler from my side of the door.

  Mindy doesn’t have a chance to respond before a door slams, and then Katch is back pounding on the door.

  “You have three seconds, and I’m fucking done.”

  I don’t respond to him.

  “Three,” he counts out.

  Then BOOM the door blows open. Well, thank the Lord I moved out of the way, or I’d be nailed to the opposite wall. I peer up from my knees to see Katch’s outline standing before me. It takes three long strides until he’s standing right in front of me. He kneels down, not speaking a word, and tries pulling me into him

  “Don’t you dare fucking touch me.” I beat against his chest.

  He grips me by my arm, tightening it to let me know he’s not playing any games right now. It might be the first time fear has coursed through me since I was the hitchhiker and he was the hero.

  “I’m not fucking playing games with you, Caitlin. This fucking stops now.”

  I don’t miss the fact he didn’t use my nickname; that fact hurts a little in spite of what I said.

  “You’re damn right, it stops now. You are disgusting,” I snap.

  He lifts me up by my waist, carries me down the hall, and sets me down on a cool leather couch, which is nice, since I was certain he was going to throw me out the door.

  “Here.” He tosses a pizza box in my lap. “Fucking eat, and then you can go shower and change.”

  “I want to leave,” I whisper with my head bowed and hair draping over my shoulders providing me a security curtain.

  “I said it’s not fucking happening.” I hear the sound of a beer opening followed by the front door.

  When I look up, I see Katch standing in the doorway with a cigarette dangling from his lips. His movements are smooth as he flicks the lighter to life and lights the end of his cigarette until it’s cherry red. His cheeks suck in as he inhales the smoke and it gracefully floats from his lips. Katch places one arm up on the door jamb, continuing to bring the cigarette to his lips, taking long, sexy pulls from it.

  “Let me go to the club,” I plead once more.

  He glances over his shoulder at me. “Eat.”

  I study the masterpiece on his body. Every single inch of his back houses art. It’s colorful and intriguing. My stomach growls loudly. The aroma of fresh Italian spices and tomato sauce taunts my empty stomach. I flip open the lid of the pizza box to find my favorite combination of pizza. Pepperoni, mushroom, and fresh tomatoes all bedded down in gooey mozzarella cheese. Rachel. This had to be Rachel.

  I go to open my mouth to tell Katch that Rachel wouldn’t appreciate him getting head from a whore while I was here, but I bite my tongue. This is my reality. It’s his house. His time. And ultimately, his choice. I’m the fucking idiot who decided to taunt him today and think there could’ve been something between us. The conclusion of my reality is that we are two different people with two different end goals in mind. I want someone to love me, while he, well, he’s more fucked up in his ways than I am.

  I pluck a slice from the box and inhale it in a matter of a few bites. Katch lights up another cigarette, glancing back to me every now and then. In ladylike fashion, I use his shirt to wipe the grease from my fingers. I notice a cold beer on the table next to me and assume it’s mine. I don’t drink this shit. I’m more of high-shelf-vodka-type girl. Again, reality slapping me in the bruised ego.

  I wince when the bitter liquid goes down, but I’m thankful for it. Maybe that’s how I should feel about this whole situation? It’s hell, but I should be thankful to be safe. Katch shuts the door after he flicks his second cigarette out.

  “I’d like to go back, please,” I try one more time.

  Katch kicks his feet up on his coffee table, settling in on the opposite side of the couch. “No.”

  He takes the box of pizza from me, digging in like he hasn’t eaten in a very long time as well. He begins talking between bites of food.

  “This is my house. Shit move on my part? Yes. The fact is, until I find out who is after you, you’re not leaving my side. Period.”

  “The club can watch me.” I twist to face him, making sure my shirt is pulled up to my neck.

  “The club has lots of business going down. You’re important to Curtis, and I owe him a favor. You’re safer here than there.”

  “A favor?”

  “Yes, a favor.”

  I shake my head knowing it won’t do any good to argue or scream at the top of my lungs at how degrading he is.

  “She your girlfriend?” I ask then recoil immediately. “Never mind.”

  He only grunts, seeming to approve of me retracting my question. I fiddle with the hem of the shirt, staring at the stitching. Then decide on honesty.

  “You hurt me.” I swear I see him wince but continue on. “Seems I don’t have much choice on the matter. I’ll leave you alone, and I’d appreciate the same from you until I’m free to leave here.”

  He nods.

  “Where are my clothes?” I ask.

  He points to a bookshelf near the door. I stand up and go to them, grabbing the bag, and search for a bathroom. I decline to go into his room. Settling on a bedroom across the hall from his. Once I find the light, I walk across the plush carpet to discover an attached bathroom. Something in me has snapped. All sense of humanity has vanished, leaving me with a robotic shell of a person. I turn on the water, strip out of my clothes, and once the hot water scalds my skin, I relish in it. I decide on not washing my hair, scrub the hell out of my body with the bar of soap, and stay under the stream until it begins to cool.

  When I step out of the shower and begin drying off, I realize for the first time Katch has a beautiful home. My imagination would’ve led me to believe a supposed stone-cold killer like himself would live in a dark dungeon somewhere.

  The man may knock me down for being a snob, but his plush towels tell a different story. He likes the finer things in life as well. I slip into a fresh pair of underwear, yoga pants, and top. I’d prefer they were washed first in a normal situation, but I’m not offered that luxury and truly, I really don’t care. In fact, I’m at the point that I don’t care about anything anymore.

  I twist the brass knob, throwing open the door, and then promptly scream and jump back. I barely catch myself before tumbling back onto the tile floor.

  “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.” I clutch my chest feeling my heart slam against it.

  “You’ll sleep in my bed.” He crosses his arms over his still bared chest. “And I’ll take the spare bedroom. The house is armed with a security system, and I’m a light sleeper. Don’t fuck around with me, Caitlin.”

  I nod, swallow back my reply, then go to walk around him. His hand catches my forearm, pulling me back to him.

  “I’m sor…”

  I pull away from him and stare him straight in the eye. “Don’t. It’s not needed. I’ll obey all the rules and play this game to survive. I’m not me anymore. That girl is dead. You win. You just make sure you stay the hell away from me. And don’t you ever put your hands on me again.”

  I walk out of the room, across the hall, and slam the door shut to his room. I don’t want to be here.

  My back hits the bed swallowing me up in an instant. His smell attacks every nerve ending in my body. I curl up in a ball, my heart heavy and my brain overloading. I cry for everything I’ve lost and never had.

  I’ll stay here and be the pawn of survival until it’s my time to leave. I don’t need to think or defend the woman who was once Caitlin Winslow, or feel. I’ll be quiet. And ignore my sexy paradoxical captor for however long it takes.

  8

  Katch

  Two motherfucking days she’s been locked up in that room. The night I fucked up, she slept in my bed right where she belongs, and now I’m done arguing with her to come out of my spare room, that she went back to. I give the fuck up. The woman has completely shut me out. The only time she comes out is to grab some food out
of the fridge, water, or whatever the fuck she makes for herself. She refuses to eat what I make, won’t look at me, not a Goddamn thing to acknowledge my presence. If she were any other woman, I would have thrown her ass out on the streets without an itch of guilt or remorse. Her name and face would have been erased from my memory.

  Not her, though. She’s had me lumbering around like a lost black sheep.

  I fucked up so damn bad that if I weren’t taking this job against my better judgment to put some space between us, I would shake the shit out of her, spank her ass red, and bend her over my table to fuck her.

  Her words of me hurting her have sliced a gaping hole in my black heart, bleeding me the fuck out. Any man in his right mind would jump at the chance to have a woman like her.

  She may be a pain in the ass, but everything else about her makes up for it.

  That’s why I’m taking this job. As sick as it sounds, I need to put a bullet through someone’s head. It isn’t just any someone, either. It’s the man responsible for setting fire to Curtis’s warehouse several months ago. The piece of shit who crossed territory lines in hopes of shaking the club around.

  Shit don’t work that way. Not in my life and not with my friend.

  “Fuck,” I holler, shove a couple pairs of jeans in my bag, and zip it up. I hesitate outside of her door. My hands are itching to touch her, to apologize for real. I’ve never begged a woman to listen to me in my life. They usually beg, they always submit, but fuck it all if I know what the hell do to with this one. I know I want her, and the crazy notion I strummed up in my head that she would be a distraction when I’m gone is something I’m about to find out.

  “I’m leaving for a week, maybe two. Brick and Snake are here. They have strict instructions not to take you anywhere. Don’t try to fuck with them while I’m gone, or you’ll wish to God you listened to me. There’s a phone on the kitchen counter. You need anything, call Curtis; he’ll get in touch with me.” I wait by the door for her to respond, knowing she won’t, but wishing like hell she would open this door. To have her tell me good-bye.