by Rye Hart
I opened the only other door in the house – the one that led to the master bedroom. What used to be my parent's bedroom. The bed was much the same as I remembered, only with different bedding. A navy blue and white comforter covered the queen-sized bed, along with pillows in matching colors.
The room was smaller than I'd remembered it to be, with the bed taking up most of the space. A dark mahogany wood dresser sat against one wall, and two bedside tables completed the otherwise barren room.
So much was missing from this room – things I remembered, including the mirror above the dresser. I remembered it was the mirror my mom used to apply her makeup and do her hair in. There had been a radio that sat on the end table and played classic rock and oldies while mom prepared for church on Sunday morning.
I remember us kids would climb on the bed and watch her, as dad showered in the other room.
“I guess you can take the bed,” I said. “I'll take the couch.”
Kara didn't argue, not that I expected her to. She walked over and ran a hand over the comforter, then looked around the room. We both stared at the windows at the same time, and that's when I noticed the bars across them. She did too.
“It all looks so normal and quaint,” she said, speaking mostly to herself. “And then, I'm reminded that I'm actually sitting in prison.”
“It's not a prison,” I corrected her. “It's for your own protection.”
She side-eyed me. “You don't really believe that, do you? We both know that Killian is never going to let me get out of this alive.”
I swallowed hard. I knew she was right, but I didn't want to agree with her. Some primitive part of my brain feared that agreeing with her would make it a reality – and if she feared it was an inevitability, it might make her cooperating with me less likely. The last thing I wanted to do was keep her restrained, but if she fought me, I was going to have no choice. I needed to keep her here. I needed to keep her safe.
“We'll figure something out,” I said.
She scoffed, collapsing on the bed. Her hands were still tied, so she just rested them on her lap and stared at the ceiling, a look of sad resignation on her face.
“The only way I'm getting out alive is if you let me go,” she said and then met my gaze. “And let's be honest with one another here, you're not going to do that, are you?”
“No,” I said.
I licked my parched lips and walked closer to her. She sat bolt upright in the bed, as if she was afraid I was going to kill her right then and there and was prepared to fight. Reaching in my pocket, I pulled out a pocket knife and opened it up. She stared at the blade, her eyes clouded with fear, but her chin lifted in defiance. Her eyes slipped off the blade though, then looked straight up at me. She gasped when I grabbed her wrists with one hand and used the knife to cut through the rope. Her hands fell free into her lap, and she rubbed at her wrists as if they hurt.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I told you, you're not in prison,” I said softly. “Unless, of course, you try to escape. Then I'll have to restrain you. Please don't make me do that, Kara. I really don't want to”
She stared at me but didn't say anything in return. I sat down beside her on the bed. There really wasn't much I could say to ease her mind. She just needed to trust me. I needed to find a way to make her trust me. We'd figure something to get her out from under this mess.
First though, I needed to figure out a way to get my son back from Killian, then I'd let Kara go. But, it had to happen in that order. If Killian knew I'd let Kara go, willingly, I didn't trust what he might do to Jack. I wanted to believe my brother wasn't truly a monster, but that was hard. I'd seen the look in his eyes and it had left even me shaken.
He was a dark man. A bad man. I honestly had no idea what he might do, and I feared this had all been a setup – the fact that Crystal had showed up, out of the blue, and dropped a baby into my arms. Had Killian been a part of that?
It seemed to be a natural question to me, since the minute I'd stepped into his house with my son in my arms, he knew he had me. I wanted to believe that it wasn't pre-meditated, that he wasn't trying to force me back into the family. But it all worked out so well for him – according to his plans.
After all, there I was, keeping a prisoner against her will – against my will – all because my son was at his house.
Meredith was a good person. I had no doubt she'd take care of Jack and would never willingly do anything to put him in harm's way. It was only if I decided to back out of my dealings with Killian that I had to worry about something happening. I may not have known about the little guy until last night, but he was still my responsibility. He was still my son.
“What are you thinking about?” Kara asked. “Please tell me it's a plan that ends with me being alive, because that would be a relief right about now.”
I focused my gaze on her and took a deep breath. “I'm thinking about my son.”
Her face softened. “How old is he?”
“Two months,” I said, staring at my hands.
“Wow, just a baby then,” she said, speaking slowly. “Where's the mother?”
“Gone,” I said.
Thinking about Crystal and the way she'd dropped Jack off with me like that – and wondering if Killian had put her up to it – filled with me rage. But, I knew it was an impotent rage. I had no one to direct it at. I clenched my eyes shut and tried not to think about it.
“I'm the only one he has,” I said softly.
“Being a single dad is tough,” she said. “My dad couldn't handle it.”
“Mine either,” I said, a dry chuckle escaped my lips. “That's why my brothers turned out the way they did. I mean, I had no desire to be a dad myself, but since I am – I feel like I have a responsibility to that kid. A responsibility to make sure he doesn't turn out like the rest of my fucked up family. I need to protect him from all this bullshit, and yet, here I am – in the middle of it.”
“You'd do anything for your little boy, wouldn't you?” she asked me.
Her voice cracked a bit, causing me to open my eyes and looked at her. Tears welled up in those beautiful, innocent brown eyes of hers and it pulled at my heart. They were tears for my son. How could she care about a child she didn't even know? Especially the child of a man who was technically holding her hostage.
“I would. I can't explain it, but I would,” I said.
In my heart, I knew it to be true. The bond between father and son was a strong one already. I'd never really thought about or wanted to be a father, but I was one. I could either be the best father I possibly could or be like my old man – and that was an easy decision for me to make.
“Then I'll do what I can to help you get him back,” she said. “But promise me that you'll at least try to come up with a plan that doesn't leave me dead in a ditch somewhere? Please?”
She wiped at her eyes, and a small smile crossed her face. It was meant as a joke, I had no doubt, but the truth in her words was still stark. For the first time since we met though, she was smiling, and that look caused me to smile too.
“I promise,” I said, and I had no desire to break that promise either.
CHAPTER SIX
KARA
I stared up at the ceiling that night, feeling lost and utterly alone. I was no longer tied down or confined, but I was still in a prison just the same. Whether Declan believed it or not, I was still trapped. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
There was the hum of the television in the other room. Not that the cabin had cable or anything fancy like that. Judging by the sound, I figured it was probably PBS or something. Background noise, I assumed. Every once in a while, there'd be footsteps as he walked through the house. Back and forth. Pacing. Like me, Declan was struggling to sleep, but likely for very different reasons.
Finally, I'd had enough. I climbed out of the bed and threw my pants back on. The floor creaked beneath my feet as I stepped to the door. I held my breath for some reason as I tu
rned the knob and peered out. I saw the front room was lit with the eerie blue glow of an old school television.
Padding softly, I walked down the hallway and found Declan sitting on the couch, shirtless. He stared at the TV blankly, seeing, but not really seeing it. The program he had on showed a herd of elephants walking through the savannah in Africa.
He didn't notice me standing there watching him. I stood there for a little while, watching him as he kept his eyes fixed on the screen, almost robotically bringing the bottle of beer in his hand to his lips, and taking a sip. He just did that over, and over, and over... it was almost like watching an animatronic figure at Disneyland or something. Of course, this would have to be the shittiest Disneyland in the world.
Finally, he caught a glimpse of me from the corner of his eye, and he turned his head, the animatronic spell broken.
“Not thinking about escaping, are ya?” he asked me. “Because if so, I should probably tell you now, that I don't sleep much.”
“No, I'm not thinking about escaping. I just can't sleep either. I don't do so well in strange places,” I said. I pointed at the beer in his hand. “Think I can have one?”
“It's old and shitty, but help yourself,” he said. “There's some in the fridge.”
I walked into the kitchen, and that's when I noticed that the place had been set up with some food and drinks already. Almost like someone, at some point, had stayed there or planned on staying there. Opening the fridge, I found the shitty beer along with some condiments. Typical bachelor pad. Who was the bachelor though?
I grabbed a beer and went back into the living room. Declan was stretched out on the loveseat, leaving the other couch for me. Popping open the bottle, I flopped down on the couch and took a sip, and grimaced.
“You're right. It is shitty,” I said.
“Yep. But there's not much else to choose from,” he said.
He took another sip, still staring at the television blankly. For the first time, I saw him relaxed. I also saw him shirtless. He was in such good shape, it made my breath catch in my throat as my eyes traveled up and down his body. He was built like a God. With a muscular chest, and the tiniest bit of hair running down to his stomach, it was hard not to stare. The tattoos were like works of art on his skin, and I tried to take them all in, as if deciphering a puzzle. There were plenty of scars too – some of them deeper than others.
As my gaze moved upward, our eyes met – he'd caught me staring at him.
My cheeks flushed red, and I turned back to the TV and cleared my throat. I pointed at the screen with the bottle and pretended to be interested.
“Elephants, huh?” I asked.
“Yeah. We only get one channel,” he said.
“Well, I like elephants, so it's all good.”
Declan didn't respond. He just went back to watching television – well, not watching, more like just staring at it. Yes, definitely just staring at it. He wasn't watching it or even listening, his mind was obviously lost in another world, somewhere else entirely.
As was mine.
I took a long swallow of the bitter ass beer before putting the bottle down on the coffee table. I was no longer looking at the television – I couldn't stop staring at him, wondering what was going through his head.
“What?” he asked, as he turned the full weight of his gaze completely on me. “You keep staring at me like you want to say something. So, just spit it out already.”
“I – well, I was just curious. I don't know what you're thinking,” I said. “You tell me to trust you, but I don't know the first thing about you. How can I trust somebody I know nothing about?”
He lifted the bottle of beer, taking a long swallow, and finished it off. He set it down on the table with a loud clang and sighed. Declan ran a hand through his hair and looked around the room, looking as if he was trying to keep himself from saying something. Finally, he turned back to me, his jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed.
“Listen, we're not going to be best friends, Kara,” he said. “We're both stuck in a shitty situation, and I'm just trying to make the best of it. There's really not much more to it than that.”
I shrugged. “I just figured since we're stuck together in this shitty situation, we might as well make it pleasant. Or at least, as pleasant as it can be. Excuse me for thinking we didn't have to be enemies.”
He sat back on the couch and let out a long breath. “Fine,” he says. “You're right. So, what do you wanna know about me?”
“Anything,” I said, not really prepared with a question. “Tell me about yourself.”
I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapped my arms around them, and stared at him some more. He was looking back at me, his brow furrowed, but he didn't look angry. He looked like a man measuring his words. “Well,” he said scratching his beard, “There's not much to say. I'm an underground fighter with nothing to show for my twenty-seven years on this planet. I don't have much, I've got little money, but I get by. And up until now, I've been fine with that.”
“Up until you had your son?” I asked.
He sighed again, this time leaning his head against the back of the loveseat, a bemused smirk on his face. He shook his head.
“Jesus Christ, am I in therapy now or something?” When I didn't answer, he sat upright again and said, “Yes, my son made me realize what a fuckup I've been my whole life. And I keep fucking up. Obviously, since now I'm apparently kidnapping people and holding them hostage for ransom. Not how I expected to spend my life.”
“I get that,” I said softly. “That makes sense. More than you know.”
“Get what?” he sneered. “What could you possibly get?”
“Spending your life, doing everything for other people. Living it for someone else other than yourself. Just trying to get by, day-by-day,” I said.
“I didn't say any of that shit,” he said.
“You didn't have to,” I said.
He sat back again, but no longer tried to argue the point with me. In fact, his face softened as he stared down at his hands. It seemed like my words hit a little closer to home than he expected them to. I could see that they'd gotten under his skin.
“I really don't intend to hurt you, Kara,” he said. “And I won't let my brothers do it either. If there's one thing you can believe in all this crazy shit, it's that.”
“For some crazy reason, I believe you,” I said, realizing I actually meant the words as I spoke them.
I rested my chin against my knees and stared at him – then realized I probably looked like a child in that moment. Honestly though, in that moment, I felt like a child. I felt like a child who was lost, scared, confused, just wanted someone to take care of me for once. I wanted somebody to put their arms around me and tell me it would all be okay, that nothing bad was going to happen.
“Your dad really a bad guy?” he asked softly. “Like you've said he was?”
I shrugged. “I don't know. Sometimes he does shitty things – like up and leave me to deal with his debts and the people coming to collect them,” I said wryly. “Other times, well, he reminds me of the dad he used to be. Those times have gotten fewer and father between ever since my mom died. He changed and I've been trying to tell myself for so long that he'll bounce back. That he'll be a good man again. But, I realize now I've just been lying to myself. This just proves that man isn't coming back to me. My dad – my real dad – is dead to me. He's never coming back.”
We were both silent for a long time before Declan said, “Weird as it may sound, my dad's death was one of the best things to ever happen to me.”
I cocked my head to the side and raised my eyebrows. I didn't want to push any further than that, but I had to admit, I was curious. It was such an odd thing to say and it begged the question. Thankfully, I didn't need to pry though, because Declan continued unprompted.
“My dad ruined our lives,” he said. “Being back here, I realize it more than ever. Being in this place – this house – really highlights that
fact to me in flashing fucking neon letters. Had he died instead of my mom when we were younger, I have no doubts our lives would be vastly different than they are today. For the better.”
“Mine too,” I said.
Declan looked at me, truly looked at me, like he was seeing me for the first time. The intensity burning in his eyes sent a shiver crawling along my flesh, though surprisingly, it wasn't an unpleasant feeling.
“How'd your mom die?” he asked softly.
“Car accident,” I said. “Yours?”
“Cancer,” he said.
“I'm so sorry,” I said.
“Yeah, it was a long time ago,” he said, running a hand through his hair and clearing his throat, doing his best to put the tough-guy facade back up. “Want another beer?”
“No thanks,” I said, holding up my still mostly full bottle. “You were right. It's pretty shitty. Really shitty in fact.”
“You can say that again,” he said, a grin on his face. “Killian said someone would be dropping off some supplies for us tomorrow. Hopefully that includes some Guiness. Or, at the very least, something that doesn't taste like piss.”
Declan stood up and walked into the kitchen. As soon as he was gone, I looked toward the door, and the thought of escape flashed through my mind It would be so easy, I could just open the door and leave. Sure, he'd probably catch me eventually – but maybe not. I've always been a fast, nimble runner. There was always the possibility I could outrun him. All I needed to do was give myself a chance.
I looked at the coffee table, quickly searching for the car keys. They were nowhere to be found. Probably in his pants pocket. I hugged my knees tighter when I realized I probably wouldn't really leave. Sure, common sense and my little lizard brain told me to make a run for it the first chance I got. It told me I was being held prisoner and I needed to escape.
