by Hamel, B. B.
It was supposed to be easy.
I never expected to end up with some gorgeous fucking girl as my prisoner.
I drink more whiskey, mulling it over, when I hear the distinct sound of tires on dirt coming toward the cabin. I growl to myself and grab my Glock from the counter, checking the clip before walking over to my door.
The truck parks as I glance out the window. The guy that gets out and walks up my porch is heavyset, nearly fat, with little squinting eyes and a pig nose.
I slip my Glock into my jeans and open the door. Ray Short smiles at me.
“How’s it going, Rowan?” he asks in his nasally whine. Rumor is he used to be a boxer back in the day and got his nose broken one too many times. Sounds like he was a shitty boxer.
“All right,” I say to him. “You’re here late.”
Ray gives me this look like, what can you do? and I just glare at him.
“Boss sent me over to check on you.”
“Fish doesn’t need to check on me.”
“Doesn’t matter. The job done?”
I nod once. “Job’s done.”
“Good. Good.” He glances past me, into my kitchen. “That whiskey? I could use a sip, if you don’t mind.”
“It’s fucking late, Ray. Go tell Fish the job’s done and clean-up is his problem.”
Ray raises an eyebrow. “Clean-up?”
“Corpses leave messes.”
“You left the body?”
“Of course I did.”
Ray looks nervous. “Fish won’t like that.”
“Fish can deal with it or not. Cops won’t find a damn fiber of mine in that whole house so I’m not too worried.”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s just, you know. We like when they disappear.”
“I don’t care what you like, to be totally honest.” I know I’m pushing it a little bit here but it’s late, I’m exhausted, and there’s no way I hell I can let Ray into my place.
If he spots Allie, we’re fucked. Ray’s not the kind of guy to let shit slide. He’ll tell Fish in a heartbeat and then I’m on the hook for this girl. No, I’d have to kill the bastard and skip town, which won’t be easy with Allie in tow.
And, okay, there’s a little pride going on here. I mean, in all my time working for the big crime syndicates out on the East Coast, I never once had them check up on me the night of a kill. Sure, the next day, but the same fucking night? That’s just insulting.
I just need the fat asshole to leave, but he’s not getting the hint.
“You want me to go back and tell Fish that?”
“Tell him whatever you want,” I growl. “It’s late, I’m tired, and I think I have some brain still on my glove. So I’d appreciate it if you got off my porch.”
Ray narrows his eyes at me but he doesn’t try to get past. He watches me carefully for a second and I think he’s about to question me, but he decides better of it.
“Okay then. If it’s done, it’s done. I’ll tell him.”
“Good.”
Ray nods to himself a little. “Good,” he mutters, turning away. “I’ll tell the boss that.”
I watch him walk back to his truck, climb inside, and drive off. Once I can’t see his taillights anymore, I turn back into the cabin.
Allie’s standing there in the hallway, watching me carefully.
“Shit,” I say, wincing. “How long have you been there?”
“I came out after he left.”
“Fuck. I told you to stay back in the room.”
She shrugs, still wearing those skimpy pajamas, hands still tied together.
“Wanted to see what was happening.”
I stare at her for a second before walking over. I back her up against the wall and glare at her, putting my hands on her hips, sliding them up slowly. She bites her lip, breathing deep, and if I didn’t know any better I’d say that the girl’s pretty fucking aroused right now.
I move my hands down her arms and stop when I get to the rope binding her wrists. Slowly I untie the thing.
“Thanks,” she says softly as I drop the rope on the floor. She rubs her right wrist gently.
“Seems stupid to keep it on,” I say. “If you wanna run, you’ll find a way to get it off.” I cock my head, staring at her. “You gonna run tonight?”
“No,” she says softly. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”
I smile softly at her and feel a stab of guilt. “Sorry about that.”
“No, you’re not.” She doesn’t smile, doesn’t make a move at all.
I stay there, close to her, wondering just how far she’ll let me go in this moment. I get the feeling she’s interested in more than she’s letting on but I can’t let myself push too hard. I finally back off, stepping away.
“Get some sleep,” I tell her. “I have a feeling we’re in for some shit soon.”
“Why?” she asks.
“That guy that visited? He works for the guy that hired me to kill your father. I don’t think he was happy about what I had to say.”
“Why not? You did it.” She says it so simply and it almost makes me feel guilty.
“I guess they wanted a full-service killing.” I roll my eyes a little bit. “Go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning. We’ll figure out what to do with you then.”
She nods and turns away. I stare at her plump ass walk down the hall, hips swaying. Once she disappears behind her door, I walk back into the kitchen and growl softly to myself.
Fucking hell. I haven’t had a girl like her in a while.
I pour myself another whiskey and knock it back.
Fish is gonna be a problem, I can already tell. Guys like him aren’t happy with letting guys like me off the hook. You find a decent killer, you keep him around and working for you. It’s just good business sense.
My last job might not be the last. And with Allie in the picture, well…
Things are past complicated now.
3
Allie
I actually manage to get some sleep, despite the fear and adrenaline coursing through my body. As soon as I curl up under the covers on the unfamiliar bed in the strange, terrifying room, I almost instantly pass out and drop into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I wake up early. It’s a little past six and the sun’s barely coming up when I sit up and look around the room, taking stock of my surroundings.
I don’t remember much about how we got here last night. I know he drove us in his truck but the route he took seemed winding and long. We’re definitely outside of Pine Grove, but I don’t think we’re too far away. I now this area better than he probably realizes. Most people that live in Pine Grove are outsiders, but my family is one of the few that’s been here for generations. I know these hills better than anyone else.
I slip out of bed and find my bag. I grab some socks and shoes, a pair of comfortable jogging pants, and a long sleeve shirt. I slip it all on, trying to look casual, but ready to move at a moment’s notice. When I’m dressed, I search the room one more time.
It’s pretty much empty. Some linens are in the closet. There’s a nightstand and a dresser, but they’re both empty. The walls have generic art prints hanging, like someone just went to a thrift shop and grabbed the first things they saw. Heck, maybe that’s what he did.
I slip out of the room and find a bathroom one door down. I use it, cleaning my hands and splashing water on my face when I’m done, and head back out toward the kitchen.
I don’t know what I’m expecting, but it’s definitely not Rowan standing in front of the stove wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, his hair tussled from sleep, a spatula in his hand.
He half turns when he hears me. “Morning,” he grunts at me.
I’m struck again at how attractive the man is. He’s lean and muscular with an impressively chiseled and athletic body. There are tattoos along his chest and arms along with more than a few scars, some of them pretty nasty. He gives me a charming smile and holds up the spatula.
“Hungry?” he
asks.
Warily, I sit down at the counter and watch him. “I guess.”
“Good. Making bacon and eggs. Coffee’s ready if you want some.”
“Are you always up this early?”
“Yep,” he says. “Sorry to disappoint. I’m not much of a sleeper.”
I file that away just in case I need it. “I didn’t think I’d sleep, but I did.” The words feel stupid as soon as they leave my lips.
But he just nods. “You’d be surprised what shock can do to a person. I’m glad you slept it off, though. Head feeling clearer today?”
I frown down at the countertop, mind running back to the night before. He’s right, I was in a fog, and I am much clearer today. What happened is still blurry, like my brain’s trying to censor it for me, but it’s all still there, still happening in the past, over and over again.
“Yeah,” I say softly.
He watches me silently before turning back to the stove.
I let him cook in silence. When he finishes the bacon, he places it on a paper towel and pours me a mug of coffee. He puts the coffee in front of me wordlessly before turning back to the eggs. I sip it black even though I normally douse it in sugar and milk. I just can’t bring myself to ask him for something like that right now.
This is my father’s killer. I should hate him. I look around the room and spot a knife block nearby. I could get up and grab one. I bet I could stab him before he could stop me. He’d deserve it, the murdering bastard.
But I don’t want to kill him. I mean, I’m not a violent person by nature, but I don’t even want to hurt him. I’m not really that angry about him killing my father, if I’m totally honest.
I’m angrier about him taking me away from my home.
I’m angry with myself for letting him. I shouldn’t have left, even if it meant staying there in that place with my father’s dead body slowly cooling nearby. I would’ve left in the morning, but if he had let me stayed, I could’ve at least had a chance.
My father used to tell me a story about my great-grandfather. He was the last one in our family to have the family fortune and apparently he spent it all on booze and drugs, which sounds about right, given how my dad acted. But he’d tell me that my great-grandfather buried gold on the property, the last of the Martin family fortune, buried somewhere just waiting for us to find it. He told me that story when I was a little girl and I spent hours dreaming about what I’d do if I found that gold. We’d be rich and happy and my parents wouldn’t hate each other and I could buy anything I wanted.
Life would be good again.
But Rowan ripped me from my house before I could even try to dig. I’ve searched a few times over the years and even have a pretty good idea of where it might be, but I never actually dug anything up. Mostly because I was afraid that my father might beat me, but also because I was afraid I might not find anything.
Now though, now I have nothing left to lose. All those stories have to be true, or at least there has to be some grain of truth to them.
And I need to get back there and find it.
Rowan finishes cooking breakfast and slides a plate in front of me before making himself a plate and sitting down at the table. I hesitate before joining him, watching him warily as he eats.
I don’t know this man. I don’t know anything about him. The only thing I do know is that he murdered my father but he didn’t kill me. That has to say something about him although I don’t know what yet.
“You should eat,” he grunts without looking up. “And stop staring at me.”
I blush a little bit. “Sorry,” I mumble.
“Don’t have to apologize. I know I’m nice to look at.”
I frown and blush even more. “That’s not it. I was just wondering what kind of man kills people like that.”
He keeps eating like I asked him about the weather instead of about murdering. I stare at my plate instead of at him although I’m itching to look up. It takes all my willpower to stay under control.
“It’s a long story,” he says finally. “But your dad was supposed to be my last.”
“It’s not going to be?” I ask, heart beating quick.
He looks up at me. “Not you, so relax. Someone else.”
“How do you know? The man last night told you?”
He sighs. “Not exactly. The guy I actually work for isn’t the type to forgive and forget so easily, and he’s not happy about how I left the scene last night. I’m betting he’ll push for more.”
“If you don’t want to kill… why keep doing it?”
He stares at me, face blank. I shy away from him, fear jolting my heart.
“You ask a lot of questions,” he says finally. “Eat your food.”
I look away from him, back down at my plate. I hear him go back to shoveling eggs and bacon into his mouth and we sit like that in silence for a few minutes before he finishes.
He gets up and rinses of his plate, dropping it into the dishwasher. He turns to me and I can feel his eyes staring at me for what feels like an hour, but is probably just a few seconds.
“Look,” he says finally. “I can’t sit around here all day babysitting you. So let’s make a deal.”
I turn to him, frowning a little bit. “What do you mean, a deal?”
“You promise not to try and run off and I won’t chain you up to the toilet.”
I blink in surprise. “You’d do that?”
He snorts. “Sure. Why not?”
“That’s awful.”
“You wouldn’t run that way.” He stares at me coolly. “Well?”
“Fine,” I say. “We have a deal.”
He nods slowly. “I know you’re probably lying. I know you’ll try and run. But listen to me carefully, that’s a very bad idea.”
I stare at him but I don’t say a word. He’s right, I am lying, but I’m not about to admit that to him.
He sighs again and shakes his head. “Fucking hell,” he grumbles as he disappears back into his bedroom.
While he’s gone, I take a few bites of food. Turns out I am pretty freaking hungry but I just didn’t want him to get the satisfaction of me eating. When I hear him coming back, I quickly finish up and act like I hadn’t just shoved an entire plate of food into my mouth in two minutes.
He doesn’t seem to notice my empty plate though. He’s wearing a dark jacket, dark jeans, and a gray t-shirt. He stops near the front door and looks at me.
“Just don’t be stupid,” he says finally before opening the door and leaving without another word.
I sit there, completely alone in this house, and the first thing I can think of is taking a shower.
I know, it’s insane. My father’s killer just left and I can walk out that door whenever I want to. But right now, I feel so filthy and disgusting and god, I just need to stand under the hot water for ten minutes and think about what I’m going to do.
And so I strip down, get into the shower, and let the water run down my face as I close my eyes and picture my captor’s hands all over my body.
* * *
It takes me all day to get back to town.
Before I left, I searched through the house. I didn’t find anything too useful, unfortunately. I grabbed a bag and shoved a flashlight, that rope he used on me, some water bottles, some granola bars I found in the back of the cupboard, and some spare clothes into it. I tossed it over my back and head out his front door, walking fast down the gravel driveway.
It was pretty easy to get back into town from there, but it took forever. I stayed away from the road because I didn’t want him to spot me, which meant I had to walk through the rocky and overgrown underbrush along the edge of the tree line. That slowed me down a lot and I tripped a couple times just from daydreaming about what the bastard might do to me if I get caught.
I guess it doesn’t matter. If I get caught, I’m finished. I know this is my only chance and I’m squandering it like a moron.
It took me hours and hours and by the time I final
ly reach the house, the sun’s starting to set. I don’t bother with the flashlight yet, though, and I avoid going inside.
Instead, I head over to one of the outbuildings, a little shed that’s practically falling apart. I grab an old shovel that’s propped up in one corner before heading out along onto the property.
I get hit with a big wave of nostalgia as I walk along an old crumbling stone wall that’s covered in moss and leaves and vines. I used to walk along the top of this wall when I was a little girl, laughing and playing, not a care in the world. I was invincible back then.
This farm was my playground. I explored every single inch of it, top to bottom and front to back. I know it better than anyone, my father included, although I guess I’m the only one that knows it now since he’s dead. The thought sends a shiver down my spine and I glance back at the house. He’s probably still in there, lying cold on the floor, his brains scattered all over the living room.
I force myself forward. The wall ends near a hedgerow and a huge oak tree. I stop at the base of the oak and force the shovel into the soft earth.
I dig for hours. I start around the oak but I don’t find anything at all. I move on to an old well not too far off before giving up and heading over to a crumbling barn. I have to turn my flashlight on and dig by its light, pulling back rotted floorboards and shoveling mounds of dirt into the corner of the building.
I can hear owls in the rafters and mice scuttling along the corners but I keep going. The night’s pretty cold and I’ve been out here for an entire day now, either walking or shoveling. I’m physically exhausted but I only stop long enough to drink some water and eat some granola bars.
I’m in a desperate frenzy. I feel insane really, digging for gold that can’t really exist. If it did, my father would’ve dug it up a long time ago and gambled it all away. But I can’t help myself. I keep thinking back to when I was a little girl and picturing all the things I could do with that money. I keep seeing how my life could change and get better and I keep digging through the exhaustion.
