Off Limits: A Bad Boy Romance

by Lauren Landish

  I could see it in Chris's eyes; he would have a backup plan. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I'd been the fall guy. He knew that if he ever got into a jam, he could use me as a convenient excuse. After all, Chris was the upstanding member of society, from one of the best families that had served his nation honorably. I was just his fuck-up friend who he'd given a second chance to, the most noble of gestures that would be regretted sorrowfully.

  “I will stop you,” I gasped, backing away. I grabbed my phone from the counter as I approached the front door, glad that I still had my wallet in my pocket. “I don't know how, but I will.”

  “I don’t think so, lover boy. By the time you figure things out, those two will be dead, and I'll be sitting here as free as a fucking bird. Get the fuck out. Next time I see you, I’m calling the cops myself.”

  Chris darted forward and shut the door in my face, throwing the lock. I knew from months in the apartment that the door was steel core, and the deadbolt could probably hold back a motivated gorilla if it needed to. I turned and limped as fast as I could toward the elevator, hoping that Chris's bragging had been in haste.

  As the elevator descended, I tried to think of someone, something I could use to save Abby and Shawnie. Chris was right, the cops were useless. They'd believe him, and most likely I'd end up arrested. Instead, I had to find someone else. I racked my brain, trying to think. Hank? No, Hank Lake might have been a good man, but Chris was his family. I didn't really know anyone else at work well enough—I didn't even have anyone's phone number.

  The bell to the lobby dinged at almost the same time that the answer came to my mind. Daddy. Patrick Rawlings might have wanted to shoot me, but he loved his daughter more than life itself or his dislike of me, warranted or not. If there was anyone in the world that could help me, and had the social influence to get the cops to believe him instead of Chris, it had to be Patrick Rawlings.

  Of course, that left me with one major problem. Other than his name, I knew nothing of Patrick Rawlings, or even how to get in contact with him. I left the Mayfair Tower, then turned around. I walked into the concierge area, where the person on duty looked up at me in surprise. After all, I'd been living there for four months now, and other than snatching old newspapers, I'd never said a word to them. “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to put as casual a look on my face as I could. Rule number one in a firefight: don't panic. If you panic, you’re dead. “I'm trying to get a home phone number for someone. It's a business emergency, and nobody's at the office. Think you can help me out?”

  CHAPTER 15

  ABBY

  I felt consciousness come back slowly, achingly fighting its way back from the blackness that seemed to be smothering me. My mouth felt like it was lined in cotton, and my pulse pounded in my ears. I swore I could even feel the air resting against my skin, and everything was in pain.

  I tried to move my arms to scratch the itch that had developed in my hip, and found that I was restrained somehow. I forced my eyes open, pain chasing away the last of my cobwebs as even the dim light of wherever I was sent stabbing needles through my eyeballs, directly into my brain. I mewled, trying to turn my head away.

  “You're awake,” someone said in a near whisper, which still sounded like I was at a rock concert. “I was getting worried.”

  I blinked, trying to get my eyes to focus. After a minute, I thought I could see a little bit, and recognized that I was in what looked like a garage, with a bit of dim light filtering through the one window that was in the corner. I guessed that it was nearly sundown, but that was all I knew. There was also a little light coming from what looked like maybe a twenty or forty-watt light bulb suspended from a socket in the middle of the room, but it cast more shadows than anything else.

  I looked toward the voice that had spoken, and was shocked to see Shawnie trussed up, her clothes hanging in ripped rags from her body. “Shawnie? What the hell?”

  “Don't worry, you look about the same way,” she said softly, her voice dry and raspy. “Although I think I might be a bit more dehydrated.”

  “What happened? Where are we?” I asked again, still muddled. I looked up and saw that my hands were chained to a thick eye bolt in the beam that supported the ceiling. While the chains weren't super thick, and I wasn't exactly hung up like a side of beef, there was no way I was breaking that chain. It looked like the sort of chain you might use to hang a kid's swing or something, easily capable of supporting three or four times my body weight. “What the fuck?”

  “We were drugged, we're in the lake house garage as best I can tell, and I have no fucking clue,” Shawnie rasped, her voice gaining strength when she paused and forced herself to swallow whatever spit she could work up to lubricate her throat. “You certainly have interesting taste in men.”

  “Hey, I wasn't dating him anymore,” I replied, wincing as my brain tried to kick off the rest of its cobwebs. “What happened to you?”

  “I arrived at the house at the exact time that you told me,” Shawnie said, rolling her shoulders. She was trussed up like I was, about six or seven feet away from me. I looked at her chains and guessed that if she stretched her arms overhead, she might be able to sit down, but that was it. Her clothes hung in tatters, and I felt a rush of shame as I noticed that I could see her left breast hanging out through a cut in her shirt, and that she was only wearing panties. I looked down and realized with a shock that I looked about the same way, although I was still wearing my shorts.

  “When I got here, Chris was surprised as all hell, but he invited me in. He told me that he must have given you the wrong time, as the party wasn't supposed to start for another two hours. He seemed relaxed, and since it was hot as hell, when he offered me a drink, I accepted. Before you ask, no, it wasn't supposed to be alcoholic. I just asked for a glass of Coke. I was about halfway through my second cup when I started getting woozy, and it hit me. I woke up here this afternoon while he was chaining you up. What day is it, anyway?”

  I blinked, tears coming to my eyes. “Shawnie, I'm so sorry. I didn't know that I was putting you in danger.”

  Shawnie shook her head and tried to wave it off with her fingers. “You didn't know, that's for sure. Can I ask, did you have any suspicion about this guy when you were dating?”

  I shook my head, the pain lessening with each second. “No. But we didn't really spend a lot of time together. I mean, he was already in the Army when we started seeing each other. A lot of our courtship was done by phone calls, letters, emails, stuff like that. He was really sweet and charming at the time. He seemed like a normal guy when we were together though.”

  “So what day is it?” Shawnie asked, rasping. “I know it has to at least be Sunday, but I figure not Tuesday. I haven't had anything to drink, and while I'm pretty sure I pissed myself while I was out, I can't be sure.”

  “It's Sunday,” I answered. I sagged, letting my head fall forward. “Shawnie, what are we going to do?”

  She shook her head. “I don't know. Like I said, I've only been awake a bit longer than you. He must have dosed me a lot more. What brought you here?”

  “I tried to text you last night, see how the party went. When I called Chris, he said that you were at the party, but that he didn't know who you'd left with. Where is your car, anyway?”

  “I don't know,” she said. Shawnie didn't drive her car often, it was a third-hand used thing that had a barely-working air conditioner, but it was all she had. “I drove it over here, but I heard Chris start up a car after he chained you up, driving off before he came back. I guess that was your Camaro?”

  “Even drugged, I don't think you could confuse a beater Honda and a Camaro,” I said with a mirthless chuckle. “I’m guessing he drove my car off to the same place that he took yours. Considering the area, that could be anywhere.”

  “It couldn't have been too far, he was gone only twenty minutes or so,” Shawnie said. “I mean, I guessed it was twenty minutes. I can't see my watch very w
ell. When he came back, he taunted me a bit, then left.”

  “What did he say?” I asked, chilled at the idea.

  Shawnie shook her head, not wanting to relive the memory. Still, the information was important, she thought, and she swallowed thickly before continuing. “He didn't give a lot of details, but basically, he plans to rape us both and then kill us.”

  The calm, simple way she said it convinced me that Shawnie was pretty certain that she was going to die. I wasn't going out like that. I knew it for sure. Taking a deep breath, I screamed as loud as I could for help, until my breath was gone and a harsh, jagged pain racked my throat, like I'd swallowed a bone or something.

  “Don't,” Shawnie said when I stopped, forced to hack and cough to ease my vocal cords. “I already tried that. I stopped a while before you woke up.”

  “So what do you want to do?” I replied angrily. “Just stand here until it's time to be raped and killed?”

  “I plan on surviving,” Shawnie said simply. “I've just been trying to figure out what to do. Chris at least made a few mistakes.”

  “What's that?” I asked, getting my heart under control. It was hot in the garage, and while there was a trickle of cool air coming in from the currently open door to the rest of the house, sweat was beading on my forehead and trickling down between my breasts.

  “The eye bolt isn't all that strong,” Shawnie said, “and I don't think it's an actual full eye bolt. I think he used a U-shaped hook. If he can put it on there, it can come off too.”

  I looked up, moving around in the limited amount of space the chain's slack gave me. As I moved, I studied the beam above my head more closely, wondering if Shawnie was right. It was about six feet over my head, and from my angle, the shadows made it look solid, telling me nothing. Instead, I looked over at her bolt, and saw what she meant. What I'd originally taken to be a full circle was in fact a mostly closed U shape, like Chris had taken a hook and bent in the top. “Still, that looks like a pretty hefty hook. What's your plan?”

  “Depends. How much do you weigh?” Shawnie asked. “Real weight, not Facebook weight.”

  “One fifteen, last time I checked,” I said, thinking back to when I'd stepped on the scale. “I might be a bit heavier now. That was during the two-a-day spin classes.”

  “I'm one thirty-five,” Shawnie said, “so I guess I get the painful one.”

  Before I could ask Shawnie what she meant, she looped the chain through her hands and dropped, jerking on the chain when her body came to a jarring halt an inch or so above the floor. She yelped in pain but got back to her feet. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Seeing if we can unbend the hook,” she said before dropping again. The beam above her groaned but looked as strong as ever, and if there was any change to the hook itself, I couldn't tell. “I'm hoping that Chris knows more about cars and sexual torture than he does construction materials. And I'm hoping he's a cheap bastard.”

  “If the hook is soft enough, you might be able to get it to open some,” I said, understanding her point of view. “But you might just jerk your arms out of socket at the same time.”

  “I'll take a surgery or two to avoid dying,” Shawnie said, her breath coming fast and hard as she dropped again. Tears rolled down her face as she climbed slowly back to her feet, her head drooping. She shook her head, trying to repress the pain, and looked up at me, desperate for support, or at least a distraction. “Tell me something, Abby.”

  “What do you want to know?” I asked, looking up at her hook. Maybe there was a way I could do something instead of stand there like a damsel in distress, waiting for some hero to rescue me. I suck at that sort of thing—it doesn't fit my personality.

  “Tell me about Dane,” she said, taking a deep breath and tensing her forearms before dropping again. Blood trickled through her grip and down the chain looped around her left fist, and her face was a near mask of pain as she stood up. “Tell me that at least he was worth all of this damn trouble.”

  “I don’t know if anyone is worth this shit,” I said, trying to lighten the mood a little. “No, but really, beyond that Bad Boy exterior, he’s got a good heart. We’ve really only had a few days together spaced out over nearly a month, but I really like him.”

  Shawnie stopped her dropping, looking at me in wonder. “Well, I hope something comes of it after all of this.”

  “He's not perfect, but he’s perfect for me.”

  Shawnie grinned and flexed her hands painfully. “When is your and Mr. Perfect’s wedding?”

  “Well, let’s not quite go there yet,” I said, shaking my chains and looking up. “Hold on. You rest while I try something really, really stupid.”

  When I was a kid, I used to go to Gymboree after kindergarten. After Mom and my sister died, Daddy still had me going for a few years, at least until my body started to shoot up and he worried that I was getting too tall for becoming a gymnast. I’d tired of the class by then anyway, but I still did cheerleading in high school, although our squad was more of the dancer type than the gymnastics type. I had a pretty mean booty roll back in high school, if I do say so myself, although that didn't do much for my shoulder and back strength.

  So it had been a few years since I tried anything like what I was about to do, but I figured there was no time like the present, and I couldn't think of any greater source of motivation, unless there were poisonous snakes or huge, ugly spiders in the garage as well that I wasn't seeing yet. The light through the window dimmed, and I thought the sun was nearly gone outside, night approaching. At least that would let some of the heat fade from the garage. That was something I could at least hope for.

  I first tried my maneuver the strict way, grabbing the chain and pulling it tight enough to take away the slack. Chris had used a pair of handcuffs that he'd separated and then apparently welded to the main chain, so there was some pull on my wrists as I wrapped my hands through the chain and pulled up. The pain was immediate as the links tightened around the bones in my hand, and I gritted my teeth, trying to pull my feet up and to the chains. I was able to reach the cuffs, but the next phase of my plan fell apart as I couldn't get the strength to straighten out my legs and extend my body to the point of hanging upside down. Falling back, I gasped, flexing my aching hands. “Well, that version didn't work.”

  “Are you trying what I think you're trying?” Shawnie asked as she prepared herself mentally to drop again.

  “I pulled it off when I was seven,” I defended myself, sounding stupid even as it left my mouth. “It's worth a try.”

  Shawnie didn't have a reply, but dropped again instead, a scream tearing from her throat as she jerked to a stop. This time, she didn't get up so quickly, but pulled with her right arm only as she stood up. “Shawnie, what happened?”

  “Left arm,” Shawnie cried pitifully as she regained her feet. She tried but failed to stifle a sob, burying her mouth in her shoulder. “Maybe my elbow. It hurts, and I felt something pop in it.”

  “Then stop it,” I said, looking up at the beam over my head. “I'll try to get us out of here. I'll try the cheat way this time. I should have the first time, except I'll be swinging like an idiot the whole time. Last time I did that on rings. I puked hanging upside down.”

  “I wouldn't, if I were you,” Shawnie said. “Puke, that is.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” I said, trying not to laugh despite the serious situation. I stepped back, and was just about to launch myself forward and up in the short amount of slack on my chain when the sound of a truck approaching came through to our ears. “Shit. Better hurry.”

  “No,” Shawnie said sharply. “There's no way you can get that maneuver pulled off in time. Better to stay where you are. Maybe he gets stupid and we can kick him in the balls or something.”

  I stopped, nodding at the wisdom of Shawnie's words. “Okay, but promise me one thing.”

  “What's that?”

  “Regardless of what happens, we fight this asshole until the end.”<
br />
  Shawnie clenched her fists and nodded. “Oh, you can guarantee that. Georgia boy's gonna learn what it's like to fuck with a Sandhills girl, that's for damn sure.”

  I heard the truck stop, and the door opened. Boots crunched on the dirt and gravel as someone approached. “You know, your accent gets stronger when you get angry,” I commented, trying to calm the fear in my heart. “You really need to work on that.”

  “I love you too, Abby,” Shawnie said, her smile disappearing as the back door to the house rattled and the heavy tread of the boots came inside.

  “Honey, I'm home!” a slightly unhinged voice called, giggling crazily at the end. “And I've got such a surprise for you!”

  I looked over at Shawnie, who nodded. We were going to fight, no matter what.

  Chris came in, flipping on another light that momentarily blinded us before settling in and letting us see better. He'd had some sort of rough time, his shirt partially torn and a little crust of dried blood on the edge of his mouth. He had his right hand behind his back, and a gleam in his eye that sent chills down my spine. “Hey, baby, did you miss me?”

  “Like I miss the bubonic plague,” I spat back, literally, as I followed my words with the best loogie I could work up. Sadly enough, the garage was far too big and my spit was far too weak to reach the whole way across. It fell pitifully to the dust about two feet away from me, and I immediately regretted it as a waste of precious bodily fluids. “What the fuck do you want?”

  “Well, I have some good news and bad news,” Chris said as he crossed the garage. He stayed just out of my kicking range, even when I darted forward and tried to lash out at him. He laughed and jumped back, his hand still behind his back. “My, my, my, such fight in you still. That's not going to be useful at all.”

  “I don't plan on being useful to you, you sick, demented fuck,” I hissed. Suddenly, Chris pulled his hand out from behind his back, holding what looked like a pistol. He pointed it at me for a second, then turned and fired. I screamed, sure that he had just killed Shawnie, but instead, the gun made a hissing, spitting noise and suddenly, Shawnie had a red dart sticking out of her left thigh.