Tied: Owned 2.5

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

So when I picked up the crumpled, caramel-colored mess on the floor, I didn’t let it faze me. I didn’t register her nakedness, or her silent sobs, or the way her hair still shone despite the dirt that caked the strands. I ignored the way the flowers on her skin bloomed beneath the layer of dirt on her body. I didn’t question how someone so beautiful and unearthly could have ended up there. I tamped all of those feelings down.

  As I carried her out to my car, I reminded myself that it was just a job. Whatever the girl had been through, it didn’t matter to me. I knew her name. I knew some of her story. Vic had sent me the pertinent details, but it didn’t matter. To me she was just a job. She was just a girl.

  I didn’t register the fact that she clung to me the way a lover would. I didn’t mind the way she buried her face into my neck. None of that pertained to the job.

  As I set her down in the passenger seat, I put a spare blanket over her. She greedily pulled the blanket up to her chin. Her eyes were closed the entire time, no doubt fatigued from the ordeal. As I pulled the seatbelt across her body, I again reminded myself it was just a job.

  The seatbelt clicked and as I leaned out of the car, her eyes opened. Bright brown eyes the color of honey peered back at me. I froze, unable to move forward or go backward. Her eyes were warming, like caramel seeping into my veins. If you looked closely, you could see green flecks like little jewels around the iris.

  “Are you an angel?” she asked, her voice small. I sucked in a breath. Even her voice was mesmerizing. I quickly removed myself from the situation, first double-checking that her seatbelt was secure. I couldn’t remove my gaze from her jewel-flecked one, though. As I exited her side, I banged my head on the roof of the car.

  “Fuck.” I rubbed the top of my head before slamming the door shut. I’d already wasted too much time ogling the target. This was supposed to be a clean extraction, meaning no bloodshed. Bloodshed leaves a trail and a trail leads to questions. I was to extract the target and return her home. The longer I sat staring at the target, the more I risked the mission.

  I slid into the driver’s seat and turned on the engine of the Land Rover. As we pulled out of the abandoned warehouse, I could feel her stare on me the same way I would feel a .45 pressed into my hip.

  * * *

  We pulled into the safe house just as night fell. The girl had fallen asleep somewhere around Lafayette and had stayed that way since. We passed through New Orleans and were now deep in Jean Lafitte. The safe house I had out there was unknown to anyone, even the men I worked with. It was a quiet and peaceful place, right along the Mississippi river.

  Fireflies lit up the night, in most cases their twinkling yellow bursts the only source of light for miles. The cypress trees’ knees peeked out of the water, like ghostly hands. Their leaves hung like spectral curtains, glowing in the dark night. The bayou at night was an eerie, almost haunted place.

  When Katrina came, it wiped away most of the houses in the area. In some places you could still see remnants of the past. Foundations remained, but the houses were swept away, leaving only the four posters. In other areas you’d see entire houses that were lifted from other parts of the city and carried down with the flood. The bayou had become a ghost town.

  Naturally, I had built my home there.

  Putting my car into park, I walked around to the passenger seat. The girl was still fast asleep. I lifted her out of the seat, making sure to keep her wrapped, and walked into the house. I was acutely aware of the fact that with every step I took into my house, I broke protocol further and dug my grave deeper and deeper.

  The job was simple: find the girl and bring her home. She should have been on a plane by now, yet, when I drove to the airport, I kept on driving. Past the exit and beyond, until we got to the house with her safely in my arms. As I felt her in my arms, something tethered her to me. I knew nothing of her or how she had gotten herself into the mess, but I couldn’t let her go. Not yet.

  I approached my hallway and was faced with yet another problem. Do I put the girl in my bed, or do I put her in the spare room? I was already in deep shit, but putting her in my bed…that was unspeakable.

  Do not get attached to the target. It was rule number one. It was the simplest, most obvious rule. As I recounted the rule, my grip tightened on the girl.

  Fuck.

  I’m putting her in my room.

  I shook my head as I cleared the distance to my bedroom. I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me.

  I laid her down in my bed. Her breathing was steady, but a little shallow. She looked peaceful and serene. Her hair was black, with shades of chestnut highlighting it. Despite the dirt coating her skin, I could see her beauty. It was a beauty that stopped you in your tracks. A beauty that made poets write. A beauty that tore countries apart. As I watched her sleep, I felt like I wasn’t worthy.

  A stray hair fell across her check and, like I was possessed, I moved it from her face. That one movement was so gentle and so unlike me, I whipped my hand back, staring at it as though it were a foreign creature. I was so busy staring at my hand that I didn’t notice her wake. By the time I did, it was too late. She was screaming, her beautiful hazel eyes contorted in fear.

  She was afraid of me. I wished I could have comforted her and told her she had no reason to fear me, but the truth was she did. She should have feared me.

  The girl scrambled to the top of the bed, practically pasting herself to the wall. She clung the blanket to her body and searched the room, trying to decipher meaning.

  “Who are you?” she asked, fear lacing her voice. “Why am I here?” That was a loaded question if I ever heard one. The reason she was there was that I couldn’t figure out a way to shake her. I should have driven her to the airport and dropped her off. She should have been halfway to California by now. Instead, she was in my bed. She had a right to know why she was there, but first I had to figure out the answer.

  “I took you,” I answered simply.

  “Why?” Her brows caved as she eyed me up and down. Perhaps she was wondering if I was going to pick up where the asshole had left off. That’s what I would have been wondering.

  “You have friends in the right places. They wanted you free.”

  “I don’t have any friends,” the girl said suspiciously. “At least none that could have helped.”

  “You hungry?” I asked. I wasn’t about to explain myself. I never did. The girl eyed me suspiciously.

  “No,” she lied. I grunted my disbelief and left her. If she wanted to die of starvation, so be it. When I reached the kitchen I had every intention of making only one sandwich. Yet, as I prepared the ham, the cheese, and the lettuce for myself, I couldn’t eat it. I thought of the frightened girl in my bed.

  “God fucking dammit.” I set my sandwich down, grabbed a glass of water, and walked back into the bedroom. “Here.” I shoved the sandwich at her, but she knocked my hand away.

  “I don’t want it.” The girl was clearly starving. Her face was gaunt, black shadows marring the skin beneath her hypnotic hazel eyes, yet she refused to eat. She looked at the meal I gave her with disdain. I may as well have given her spiders.

  I folded my arms, regarding her. “I don’t do this for everyone, you know.”

  “Lucky me,” she spat, glaring at the sandwich.

  “You want to starve?” I glared. “Because that’s what’s going to happen. Eat.” I gave her another chance at the sandwich, watching the machinations in her eyes. She was beyond starving, near death. She needed the sandwich, but she didn’t want to acknowledge my help. She’d given up too much already.

  I could relate to that.

  I placed the sandwich on the nightstand and left. I heard her scrambling as I shut the door.

  * * *

  I spent the night in the living room. I didn’t sleep, but then I rarely slept, and I wasn’t about to start when a girl under my protection slept in the next room.

  When the sun came up I made breakfast. I always kept the safe house
stocked with the essentials: milk, eggs, bread, butter, etc. I scrambled the eggs, put the bread in the toaster, and when it was done I walked into my bedroom.

  The girl was already awake, staring at the door as if she expected me to come through.

  “I made you breakfast.” I gestured at the tray I was holding. She glared at me and my peace offering.

  “Why are you doin’ this?” she asked. The blanket I’d wrapped her in was pulled around her shoulders, and I realized I hadn’t given her a spare change of clothes, or shown her to the shower. This was the first time I’d ever taken a target to my home. I wasn’t used to it, obviously.

  “Do you need some clothes?” I asked, ignoring her question.

  “Answer me,” she pushed. “Is this some kind of fetish? You feed me before you fuck me?”

  I coughed, trying to hide a laugh. “Not exactly.” The girl glared at me again. I set down the tray of food, the same way I had the night before, and told her where to find a spare change of clothes. Before leaving, I explained how to use the shower.

  I waited outside the door, feeling like a sentry. An hour later I heard the shower. I waited another thirty minutes before returning. I had thought she was mesmerizing before, I thought I was speechless before, but seeing her freshly showered in my clothes…it did something to me. It woke up some primal, caveman-like feeling.

  Her hair was wet and dripping and it made a small wet spot on the shirt she wore—my shirt. It was oversized, at least four times bigger than she was, but she looked beautiful.

  “What the fuck is happening to me…” I whispered to myself.

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “I said, do you want anything?”

  “Yeah,” she replied. “Some fucking answers would be nice.”

  “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” I grinned. She frowned, looking away. Fuck. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m trying to be charming over here and this girl has been traumatized. “I mean, my name is Charlie.”

  “I’m Vera,” she offered meekly. I could have said I knew that; Vic had given me all of Vera’s information. I knew her name, her mother’s name, I even knew her sign: Gemini. I didn’t, though, because it was a big step for her to tell me her name.

  “Well, Vera,” I said. “What do you want to know?” I walked slowly to the bed, knowing if I sat down and acknowledged this, whatever this was, it would be catastrophic. I’d kept my distance from the girl. I’d played around with whatever was happening to me, but now I was calling her by her name.

  Vera.

  It was a beautiful name to fit a gorgeous woman.

  “Why am I here?” she asked.

  “You know why,” I responded. “You have friends in the right places.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re free from Cruz Zeros.”

  “And now I’m stuck here…?” She looked at me warily, green speckled eyes stony. Clearly she was a fighter; she was testing me out, determining if I was friend or foe.

  “No.” I folded my arms. “I brought you here to clean you up before taking you home.” In an instant she relaxed. Her body eased, her mouth slacked. Though her eyes still watched me, stony and determined, the relief she felt was evident.

  “When do I go home?” she asked.

  “When you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready now,” she responded almost immediately. The response was like a knife to my gut. I didn’t know what I was expecting; I couldn’t keep her locked in my safe house forever, but I thought I’d have more time. More time to explore whatever the hell was happening.

  “No you aren’t,” I said, surprised by my response.

  “I am!” The girl stood on the bed, her legs wobbling. I reached out and clutched her by the arm to steady her weak legs.

  “Clearly,” I said sarcastically.

  “So I’m a little banged up.” She shook me off of her. “I want to go home!” It happened so fast. One second the girl was on the bed and the next she was darting out of my room. I ran out after her. She opened the front door and was halfway out before I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back in.

  “Let me go! Let me go!” She kicked and screamed against me. Dammit if it didn’t make me hard. I’m a sick bastard. I shoved her on the couch and she jumped up again, attempting to make another run for it. I pinned her with both arms on either side of her body.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” I said, my voice low. “Cruz Zeros is still out there and he’s looking for you.” I wasn’t sure if that was true, but it seemed to get her attention. She stopped struggling.

  “So what? I’m stuck here?” she asked, averting her gaze.

  “I will protect you, girl,” I said, grabbing her chin to force her eyes on mine. “I just need time to figure this out.”

  4

  VERA

  Two days passed before I felt safe enough to leave the bedroom. Every day Charlie would come by at the same times—breakfast, lunch, and dinner—bringing food with him. He never said a word, simply set down the meal on the nightstand. It was almost like havin’ my own ghost—a ghost that knew how to cook a killer tamale, but a ghost nonetheless.

  The day after he’d taken me, new clothes had appeared in the closet. Hanging next to the men’s dress shirts and pants were now women’s sweaters, shirts, skirts, and jeans. I touched the fabric, wonderin’ if I’d somehow died back at Cruz’s and was now in Heaven. It all seemed too good to be true.

  It wasn’t until day three that I put on the new clothing. After Charlie brought in my lunch and left, I headed to the closet. Call it courage or crazy, but I shed the sweats and men’s shirt I’d been wearin’ for three days and donned new attire. Shockingly, it fit me perfectly. The jeans were snug but not too tight and the sweater fit in all the right places. I looked down at my body, stunned. Gathering a bit more crazy, I walked to the door.

  My hand hesitated over the knob and I looked back at the room. It had become my sanctuary. Though it was four walls like what Cruz had held me in, it was nothing like that prison. The room was painted a steel blue color, so different than the dull gray I’d stared at for weeks. There was a big square window that looked out at the Mississippi river. At night, the fireflies danced.

  Though I couldn’t be certain where I was exactly, I’d gathered we were somewhere along the Mississippi. Maybe we were in Louisiana. If that was the case, then I had come full circle. After leaving my small-town Louisiana home only months before, I’d been carted back like a lost dog. Shaking my head, I returned my gaze back to the knob. The metal was cold to my touch.

  Panic crept into my lungs. What if the door was locked? I’d tried the doorknob in Cruz’s prison so many times. I’d pulled so hard that I’d ripped the knob off. A brief moment of elation had filled me then, as I was able to look through the hole to the other side. It was short-lived, because Cruz quickly discovered my secret. Soon he had the doorknob hole filled with concrete. That day had been one of the worst.

  Takin’ in a deep breath, I turned the knob. Unlocked, thank god. I pushed the door open, expectin’ somethin’ terrible to happen, but I was only greeted with a hallway. Tentatively I stepped out, one leg at a time. I turned my head both ways, glancing down the long hallway. There was no plan in my brain, but I did crave answers. Was Charlie my savior, or was he another devil?

  Choosing to go right, I took more tentative steps until I was at the end of the hallway. I found myself in a kitchen that overlooked a dining room and a living room. It was breathtaking.

  “Going for a walk, girl?” I jumped, spinning around to see Charlie leanin’ casually in the doorway. I stumbled back, afraid, and nearly tripped over my feet. Grabbing the counter for balance, I walked around it and put more distance between us.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, girl.” Charlie walked toward me. For the first time I noticed he walked with a slight limp. I was too afraid to ask if he was hurt, too scared for my own being. “If I wanted to hurt you I’d have done i
t a while ago, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know,” I stuttered, movin’ around the kitchen island as he advanced. “I don’t have any idea what your plans are.” Charlie watched me, his midnight blue eyes narrowing. He lifted his hands up, as if in surrender, and took two steps backward.

  Folding his arms, he leaned against the steel fridge. I looked away, trying not to notice the way his muscles screamed against his skin. “I told you, girl. I’m here to take you home.”

  “Then why am I still here?”

  “You’re not ready.”

  The hell I’m not. He had said that three days ago. “What will it take to prove to you that I am?” I leaned forward on the granite countertop, desperate and searching. Who did this guy think he was? Why did he get a say in my life? Charlie looked me once in the eyes and then shifted his gaze to the floor.

  We remained like that for at least ten minutes. Finally, I lifted my hands from the countertop. It was clear Charlie wasn’t going to answer me.

  “When you came to get me,” I said, shaking my head. “I thought I was safe. Clearly I was just trading in one prison for another.” Charlie’s gaze whipped back to me, the midnight stare sucking me deep.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, girl.”

  “Oh yeah? Then why do you call me ‘girl’?” I asked, leaning in again. “You know my name. Could it be that you’re distancin’ yourself from me? For when you break the news that I’m never goin’ home?” Like a lion on the prowl, Charlie stalked around the island. Shoulders hunched, gaze fixed on me, I felt like an antelope caught at the wrong time. I knew I should move. I knew I should run. But I couldn’t. I was utterly tied.

  Charlie stopped only inches from me. At that angle, I was intensely aware of his height and mass. It was like being in the wake of a planet—strong, powerful, all-encompassing. I opened my mouth to speak, but only breaths came out. Charlie grabbed my chin and there was no gentleness in the action.

  “Vera,” he said. My name on his lips wasn’t reverence. It wasn’t adoration. It was an ownership and grimness heard only by mourners. Abruptly, Charlie let go of me. He stalked past me and out of the room. I was like a bomb survivor in his wake. I still felt his presence like shrapnel in my skin, and I still tasted his voice like toxic gas in my system.