by J. C. Cliff
I discover the room is dimly lit, which is a huge blessing for my headache. A large shadow shifts in my peripheral vision, and I’m suddenly aware of a strong, male scent wafting around me. His leather and soap smell seems to put me at ease.
I become aware of the fact that I’m lying on top of a soft, comfortable bed and snuggled under a warm, fluffy cloud of a comforter. A soft pillow is cradling the back of my bruised head. I thought when people are captured, they are supposed to get beat up then wake in a cold, dank room on a concrete floor behind a locked door. Not that I’m complaining by any means.
The edge of the mattress begins to dip down beside me. I feel a cool, large hand covering my forehead, checking for a temperature. His touch is gentle and feels nice, which makes me believe I’m still partly-drugged. These were the bad guys, after all.
“She feels a little warm and clammy,” Travis’ rich tone sounds out above me. His voice is a security blanket for me, wrapping its warmth around me, providing a sense of protection even though I am their captive.
His one hand then slides down to the side of my face, cradling my cheek, carefully touching me as if I’m a piece of fine china. I don’t get it; why should he care? Who steals young women from inside the very safety of their home, ripping them away from the only family they’ve ever known? They are animals! I’m growing angry, and I want a look at these perps to call them out of a lineup. Opening my eyes further, a fuzzy silhouette of a large man comes into view.
“Hey there, you’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.” He sounds so warmhearted and compassionate as his thumb gently begins caressing my cheek in a soft stroke.
Deciding not to fight the tender touch, I sink further into the pillow, allowing myself a moment of selfish comfort. I can’t deny that for some strange reason, he seems to have a calming effect on all my senses. I let the feel of his touch spread warmth throughout my battered body, distracting me from the aches and pains.
Now that my eyes have fully adjusted to the dim light, I manage to shift my head in his direction, which is a big mistake. Throbbing pain takes over, and drums begin beating against my head. Immediately, I feel both of his hands cupping my face, gently caressing my cheeks with his thumbs using feather-light strokes.
“Ssshh, don’t try to move,” he whispers. “Just relax and let the pain meds take hold, sweetheart.”
Oh, my God, I’d consider having a headache every day if I could hear this man call me sweetheart. Like a camera lens coming into focus, I now have a clear picture of the man before me. In my skewed vision, I can tell he is good-looking. His hair is dark brown and cut short but with enough hair to run one’s fingers through. The look is sexy.
No, he can’t be sexy. He kidnapped you in the middle of the night, I tell myself.
Well, not him exactly, the other part of me argues as Travis leans down only inches from my face and meets my gaze with his. His sparkling green eyes take my breath away, and an audible gasp escapes between my dry lips. Oh, God, how embarrassing. Maybe I can play it off as if it was my sore throat.
He doesn’t respond to my gasp; maybe he didn’t hear it. One could only hope. It would be pretty creepy to perv on a criminal. His lips form a hard line and his eyes stay locked in place, intensely studying me as if I’m a mystery. It’s a little unnerving. After a few seconds, his expression changes and he gives me a weak smile.
“I’m sorry they were so rough on you, sweetheart,” he says with deep concern in his eyes. “I just gave you some medicine that will take care of your head, reduce the swelling, and help you rest. You’ve had a pretty rough night.”
Why is he calling me sweetheart? And why is he being so nice? Still very confused and full of hazy feelings due to the drugs still wreaking havoc on my body, his voice seems to be a soothing comfort. I open my mouth to speak, and immediately two of his fingers lay over my lips, preventing me from talking.
“Uh-uh,” he says, shaking his head at me. “Don’t try to speak right now. Sleep this off, yeah?”
I have too many questions to try to sleep this off, yeah? is what I want to say. Being taken by strange men and waking in a strange place with no answers is beginning to upset me. I feel him stroking the side of my head gently with his thumb, trying to keep me calm. His soft touch seems to be distracting me for the moment, and not to mention it feels good. I guess I should be thankful they are being nice criminals and not evil ones. Of course, I’m sure that could change at the drop of a hat. I know it’s foolish for me to want to rely on him for receiving true comfort and care. I don’t know if all his displays of affection are hiding his true bad-guy persona.
“Travis, I want you to stay with her for a while longer. Continue to monitor her; you seem to be keeping her calm. In the meantime, I’ve got business to tend to. We’ll meet back up later today to discuss her arrangements.” I’m so wrapped up in Travis I’d forgotten the other man is still here.
Travis turns his head, breaking eye contact, nodding his head in agreement at Nick. “No problem, man, I got this.” I watch the muscles flexing in Travis’ neck as he turns his head toward Nick. My eyes, for some reason, stay glued to this man. I hear Nick moving through the room, then the sound of the door shutting behind him. When Travis shifts his gaze back to me, he knows I’ve been staring. He lifts one eyebrow, and one side of his mouth turns up. I feel myself beginning to blush, so I shift my gaze to his chest. Oh, crap, that’s no better. Before I make an absolute mess of myself, Travis clears his throat.
“Your lips look very dry. You must be thirsty.” It was a statement, and he was not asking if I wanted a drink. He didn’t give me a choice. I find a straw resting on my lips in an instant. “Take small sips for me.” I am thirsty; plus, he insists. Who am I to say no? Oh, my God, what is wrong with me?
“That-a-girl.” When I’m finished drinking, he puts the water down on the nightstand beside us and for a second fiddles with something I can’t turn my head to see. When he brings his hand back toward me, he’s holding a Q-tip between his fingers. My eyes must squint in question because he explains, “Your lips are dry and cracked. I’m just putting some salve on them.”
His eyes transfix me as he concentrates on my lips, carefully applying the salve. My word, the simple touch of what he’s doing to my lips seems suddenly intimate. His close proximity has distracted me to the point I almost forget I’m in pain. When he pulls the Q-tip away, I mash my lips together, rubbing the ointment in.
He grins at me. “Better, yeah?”
It’s my undoing. Oh, hell yeah, it’s better. I grin back. “Thank you.” What the hell? I want to smack myself in the back of my own head; perhaps I’ve had brain damage, because I feel I’m no longer right in the head. I’ve been hijacked, and I’m thanking him. Am I nuts?
Travis looks as if he’s deep in thought, and I watch his beautiful virescent eyes glimmer in the light above. I’m beginning to feel a tad dizzy, and I can’t decide if it’s from the pain medicine or the effect Travis is having on me with his handsome face, close proximity, and caring demeanor.
I reach my hand out, searching for his, and gently grasp it. I can’t decide the real reason why I touch him; maybe it’s that he’s providing me comfort in such a dark and scary time. For some unexplainable reason, he makes me feel safe, and I’ve only known him for half an hour. It also might be the fact they didn’t want me hurt, and they care in their own sick and twisted way. I feel so spellbound by Travis. I don’t need any medicine or drugs; this man seems to be a drug himself, in a whole other class of his own, putting the pharmacy business to shame. My mind’s perception of pain seems to be quelled easily by his voice and tender touches alone. He’s the perfect distraction to a horrible night.
“How are you feeling now? Is the pain medicine starting to kick in?”
“Oooh, yeeeaaah,” I say, drawing out my words long and slow.
He chuckles at my response. “Get some more rest. I’m going to stay here for a while to make sure you’re sleeping comfortably before
I leave.” Leave? I don’t want him to leave. Instinctively, I grip his hand a little tighter, keeping him hostage with me. He must get my message; misery loves company.
He pats the top of my hand gently. “Don’t worry; I’ll stay right by your side until you fall asleep, okay?” He leans forward and kisses my forehead, his tender lips lingering on my skin. I feel my pain easing away from the kiss of his lips, along with my mental faculties. I’ve been so immersed in my pain and this man’s ministrations I keep losing focus on the who, what, where, and why of my abduction predicament.
This should not be the normal response to a hostage situation. Maybe they’ve drugged me with something else. Who the hell knows? I know it’s dangerous to paint Travis in a different light, but I can’t help but think he cares in some bizarre way. I’m sure I’m in the first phase of dealing with this traumatic experience, which is denial.
Confused and exhausted about everything and anything, I quit fighting the drugs. My eyes grow heavy, and I feel Travis caressing my hand he’s still holding. The medicine begins to take hold as my eyes flutter closed. I sink deeper into the pillow with comforting thoughts of the man keeping watch over me. I welcome the escape, knowing when I wake up again my life will never be the same.
CHAPTER FOUR
~Travis~
Sitting by her side, unmoving for the next half-hour, I watch her fade into a deep sleep. She looks so peaceful laying there, breathing softly. I’m just glad her windpipe isn’t damaged. I have been up half the night taking care of her. Every whimper that comes out of her mouth, I find myself bolting from the sofa, rushing to be by her side to check on her. She never wakes up since she’s drugged, but her body still screams with pain and anguish in her sleep. Hell, it’s going to be a long day; I can feel it. The lack of sleep will only add to my irritable mood. I am still pissed over the fact our men had roughed her up; they could have handled the entire situation differently. I shake my head in disgust, thinking that sometimes the smartest of men could be so stupid.
My God, she really does look every bit the part of a princess, straight from a storybook. Her long, dark lashes fan out across her sleeping eyes; she has prominent cheekbones, petite features, and beautiful, golden-spun hair that must reach halfway down her back, spilling out over the comforter. Her skin is smooth and creamy white, not like some girls her age who already have crow’s feet at the corners of their eyes from too much sun. She is enchanting me, even in her sleep.
When she woke up earlier and my gaze locked onto her powder-blue eyes for the first time, it caught me off-guard. There was static electricity that existed between us, and it could not be denied. I had only felt that once before in my entire life, and I can’t afford to ever entertain that feeling of connection with another ever again. I won’t allow it; there is too much at stake now. Too many painful memories from my past would begin resurfacing, and I can’t risk them floating to the surface, exposing my emotions. This line of work is cutthroat. If one didn’t stay on their toes and watch their back at every turn, they would find themselves six-feet-under in the blink of an eye.
Deep in thought, my fingers gently twirl a long piece of her golden hair. It’s so soft and beautiful; everything about this girl is beautiful. What I really need to be focusing on is the task at hand and not allow myself to get sidetracked by her beauty. Sitting here beside her, I get an odd sensation, an unexplainable vibe perhaps that is attracting me to her.
I can’t help but think, What the hell is Nick up to? He’s playing with fucking fire. I recognized her immediately when the men brought her in last night, passed out and beaten. Something told me then to keep my mouth shut and play ignorant, pretending I’d never seen her before in my life. Only having been to her estate a couple of times in the past, I had only seen her once before up-close. To see her once is all anyone ever needs; nobody could forget a beautiful face like hers, never.
This makes no sense to me; her father is a powerful and wealthy man. Nick knows this, so why the hell would he have her abducted and forced into this perversion? If Nick is feeling the need to be evasive, then he is obviously hiding something - something big.
Reflecting on the time I caught first sight of her, it was at her father’s house during a Christmas party last December. Her father had said she was home from college on break. In my mind’s eye, I remember she had the look of love permeating through every bone in her petite body. She seemed to hang on to every word her boyfriend spoke, never leaving his side.
Her intoxicating beauty and beaming personality were so alluring I caught myself unexpectedly staring at her a few times. I also caught Nick gawking at her during inappropriate moments while dining among high-profile names. I specifically remember his behavior, because Nick never gawks openly at anything, including his first loves; money and power. He couldn’t keep his hungry, beady eyes off her. He was mesmerized by her beauty, but hell, so was I.
When she danced with her boyfriend, she was grace and beauty gliding across the dance floor as if she owned it. Her long, blonde hair shimmered from the lights hidden between the chandelier crystals hanging above, her hair soft, free, and flowing over her shoulders in a dance of its own.
From the way she interacted with both her boyfriend and father, it was apparent she was adored and loved. I could tell she was the apple of her father’s eye just by the way he looked at her. Her father bragged about her every chance he got. You could tell he was more than proud of her and all of her accomplishments.
The young man she was with clearly loved her, as well. Her mannerisms exuded refinement and everything sweet and innocent. I don’t think she was even minutely aware of her natural beauty, because she wasn’t snobby at all. Everything about her screamed of elegance and poise.
Julianna squirms around on the bed, drawing my attention back to her. She settles back down, and I think she’s resting comfortably enough now for me to leave her. I really do need to get going; I’ve got too much shit to do today. By the time she wakes up, the medicine that’s been pumping through her body should be overriding her pain receptors. I think about the hidden cameras spread throughout her room and relax a little. The boys will alert me if they see her getting too restless.
I carefully move from the bed, trying not to make any movement that would disturb her. I make sure to pick up all the extra drugs, needles, and shit, taking them with me. Jared can disconnect her IV in a few hours, when she’s due for her next round of meds.
I pull her bedroom door shut softly behind me, and I turn left down the corridor, making my way to the lab to dispense of the needles. Everything here is high-tech, with the best security money can buy. Each of us has a special chip in our hand that recognizes who we are and to what degree of access each of us has in this facility. Nick, Jared, and I are unrestricted. The rest of our team has restricted access to certain areas of the facility, especially access to our computer room.
Approaching the lab door, I wave my hand over the sensor and the door clicks open automatically. This technology baffles me sometimes. How a chip the size of a grain of rice can unlock and open a door simply by waving my hand over a sensor blows my mind.
I walk through the open door, spotting Jared sitting on his favorite perch, peering through the eyepiece of his microscope. I shake my head at the sight; he’s such a damn lab rat. I chuckle inside. What’s funny is Jared’s so damn intelligent, and he tries so hard to communicate in simple terms to us, but he can’t. He thinks he’s talking on our level, but he really isn’t. Nick has zero patience for his scientific explanations and always just wants the bottom line in simple terms. He always talks down to Jared as if it is he, in fact, who is the complete idiot.
I make my way to the sterilization area and begin disposing the needles into the sharps container, a hard plastic disposal system that prevents needle sticks and cross-contamination of disposable, sharp medical supplies.
Nick slaps me on the back, interrupting my thoughts. “She’s a real beaut, isn’t she? I’d bet my last do
llar she’ll be able to chip off a few of your rocks from that stone wall of yours. It will be quite entertaining watching them tumble down.” Nick seems to be in an unusually-jovial mood, to say the least. He’s typically not this happy, but I didn’t miss his smartass comment.
My face is always masked behind an all-business persona. Nobody can figure out what I’m thinking, and everyone says I’m like a stone wall because my expression always holds my poker face, impenetrable from all outside forces. Jackson is my last name, hence the connection. The guys here tried to nickname me that...once. Nick thinks the rules don’t apply to him. I have learned over time to hide behind my unexpressive stonewall, remaining emotionless and calculating. People have come to fear my quiet countenance, because it typically means I’m either ruthlessly scheming their due retribution or I’m hiding intel.
I give him a hard glare that says shut the hell up, but I tell him what he wants to hear. “You know I don’t fuck these girls, Nick,” I say gruffly. “This is a job, not a damn fuckfest for me.”
Even though I’m a naturally-dominant man, I’m not into this type of controlled sex or domination shit. I don’t get sexually aroused when I have to work with these women. It’s rather difficult to get turned on, anyway, since I’m constantly aware of the hidden cameras spread throughout the facility. I like my privacy, and if I want sex, I am nowhere near my workplace. I don’t do relationships, simply because one cannot be in this business and have a significant other. Too many risks all the way around. One-night stands have always worked just fine for me, and I know how to acquire those types of women. I don’t need to drug them, either; they are all too eager to have a piece of me.
“That’s probably why you have a 100% success rate, Travis. You’re good—damned good. You know how to stay emotionally unattached. You know how to keep the main thing as top priority.” Nick’s expression suddenly turns serious and his voice sobers. “I need this one trained to perfection, Travis. I cannot emphasize that enough.”
