I run up beside her and wrap my left hand around her waist. She wriggles out of my grasp and looks at me like I’m crazy again.
“Come on,” I say. “Lighten up.”
“You have weapons in your house. You live next door to me. What if you shot me on accident?” she asks.
“It’s an open carry state, sugar,” I tell her. “It’s in my right to carry a weapon. Don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’m trained. I know how to shoot a gun. You have to stop acting like I’m such a threat to you. I thought we were best friends.”
“Come on, Rowan.”
I scratch my head. “You know, I think it’s you who has to ‘come on.’ I’ve been dealing with the insults like a gentleman. I’m trying here,” I say.
We’re near a small coffee shop, but she stops short of the walkway. “I’m sorry,” she says, again. “I’ve been kind of uptight since I’ve met you. I shouldn’t be. I came out here to be free, and now I’m acting like some old woman or something. I don’t get what’s wrong with me.”
She looks as if she’s about to break down, and I suddenly don’t know how to react. I’m no good at this emotional shit, but I do the best I can to comfort her when she collapses on a bench outside.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I say, rubbing her back.
Her skin feels nice from the opening of her dress. It’s not the time for dark thoughts, but I have to think she’s a little insane for thinking she’s too old to be of value. She’s just about perfect to me.
“It’s not okay,” she says, shielding her eyes.
“Fine, it’s not okay,” I acquiesce.
My reaction only irritates her further, so I find myself telling her to “hold on one second,” while I run inside and order the first four pump caramel latte I’ve ever ordered in my life.
‘Course, when I bring it out to her, I expect smiles, laughter, and maybe a blowjob later on. Instead, I get another short smile.
“I usually drink ice coffee,” she says.
My jaw drops. There’s nothing else I can do for this woman. I give up. She’s just too damn stubborn. “Look, I don’t know what happened to—”
“Rowan,” she interrupts. “I’m kidding. Do you really think I’m that much of a bitch?”
Don’t even get me started.
8
Caroline
Rowan gives his best smile. “I knew you were joking.”
I frown. “I know I’ve been uptight, okay?”
He grabs his pack of cigarettes and nearly rips the top open. “Sorry, I guess I forgot what a joke sounds like. Been down in this shit-hole for way too long.”
“Yeah, well you’re lucky,” I say. “At least you haven’t been taken hostage by your husband.”
He glances at me and nods. “So that’s your hang up, huh? You’re a divorcee?”
“Something like that,” I admit.
“The way your eyes dart tells me you don’t want me to press, so I won’t talk about it any further,” he says. “It’s not like I really wanted to know anyway.”
It’s hard to know how to talk about these things. He’s a stranger, and I haven’t had many people I can confide in.
“So, what do you do?” he finally asks me.
“What do I do?” I say the words to myself and think about the question a little harder than I should.
Finally, I feel myself shrink, as if my body wants to contort into itself. “I don’t do anything, I guess. I thought I’d figure that whole thing out when I got here.”
He smiles. “Well, you’ll figure it out. The desert has a way of opening people up to their true destiny and passions,” he says, confidently. “Until then, you might as well live it up.”
“I might as well relax,” I say, checking my watch.
“Come on. Live a little. You just got out of a bad relationship,” he says, handing me an unlit cigarette.
“Who said it was bad?” I take his cigarette, despite what my brain is screaming at me: No! No! No!
I disobey, feeling myself give in to old habits. I start to get dragged into what I always get dragged into.
“A divorce. Must have been bad. I bet it ate away at you too,” he says, hitting the nail right on its head. “I’m not being mean. I’m just saying, you have to live it up. You owe it to yourself to a party.”
“Maybe,” I say.
He doesn’t get any pleasure out of hearing me say no so many times. He’s persistent. I’ll give him that. Still, it’s not like me to “live it up.” I’ve never been that type of lady.
He relaxes. “Caroline, you could have died this morning, but you didn’t. It’s a sign. Life wants you to fuck it hard, deep, and without any protection. Got it?”
He yanks me up into his arms. I can barely keep hold of my coffee. “We’re going somewhere, whether you like it or not,” he says, carrying me.
“Stop. You’re going to drop me,” I yell, but I’m laughing at the same time.
I suddenly feel a lot lighter, despite all of the crap going on in my life right now. Is this how the devil tempts the innocent? Oh, who am I kidding? I’m not exactly innocent.
“We’re going to the Silent Barn,” he says.
“What on earth is the Silent Barn?” I ask him.
“It’s a place where dreams come true,” he says. “Where your wildest desires become reality.”
“Seriously?” I ask him. He finally sets me down and laughs with me.
“No, it’s a shitty dive bar,” he admits. “But I have to go there anyway to get some stuff. You want to join me, or are you going to head back to your place to stare at more desert landscape or whatever it is you east-coast elites do on your off time.”
“Fine,” I say. “I guess I should explore this town a little, huh?”
“It’s only worth it if you’re with me. I’m starting to get the hang of this place. Soon enough, I’ll make it my bitch,” he says.
We walk a few blocks and take a right at a desolate intersection. At the end of a long strip is a small dive bar without a sign.
“Voila,” he says.
When we get to the entrance, he kicks open the door.
The barroom is empty. Inside, there’s maybe four or five people drinking at the bar. They’re all big and burly, and not exactly in the best shape. They’re sporting long beards, and have similar patches to the ones I saw in the picture at Rowan’s house.
Insignias.
At this point, I have to wonder. Is he in a motorcycle gang? I mean, it seems pretty obvious, but one can never tell. Maybe he’s just one of those guys that takes his bike out on the weekend.
One of the men turns around and holds his bottle in the air. “Fancy finding you here.”
“You know me, brother. I’m a ghost,” he says, patting him on the back. “Hey, bartender. Another one for Andy here, you lazy son of a bitch.”
“Rowan, I swear to God. If you keep talkin’ to me like that, I’ll have to pull my gun at you. It’s policy,” the bartender says, turning around and holding a fresh glass of beer.
When he sees me, his tone changes. “Well, well. You didn’t tell me you were with a lady. Nice to meet you, gorgeous. I’m Jeffco.”
“Jeffco?” I ask him, shaking his hand slowly.
“Yeah, don’t ask. Long story. Born as Jeff, added the ‘co’ ‘cause I liked how it sounded,” he says. “Okay, not too long of a story, but you get the point. You a drinker today?”
“No thanks,” I say, trying to be polite. Rowan stares at me heavily and shakes his head.
“She’ll take a whiskey Coke,” he says. He turns to me and whispers, “Live a little, baby. It’s on me.”
“Whiskey coke, coming right up,” Jeffco says. I’m still confused about the guy’s name, but I have to accept it.
To be honest, these guys are nicer than they look. Whenever they eye me, it’s with a smile and a nod.
Rowan, on the other hand, has turned serious. He walks behind the bar and whispers to Jeffco. I hear something
about a “package,” but that’s all I can make out.
I sip my drink and watch the two men talk. Every so often, Rowan looks out of the corner of his eyes at me to make sure I’m still here and satisfied.
Finally, Rowan nods confidently and puts his hand out. “It’s a deal,” he says.
Jeffco looks satisfied, although a little worried. I’m left to wonder what the hell is going on.
When Rowan meanders back, he clinks our bottles together. He acts like everything is good in the world. “Jeffco works on bikes too,” he says. “I mean, obviously. Look at the guy. He’s getting me some spare parts shipped in from Kentucky pretty soon.”
“In exchange for what?” I ask.
Rowan turns to me, looking more serious, and asks, “Caroline, why do you think I’m such a bad guy? Haven’t I been nice to you?”
“Today, maybe,” I say.
The other guys in the bar have their eyes directed at me, and I realize that maybe I should shut up and let my detective work go unfinished.
“I’m just being silly,” I say. “You’re fine.”
The men go back to their drinks.
A few drinks in, and I’m feeling perfect. All my cares suddenly go right out the window. And these guys, as terrifying as they look, aren’t that bad. They’re just lewd, loud, and live harder than anyone I know.
We take a booth, and Rowan is leaning in close when he talks. “Caroline. Caroline Peach,” he calls me. “You know how gorgeous you look today?”
“Rowan, you’re drunk,” I say, slurring my speech.
“And you’re not?” He laughs, waving at Jeffco to grab us another drink.
“I’m really drunk,” I admit. “And we should get out of here. It’s getting late.”
He glances at a neon clock on the wall and shrugs. “Ain’t got no phone. No watch. Time is an illusion, ma’am,” he says.
“Sure it is, hon,” I say.
Hon? The word grosses me out, and I regret using it. I’m not as carefree as these guys, but I’m trying. I’m trying to learn about who I really am.
I get a picture in my head of me riding on the back of his motorcycle, my hands wrapped firmly around his pelvic muscles, feeling him down, down, even further down than expected.
I imagine us pulling over to rest, to talk under a starry sky. I know the image isn’t realistic. I know that kind of a thing is probably only in movies. Still, imagining us tearing up the dirt roads, and waking up with bristles in our hair is sort of weirdly romantic.
I quickly try and forget I ever thought of the idea.
We stumble out of the bar, laughing and smoking. I’ll get him to quit soon enough, but right now, we’re celebrating.
Looking at Rowan in this light makes me think that he’s not a bad guy at all. He’s just a little misunderstood. He acts a certain way, but that doesn’t mean he’s an asshole, right?
Eventually, we drunkenly find our way home.
There’s an awkward silence where we don’t know what to say or do. He finally motions at his place and cocks his head. “Want to come in and have a drink?” he asks.
“Why not?” I find myself saying, as if reading the words from a script.
I walk behind him, adjusting my dress. What I keep telling myself is: I don’t want to fuck this guy. I don’t want to wake up in his bed. I don’t want to wake up with his strong arms around my waist, hands between my thighs, feeling his cock grow against my wetness.
I don’t… oh, fuck. Who am I kidding? All of that is exactly what I want right now, and I’m drunk enough to make a bad decision turn into reality.
Just as Rowan gets to the door, we hear something bump inside, followed by a loud crash of something breaking.
Rowan motions for me to back up and stay silent. He checks his pants, maybe for his gun, but he has nothing except his bare hands.
Another bump and we both hear someone say, “Shit, Clive. Be careful, you fucking idiot.”
“I can’t fucking see in this place,” Clive says. “He’s not here. We’ll have to come back.”
We hear the footsteps come toward the front door. The look in Rowan’s eyes tells me I need to get out of there.
Rowan jumps the porch and ducks off to the side. I try running, but the door is open before I’m even a foot away.
“Well, well, well,” Clive says. He’s got a similar look to the guys at the bar we were just at, only they sport different patches and different tattoos.
I gasp.
“What do we have here? A lady friend? Hey sweetheart, can you tell me where we can find Rowan?” he asks.
I gulp down hard, and close my eyes tight to see if I’m dreaming. The realization that this is real life hits me right in the face.
I can barely even breathe. My pulse quickens and I’m paralyzed with fear. They have guns. Multiple guns. And they look ready to use them.
Clive points a pistol right at me and walks forward. He places the cold barrel against my chest, right in between my breasts. He pushes down a little, staring at my cleavage.
“Hey, Glen. Take a look here. She’s shivering like a baby,” he says.
Tears fall from my eyes, and I’m shaking drastically now.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I whisper.
“Maybe she could use some warming up,” he snickers, stepping even closer to me.
Both men surround me. Glen positions himself behind me and touches the back zipper of my dress. “You cold, girl?”
“Please. Let me go home. I just want to go home,” I tell them.
My eyes search for Rowan. He’s nowhere to be found.
“We’ll let you go home on one condition,” he says. “Get on your knees, first.”
“What?” I ask, without thinking.
“On your fucking knees,” he says.
I do what he asks, feeling the cold, scaly dirt break against my kneecaps.
“You ever suck dick before, baby?” Both the men laugh, and I hear a zipper scrape down.
I hear Rowan’s voice. “Suck this,” he says.
He throws a blade, lodging it directly into one of the man’s back.
“Fuck!” he screams, falling to the dirt.
I grab my shoe and hit him across the cheek. It’s the first time I’ve ever hit anyone in my life, and I’m glad it was him.
He clutches the knife in his side, howling like a baby. His friend attempts to run away, but I see Rowan with his gun.
Aiming, he takes a deep breath. He fires twice, and the guy drops like a ton of bricks.
Rowan holsters his weapon and jumps toward me, shielding me. “Are you okay?” he asks.
“Rowan, what the fuck just happened?” I manage to ask.
“I just saved your life,” he says, picking me up into his arms.
He carries me over to my door, right where he let out the snake the other night. He uses my keys and softly puts me on my bed. I’m spinning, but not from being drunk. I’m just so terrified.
“You said you don’t kill innocent things,” I whisper. “How did you… why did you kill him?”
“I don’t kill innocent animals,” he nods. “Those two morons were not innocent animals. Would you have rather they raped you like they wanted?”
I feel the shock slip over my body. My blood feels cold and sharp, like glass. My heartbeat has become nonexistent.
I’m bathing in pure panic.
“No,” I admit.
I nearly start bawling, but I can’t tell if that’s the right thing to do right now. Nothing is making much sense. “Why were they looking for you?” I ask.
“Fuck if I know,” he says, glancing outside to make sure they’re still dead in their tracks.
“You have to call the police, Rowan,” I plead. “You have to. You acted in self-defense. They’ll understand.”
“There’s no way in hell I’m calling any police,” he says. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Rowan, no.”
I keep at it, even thoug
h my body is starting to weaken on me. I feel tired, like I’m about to drift off into sleep. The adrenaline I felt minutes ago has now begun to wear off.
“Don’t go,” I say, giving up the fight.
“Don’t worry. I’m not leaving,” he says. “I’ll stay right here. You won’t get hurt.”
My knight in shining armor is a beast on two wheels. There are too many questions I need to ask, but for now, I don’t want any answers.
I’m just grateful he saved me.
9
Rowan
The things I’ll do for pussy…
I sat around all night, guarding her, but I knew no one else was coming. It was a fluke they even saw her in the first place, but whatever helps her sleep at night is okay with me.
This was a direct hit, set out against me. Why? I can’t be sure. But it’s not a good sign.
Over night, I had Jeffco’s people clean up the mess. Out here in near solitude, we’re lucky not to have too many police interactions.
Everything was cleaned up properly and disposed of. I’m not convinced I’m safe out here anymore, though, and that’s a problem. I don’t know where to run to next.
It was those damn Hunters, the ones I fucked up the deal with. But it wasn’t my fault things went awry.
I still think about that deal like it was yesterday. That was basically the end of my life. Now, I’m stuck here. I assume the Hunters want retribution for what happened back home. They want to put one of my men away, and the top guy seems to be their favorite choice.
I’ll say this right now: It doesn’t matter how it went down.
It’s a fucking mistake to want to take a guy like me out. I’ll come back harder than expected. I’ll rip a new hole in their hearts. I’ll tear them to pieces.
You mess with the girl I’m trying to woo? Yeah, I’ll do even worse. Now those guys are food for the vultures. The desert has opened up and swallowed them whole.
Good riddance.
Early in the morning, I glance at her. She’s still in her dress, looking about as hot as ever. It’s not the appropriate time for me to be looking, but I can’t help it. When you’ve got a beautiful woman in front of you, you almost have to look.
His Hostage: A Dark Romance Page 4
