His Hostage: A Dark Romance

by Penelope Woods

  She opens her eyes and smiles. “You saved me last night,” she says. “That really happened, right?”

  “Don’t thank me,” I tell her. “You wouldn’t have experienced any of that if it wasn’t for me.”

  She thinks about that for a second and nods. “Everything happens for a reason, right?” she asks.

  “Who said that?” I ask her, spinning a cigarette in my hand.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’m naïve,” she says. But it feels that way.”

  Nothing feels right. It doesn’t seem like there’s any sense to any of this shit we call life. It’s all chaos, disorder, and mayhem.

  No. Nothing happens for a reason. It just happens and you deal with the consequences. You hope and pray you’re strong enough, and you smile when you live through another day.

  “I’m just glad you’re okay,” I mutter.

  “Live a little, right?” she smiles.

  “Ha, yeah. I guess we both lived a little last night,” I say. “Look, on second thought, maybe you shouldn’t take my advice. I don’t have too many answers for you. I’m not exactly the luckiest guy in the world.”

  “You’re trying to get rid of me now? After we’ve become best friends? That’s cold,” she says, getting out of bed and cracking her neck.

  Best friends, huh?

  “It’s a cold world, darling. I’ve got your best interests in mind. I don’t want to see you dead out there.”

  She just comes right out and says it. “You really are a criminal, aren’t you?”

  I don’t like lying. For the most part, I’ve been a truthful person. I’ve never been one to deny how bad I really am.

  Some call me evil. They might be right. I don’t know what constitutes as evil these days.

  I’ve always done exactly what I’ve needed to do to survive. Forming the High Priests was less about money and power, as much as it was about banding together so we didn’t sink under the weight of this cruel world.

  I nod, but I don’t say a word. She breaks eye contact with me and thinks about this for minute.

  She knew I was bad. Guaranteed, she had me pegged by day one. I thought I could sidestep the issue for a while, but she was bound to find out sooner or later.

  Oh, well. It’s not like I was trying to date the woman. I just wanted a fun night or two. You know, just until I got back home to my crew.

  “You’ve killed people before,” she says.

  It’s not a question. It’s a statement she already knows to be true.

  “I never said I was a good person,” I tell her.

  I’m not sure if that’s true.

  “Innocent people?” she asks.

  Define innocent.

  “No innocents,” I say, truthfully. “Where I come from, you have the right to defend yourself and your product. If you don’t, it’s suicide.”

  “Like a gang? Is that who that picture is on your wall?” she asks.

  “That’s the only family I’ve ever had,” I admit. “My parents weren’t exactly role models. I don’t blame them for shit, though. It’s just the way this country is. Some people are born into winning. Others aren’t so lucky. You have to fight to get a leg up in this world.”

  “I get it,” she says.

  She has no idea what I’m talking about. I know it just by looking at her. She didn’t grow up penniless or with terrible parents. She’s some east coast yuppie who had it all.

  I’m sure of it.

  But she’s not angry with me? This shit is getting weirder by the second. “You’re not running away,” I say. “Why?”

  She shrugs and exhales sharply. “I don’t know. I should. I know I should. I think you’re right, though. I do need to live a little. I need to judge less, and I need to open my eyes to the rest of the world. I came here to find myself. Maybe that means experiencing some danger.”

  “I don’t think that—” I stop myself short. Fuck it. It’s her death wish. “I won’t argue with you. If you’re not frightened by me, I won’t push forward.”

  This chick has some weird biker dream thing going on. She doesn’t understand the realities of my world. She almost just experienced some really bad shit, but it’s going to get much worse out there.

  There aren’t any rules to this game. There’s no order to any of this. If someone wants you dead, or if you get in the way, they’ll rip your jugular right out from your throat.

  They’ll tie you up and torture you, forcing crystal meth into your lungs. I’ve seen some terrible shit, awful shit. It’s the kind of stuff this “Eat, Love, Pray” woman couldn’t ever come back from.

  I leave her place without saying a word. She hollers after me, but I’m over it. I’m not someone to be used for the fantasy factor of being with a gangster.

  I just wanted to get laid. That’s it. Plain and simple.

  More than that, I want names. I want to know who ordered this hit. Was it the head of the Hunters, Kaine?

  If so, I’m waging war.

  I have to be sure. I can’t just act.

  As for now, I’m leaving this woman alone. Caroline, the woman with the perfect ass will have to wait.

  10

  Caroline

  I don’t know whether to hate him, fear him, or fall in love with him.

  That’s the problem.

  I’m addicted to the worst in people. It’s as if something inside my brain or heart is broken.

  My friends used to tell me I was a kind soul. They said that I was put on this earth to help people.

  Sure.

  In the end, people just used that quality. They used it, and spit me back out. That’s all I’ve gotten from people.

  So when I figure out Rowan’s real occupation, I feel a little envious. Here’s a man who doesn’t give a fuck about anything. This has been his life from day one and he has no qualms about it.

  I’ve questioned everything I’ve ever done, to the point of giving up school, friends, and everything else good to be with the asshole ex-husband of mine, Ron.

  I’ve always been used in this manner. Empathy doesn’t bring good things. At least, not where I grew up. It doesn’t seem any different here either.

  So maybe it’s about time I really live a little. Could I really be a gangster’s right hand woman?

  Okay, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m not thinking things through at all.

  I decide the best thing I can do is stay away for a while. It’s fun to think about the fantasy aspect of Rowan, but I’m not about to end up with a bullet in my head.

  Yet, when I walk outside, I’m still tempted to walk over to his door. I used to think he was such an asshole. Now, I’m not too sure. I’m trying to figure all that out now.

  I glance over at his door, and there’s a package resting on his porch. It’s not sealed. It actually looks as if it was never sealed. Normally I wouldn’t investigate, but I have nothing else to do.

  I decide to pry.

  I walk over quietly, but it seems as if Rowan isn’t home. If he was, I’d be hearing him banging away on his bike.

  No, his place is empty. Maybe that’s why there’s a package sitting on his steps right now. Maybe it was planned to get here at a specific time.

  I grab the package and notice there’s no writing except for Rowan’s name on the front. No last name, no address.

  I drop the package and take a step back. I don’t know if I should be touching his stuff. After all, it’s not my property. I don’t know what’s inside the box. It could be a bomb for all I know.

  I back up and decide to head into town. The only thing that can get my mind off recent events is a nice cup of coffee. I take my car into town, rather than walk. Today is hotter than usual and it feels as if the sun is beating down against my face.

  I pull into the coffee shop parking lot and let my engine run. I have to take a few deep breaths and really let my body relax.

  Images from last night come flooding back into my mind. There’s that man’s gun resting against my c
hest.

  A stranger walks by my car, turns his head, and I nearly jump out of my skin. My heart starts beating fast. Sweat rolls down my temples.

  I can hardly breathe. It feels as if my chest is shrinking against my organs. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go.

  I’m not safe anywhere.

  “…she could use some warming up…”

  Fuck, I thought I could handle this. The gravity of last night is only now just sinking in.

  The stranger who walks by my car smiles and tilts his hat at me. He’s just a nice old man, but my mind is playing the worst tricks on me now. I don’t know who to trust anymore.

  I can’t even trust myself.

  I step out of the car and feel the sun hit my face. I manage to take two steps out before I start shaking uncontrollably.

  Just be strong and breathe, I tell myself. It’s never that easy. I have to repeat that mantra at least 100 times before it starts to have any effect on me.

  I’m near the coffee shop, but caffeine is not what I need anymore. Anything that is bound to make me jittery is a huge no-go, right now.

  I glance at the street sign up ahead. Right around the corner is the Silent Barn, and a drink sounds about perfect.

  I walk around the corner and walk into the bar. There’s the same faces. Jeffco and Andy are talking quietly.

  When the doors swing close, they turn and glance at me. I can tell I’ve interrupted them, and they’re not exactly happy about it.

  “It’s Rowan’s girl,” Andy says, getting out of his seat.

  Jeffco sets down a glass he had been cleaning, and starts pouring a whiskey coke. He slides it over to me when I sit down.

  “Where’s Rowan at?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I’m not sure. It was sort of a rough night last night. I didn’t see him at his place this morning. Usually he’s outside, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee.”

  “Let’s not bring up last night,” he says, eyes darting toward the door.

  I nod and gulp down, feeling the terror slip into my body again. I down my drink and close my eyes for a brief moment, trying to get back to normal.

  “Right, I’m sorry,” I mutter.

  “No need to be sorry, doll,” he says. “But if you see him, tell him Jeffco wants to have a word with him.”

  “Will do,” I say. “Weird thing is, this morning there was a package in front of his door. It was unmarked, except for his name scribbled on the front.”

  Andy chimes in. “Unmarked? No address or nothing?”

  “Nothing. It wasn’t even sealed either,” I remark.

  They both look at one another. “How heavy was the package. Did you look inside?” Jeffco asks.

  “I picked it up. I wanted to open it, but the whole thing kind of freaked me out. I dropped the package and ran,” I admit. “I’m still not doing all that well after…”

  He nods, telling me he doesn’t need to hear anything more. “Andy, you mind watching this place for an hour, while I go check this out?” he asks.

  “Shit, brother. You ain’t going without me. You get, what? Five customers per day? Just shut the place down for an hour. No one will give two shits about it,” he says, getting up.

  He reaches to his side holster and yanks his gun out. He cocks it and places it back in, grimacing.

  “You’re getting ahead of yourself, dammit,” Jeffco says, shaking his head. “Fine. We’ll all go, you bastard.”

  “Damn straight,” he says.

  Together, we walk outside, and they jump on their bikes. “Hop on, honey.”

  This is all so crazy.

  Jeffco is older, maybe about forty-five or so. He’s out of shape, but he looks like he could destroy a tank with his bare hands.

  I never noticed it with the dim lights of the bar, but he’s got scars all across his face and arms. It looks like a bear or something attacked him. It’s either that or he’s seen some very real shit. He doesn’t have to get his gun out to prove he’s a scary son of a bitch. You just know it by looking at him.

  He motions for me to hop on again and I do so slowly, despite my fear of bikers right now. I feel the warm rumble of the bike and he revs the engine harder before we take off in a plume of dust and smoke. We peel around the corner and I hang onto his vest tight. The whole time I’m wondering, where the hell Rowan hid.

  And then a horrible thought comes into my mind. Did they kill him?

  I don’t even know who they is. It’s obvious that someone is after him, though.

  My heart pounds with fear. I start to weigh my options, and I decide that I need to leave this place. I can’t be jumping onto motorcycles for the rest of my life, running from brutal killers.

  Coming here was a much needed vacation that turned into a nightmare. I need to go back home, back to the snow and the evergreen trees.

  I need my home.

  I thought Dan was bad, but these guys are a hell of a lot worse.

  We come to a stop in our desolate neighborhood. Jeffco steps off the bike, spurs jingling against his leather boots. He lights up two cigarettes and hands me one. I take it, but only out of courtesy.

  Slowly, he walks up to his porch and stands in front of the package.

  He knocks on the door. “Rowan,” he yells. His voice is raspy and deep. “Hey, Rowan! Open up, brother.”

  He pounds on the door this time. Still, there’s no answer. He pushes the door open and mutters, “Ah, fuck.”

  My heart pounds hard. I glance at my house, ready to run and lock all my doors.

  Jeffco turns around and says, “Someone got in here. Rowan is nowhere in sight. His place is trashed.”

  Jeffco walks through the place with Andy, guns drawn. “It’s all clear,” Andy says, as they walk back outside.

  “Who’s doing this?” I ask.

  They both turn to each other, but they don’t say anything.

  “Who is it?” I repeat.

  “It’s no one, honey,” Jeffco mutters, chucking his cigarette.

  “Bullshit,” I say, walking up the porch.

  “Rowan ain’t the politest guy in the universe,” he mutters. “He’s made some enemies. It’s nothing you have to worry about.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I scream. “I almost got raped and killed last night, and you have the audacity to tell me it’s nothing to worry about?”

  “Settle down there,” he says. “You have every right to be angry. It’s not my fault, though. Take it up with Rowan. I’ve got no idea who’s after him, or what he’s done.”

  “Open the package,” I find myself saying, taking a step further up onto the porch.

  Jeffco opens his mouth and says, “We should wait for Rowan to—“

  “Open the package,” I repeat, growing angrier and more resilient. “Last night, I survived hell. I want you to open that fucking package. I want to know why people are trying to kill Rowan. I’m involved in this now, too.”

  He grimaces and turns to Andy, who just shrugs. “Fine,” he sighs, turning red. “We’ll have it your way. Open the package, Andy.”

  Andy backs away. “I’m not opening that thing,” he says.

  “Open the fucking package or I’ll start making you pay for drinks at the Silent Barn,” he says.

  Hearing this, Andy bends over and picks up the mysterious box. “Fine. You want me to open this thing? I’ll do it.”

  “Do it,” I say, eying the open corner. I’m dreading what’s inside. I feel as if it’s my worst fears are contained in this one box.

  He takes a deep breath and peels the corner open. “Ah, shit!” he yells, dropping the box. This time, instead of landing flat, it lands on its side. The contents roll out and…

  “Fuck!” Jeffco yells.

  A head rolls out onto the porch. A fucking severed head.

  “Oh, God. I’m going to be sick,” I say.

  I immediately turn and vomit. The head stops near my boot, and I’m forced to run off his porch.

  “Is it R
owan?” I ask, shielding my eyes.

  “No,” Jeffco says. “It’s his old partner. His right hand, man, Ash.”

  11

  Rowan

  You don’t wage war, unless you’re sure something is going down.

  It doesn’t make sense for the Hunters to want to go after us. We fucked up a deal, sure. But that shit happens all of the time.

  This is highly illegal activity. You have to brace a little for some interruption by the Feds.

  What happens is this: you give them a little insurance policy. If the good ol’ boys in blue pick up the package, you pay the gang back over time, usually through certain favors. That’s the general understanding we’ve set up.

  Of course, there aren’t any real rules. It’s not like any of this has been written down and approved by a court of law. We run our own court, near the border.

  Jeffco has kept me afloat as best as he can. He’s not a High Priest like my boys, but we’ve always been friendly with his gang, The Pallbearers.

  To get me some extra cash, he gave me a job. All I have to do is deliver this package and be on my way. I hand off the delivery, count the money, and head back home.

  Easy.

  This car isn’t ideal. It’s not my bike. I miss the wind in my hair and the sun against my cheeks. I miss the smell of burnt rubber and the pit stops you’re forced to make when your back starts to ache from riding for so long.

  Last night was fucking rough. I won’t deny that. I’ve been accosted plenty of times, but when it comes out of nowhere, after a night of feeling pretty good, you start to feel as if a line has been crossed.

  Rule one: never involve the women, unless they’re affiliated.

  Caroline is definitely not affiliated. That much should have been obvious. You take one look at her and you can tell she’s a tourist.

  They shouldn’t have brought her into this. Now, all I’ve been thinking about is how I’m going to get my revenge on these motherfuckers. These low lives.

  Half the drive home I think about it. But my mind likes to switch from violence to sex pretty damn fast. Soon enough, I’m daydreaming about her in that dress she was wearing.