If the home gym was the size of a normal house, I didn’t know what the kitchen would be the size of. Hector was a good cook if last night’s dinner was anything to go by. It made sense seeing as how his kitchen was so beautiful. Brown accents covered the room from the paint on the walls to the marble countertops and the floor paneling. The only things that brightened the room were the appliances. A matching white stove and refrigerator. I grabbed a glass from one of the cupboards and poured myself a glass of ice water.
I drank and I drank until my breathing returned to normal. I placed my cup on the counter, ready to pass out now that I worked my body so hard. The sound of a car door slamming halted my footsteps. I waited until I heard footsteps just outside of the house. I grabbed a steak knife from the block of knives on the counter by the stove and made my way into the living room.
I leaned against the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room, my fingers twisting around the handle of the knife and I waited.
There were no locks on these doors, I realized. And if there were, they didn’t work. This entire place was operated by a heavy security system. He stepped through, automatically turning around and closing the door behind him. I stood tall with my feet shoulder-length apart, closed one of my eyes, aimed and let my knife sail through the air. It stuck inside the door, mere inches from his face. If he turned his head in the slightest, his skin would feel the coolness of the knife. His head hadn’t moved but I could tell he was looking at the knife.
I heard the deep steadying breath he took before he turned around to face me. “Welcome home,” I said, the irritation I felt like fire in my veins, sneaking out.
“You have to stop trying to kill me like this,” he said, sauntering up to me, leaving the knife lodged in the door.
Stopping right in front of me, our chests almost touching, his body rigid as I hoped mine was. But I played it cool, leaning up against the wall. Our height difference forced me to look up at him and I almost lost my cool facade because the corner of his mouth tilted, impossibly close to smirking and his eyes glinted in the glow of the kitchen light. There was not one single trace of anger written on his face.
He was not supposed to find this amusing. He was not supposed to find me cute. I literally almost splattered his brains across his living room walls. His smile widened at my troubled expression. Two of his brown fingers appeared and gently tugged my chin. “You may have better aim than me, bonita.”
His fingers and body left me in an instant as he brushed past me, heading into the kitchen. I stood there in complete exasperation. Really? That’s it. No anger, no yelling. Nothing. What did I have to do to get this man pissed off? As pissed off as he’s made me?
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said, following him. I watched as he picked up my glass, sniffed it before filling it back up with water and ice. Before he lifted the glass to his lips, he quirked one eyebrow up at me. “We had a deal. This proposition of yours. As lovely as your presence,” I snarled the word, “is, I’d rather be anywhere but in it.”
He snorted. “You’re such a sweet talker. I think I might die if I don’t hear more.”
A tiny growl climbed up my throat and escaped through my lips. “This is my life we’re talking about.”
He finished off his glass of water with his eyes closed. He slammed the glass on the counter and his eyes were on me in an instant. No amusement shown in them now. They were dark brown, almost black and I wanted to hide from them, to not be under their scrutiny. But I didn’t dare move an inch.
His lips parted and I braced myself for his anger but it never came. He pushed himself off the counter and walked away. Because I was a complete dumbass, I followed him. Upstairs and into the bedroom. He headed straight into the bathroom with me hot on his heels. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned my hip against the doorway. “Let me have it.”
He hadn’t looked at me since we were downstairs and I didn’t think he had any intention of casting those browns on me anytime soon. “Let you have what, Annie?”
“Your words. Your anger. I let you have mine.”
“I say what I really want to say. You won’t miss next time.” His voice fell quiet but it carried over the small distance between us.
I glowered over at him, not that he noticed. He was too busy whipping his shirt off and tossing it to the floor. “What are you doing right now?” I asked as he moved to unbutton his jeans.
He looked at me for the first time since I followed him upstairs but didn’t answer. He slid the jeans down his thick thighs and it took every ounce of my control not to let my gaze follow his hands. He turned from me and started running the water for a shower. Was he really going to shower with me in the room? “If I promise no more knives, will you tell me?”
He looked at me. No, he studied me. His gaze held mine for so long that my skin started to warm and itch all at the same time. “You shouldn’t have to die to kill someone.” His face and body disappeared inside the shower before I could even think about his words. I turned around, sauntered into the bedroom, and threw myself on the bed, not even bothering to close the door to the bathroom. It seemed Hector wasn’t one for modesty.
You shouldn’t have to die to kill someone. What the hell did that even mean? And why did he care? He didn’t know me. He was not going to know me. Why couldn’t he just deliver my father to me and then I would be on my merry way.
I didn’t know how long I lay there, but I knew the moment that he entered the room. I removed my forearm from my eyes to see Hector in all his naked glory. He had his back to me but what I did see, I liked. His strong shoulders, ones just a couple of days ago I knew I was on the back of. His long, wide back. His ass, a perfect handful. His strong thighs and his muscular legs. He was a sight, that’s for sure. He pressed into the wall and out came drawers of what he needed. Socks, boxers, and a pair of pants. He decided to forgo a shirt.
The bed dipped and there he was staring down at me, his eyes boring into mine. “If I were to let you go, right now,” he whispered. His voice sent chills down my arms and spine and his words put me on edge. “Would you give up on this murder plan of yours? Or would you never stop until you knew he was six feet under?”
When he looked at me like that, I found I couldn’t lie. “I don’t know how to stop.”
He nodded once, accepting my truth. “Come downstairs with me and we’ll talk.”
He didn’t wait for an answer and I found myself following him. Again.
I sat at the table with a Corona he offered me and I sipped on the bottle as I watched him move around the kitchen effortlessly. He grabbed a pack of meat out of the fridge, dumped it into a pan and started pouring some sort of seasoning on top of it as it fried. I could admit to myself that it was beautiful to see him like this. I had a feeling that not many people have been introduced to this side of him. “Did your son make it to where he was going?”
His head whipped in my direction and his eyes found mine, a look of surprise in them. “Yeah. He’s studying the summer abroad before he starts college.”
“That sounds cool,” I said slowly. “Is he going to college here?”
“No, California. He wanted to study here because it’s closer to home but the school in California had the best program.” I nodded and he turned his eyes back to the stove. “Are you hungry?” he asked, digging through a cupboard of food.
“I could eat,” I said with a shrug. Thirty minutes later, we were both sitting down with a plate of seasoned meat and orange rice mixed with corn. It looked amazing and smelled even better. “I hope you don’t hold me hostage much longer. I’m going to get so fat.”
He chuckled softly before he dug into his food. We ate silently, until, much like the night before I slumped back in my chair, hands over my stomach, stuffed like a cow.
He laughed at the sight of me before he stood to clean up our mess and returned with a fresh beer and a small bowl of butter pecan caramel ice cream. “You’re trying to kill me,” I announce
d even as I sat up already reaching for a spoon.
Those dimples popped out as he sat down next to me and handed me a spoon. “Really,” he hummed around a spoonful of ice cream, before pulling the spoon out and grabbing for some more. “I thought that was the other way around.”
“Ha ha ha,” I deadpanned.
The ice cream was delicious and somehow the bowl ended up closer to me and Hector put his spoon down and picked up his beer. “I was with him earlier.”
I didn’t have to ask who he was referring to, the way he snarled the word pretty much said it all. I knew I wanted this, demanded this. But now that we were talking, my heart thumped hard against my chest and I’d somehow forgotten how to breathe.
“He’s alive. And that’s how he’s going to remain until you’re ready for him.”
“I am ready for him now,” I said, setting the ice cream to the side. “I didn’t just wake up one day and decide to kill him, Hector. I’ve been planning this for almost half of my life.”
“I’ve seen you with a knife, bonita. And I have a feeling you’re even better with a gun.” I couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at my lips because he wasn’t wrong. “Physically, I believe you’re ready. Mentally? Emotionally? I have my doubts.” I glared at him but otherwise remained silent. “I meant what I said earlier. You shouldn’t have to die to kill someone. And that’s your plan right now. You want to kill him and then you want to run away, start over, be someone new. But killing isn’t an eviction notice. It’s not a bad break up. It’s not a failure in a career. Before you take anyone’s life, you have to be secure in your own.”
I don’t know who I am. Those words popped up again but I didn’t dare voice them. “So you want me to kill him and stay,” I asked, almost incredulous.
“It doesn’t matter what I want. It’s what you want. I killed my first person when I was younger than you. I was forced into it. Then, I killed again and again. But the one thing that kept me from laying down, from giving up was that I knew who I was and what I wanted my future to look like.
“I had a son. A son who was born into a bloodline that he didn’t ask for. Same as me. But I vowed I would be different. I would give him the choices that I didn’t have. And so that’s how I’m here today. I didn’t run because of him. Every killer needs an anchor to their humanity. My son was mine. You have to find yours and before you call me a sexist, an anchor could be anything. A career, a friend, hell, a dog if you want. When you’re in survival mode, you need something to live for. You have to want something more than you want his death, is what I’m trying to say.”
I heard every single one of his words and I knew he was right. But the only thing I knew for sure that I wanted more than Cameron Wade’s death was to have my mom back, but life didn’t work that way. “What is it that you want from me? How do I pass this test?”
He studied me closely, his hands folded together underneath his chin. “Six months.”
I started to protest before he could even say anything else but before I could utter a word, he reached over and put a finger over my lips, effectively silencing me.
“Do what you want for six months. Live your life for six months. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about anybody but yourself. Be Annie for six months and I’ll hand him over.”
I don’t know how. I wanted to scream the words at him. I wanted to plead with him. But I kept it in. “Am I allowed to leave the house?”
He nodded. “You’ll be escorted everywhere you go. Either by me or someone I trust. But whatever you want to do for the next six months, I’ll make it happen.”
I didn’t want to agree. I didn’t want to be Annie, whoever the hell she was. But I did want Cameron Wade’s blood on my hands and as far as I could tell, this was the only way. I nodded. “Fine,” I murmured, and his finger fell away. “Six months.”
“Six months,” he repeated.
“Six months from the night you kidnapped me.”
“Six months starting tomorrow.”
I scowled at him, but we both knew he held all of the cards here. “Fine,” I huffed and I hauled my ass upstairs to bed, exhausted from a full belly and my workout earlier in the night.
* * *
The first six days of our six-month agreement were uneventful.
They passed by the same as the few days before. I’d wake up, have breakfast with Hector before he left for the day. I’d spend my day in the gym or watching marathons on the TV upstairs. Then, Hector would come home, cook us dinner and I’d follow him upstairs and lie in bed while he showered.
I didn’t know if it was because I actually felt safe with him or if because he was the first person who held me after a restless night. He didn’t bang on the wall and yell at me to shut up when I couldn’t hold in the screams any longer. He didn’t find somewhere else to sleep when I tossed and turned and sweat through the sheets. He didn’t look at me like I was a freakshow for being a grown-ass adult who let the memories get the best of her.
What he did do was hold me. Swept my clammy hair from my face. Whispered against my skin that everything was going to be alright.
And so an unspoken agreement transpired between us. He slept in bed with me every night. I didn’t ask him to but I didn’t kick him out, either. I’d only suffered from one other nightmare since that first night, but I knew a strong man sleeping next to me hadn’t cured them. They’d return and hopefully, I could live with the weakness I showed him when they did. He still slept at the edge of the bed, taking out that extra blanket each night.
Every morning, Hector would be long gone before I woke up, leaving me to notice an unrumpled side of the bed and the sound of clinking weights that filtered upstairs. By the time I made it downstairs each day, I’d find him in the kitchen drinking eggs out of a glass and making enough breakfast for the two of us.
We didn’t talk much. He gave me his terms and he was waiting for me to accept them, with so much patience that it drove me crazy. Maybe it was petty of me, maybe the only person I was hurting was myself, but I didn’t want to be the one to admit defeat. I wanted him to get sick of me, taking up space in his house and eating all of his food. Granted it didn’t seem as if my plan was succeeding because as soon as he asked me the golden question each morning after he fed the both of us, he fled the house and didn’t return until dinner time.
Being alone felt as natural to me as breathing so I didn’t mind it much but it did feel like I was standing still. I had nothing to look forward to. I had no plan. I had no job and no school and no matter what I did, I wouldn’t get reins on Cameron Wade’s life for another five months and twenty-three days.
Hector’s voice cut through my thoughts, the tiniest smirk on his face. He must have caught me glaring daggers at him again and probably stabbing my food and calling it by his name, too. “What’s on the agenda for today?” And there it was. For the past six days, he would ask me this very question. I would answer it with a glare and then he would leave. The same thing every day since I agreed to his terms. But today was different.
Today, my answer changed because I quite literally couldn’t be confined to this house for the next six months. There were only so many seasons of Criminal Minds a girl could watch before she went stir crazy. I huffed. “I’ve run out of clothes.”
A frown formed on his face as he popped an entire egg white into his mouth. “The washer and dryer—”
I cut him off. “I know where they are. I need more than the two outfits I have here.” During his earlier morning workout, I made some phone calls. The first to the hotel I had booked. They were still charging me for the room every day and I had a lot of money saved, but I had never been wasteful of money, especially since I knew how it felt to have little to none at all. And I supposed it wasn’t true that I had no plan because I did, it was still the original plan, just set back by a man who thought he knew what was best for me after five seconds of knowing me. “Before.” I narrowed my eyes at him, which just caused that annoying smirk of his to
grow. “I booked a hotel last week. I called the receptionist to cancel my room today. I just have to be there by noon to pick up my stuff.”
He nodded, still stuffing his face. The man could eat. Every night he would cook something different, food I had never even heard of let alone tasted, mostly with a Hispanic touch to it. I was so consumed in the taste testing myself, I never paid attention to his eating habits but I knew he consumed a lot. Each morning, he had at least four egg whites and he did that annoying thing that athletes sometimes do, drinking the yolks.
His eyes were focused solely on me, silently asking me if there was anything else on the agenda for today. There was.
The second phone call I made earlier was to Matt. When he picked up the phone, laying on that thick Yankee accent, I couldn’t help it, I snorted and asked him the utmost important question. “Are you running a gun business or a phone porn operation?”
I expected him to laugh or grunt, his usual response to me. “Annie,” he whispered.
“Yes, Matthew.”
A shaky sigh escaped him before he laid it on me. “Where the hell have you been? Where are you now? Are you safe?”
I waited for him to calm down, it only took ten minutes or so until he finally allowed me to get a word in. I ignored all of his questions because if I wasn’t okay, I wouldn’t be calling. “Do I still have a job?”
“You’re my best friend. Of course, you still have a job. Now get your ass back here.”
“First of all—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mumbled. “We’re not friends. We’re barely coworkers. And if I tell you what to do one more time, you’re going to sever my most cherished body parts.”
Matt covered all of his bases, leaving me nothing to say; I hung up. Now, I told Hector, “And, I also talked to my old employer. Apparently, he misses me, so you can drop me off there after the hotel.”
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