Hostage (10 page)

Code

What a difference a couple of hours of real sleep makes. Lame as it sounds, it’s the fucking truth. While this place is a fucking dump, the bed is comfortable, and there’s air conditioning, and after finally having that shower, I almost feel human.

It’s dark out, and I know that we’ve got to keep moving. Wren’s idea about fake I.D’s was great. I don’t know why she’s suddenly on board with helping us get out of here, but I’m not gonna argue it either.

She’s still asleep on the bed, and that’s fine with me. I’ve got to plans to make. I met Jamie a year ago when I needed a change of identity. He’s pretty much like a fucking vampire—sleeps all day and is up all night—and I know he works fast.

I’ve never been in a hurry for anything, so I know I’m taking a risk on putting in this kind of a favor. Jamie’s a cool guy and I’ve never seen him around Deke or the crew, so I’m pretty confident that it’s not gonna lead to any other issues.

Fucking better not.

I’m not trying to be quiet on purpose but I step away from the bed to call him to confirm he’ll have the stuff when we’d planned. Five minutes later, I’m done and Wren’s rolling over and looking at me.

“What’s up?” she asks.

“We’re gonna meet up with my guy at eleven. He’s gonna bring all of his shit to do the I.D.’s and he’s bringing a car.”

She sits up, her eyes a little wide. “Seriously? Just like that?”

I nod. “Yeah. I’ve learned to not ask questions. I told him what I needed, he named a price and he’ll be here later.”

“Can you trust him?”

“Honestly? You can’t trust fucking anyone, but if I had to trust somebody right now to help us out, it’s Jamie.” I know she’s concerned about getting to Laredo as fast as humanly possible so that she can go home, but her questioning is making me second-guess myself.

“You don’t sound like you believe that.”

“After the last couple of days, do you blame me?”

“Can I ask you something?” I nod at her. “How did you even get into this? I mean, I know I don’t really know you but…you don’t seem like those other guys.”

How the fuck do I even begin to explain my screwed up life to her? “It’s a long story.” I scrub my hand over my face and really, it’s not something that I even want to get into. “Let’s just say that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it seemed pretty harmless to get involved with Deke and his crew for some easy jobs. And now I want out and the only way to do it was to go along with the plan at the bank.”

Wren looks over at the bags—one has cash, one has diamonds. “Deke wants the diamonds.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. He was emphatic about me being the one to grab them. I was just so focused on having a way out of the crew that it didn’t raise any red flags with me. If things had gone as planned, I’d be dead right now.”

“So would I,” she says quietly.

And that’s all there is to say on the topic. Or so I thought…

“So now what? You get to Laredo, I go home and then…what?”

I shrug. “I cross the border and live in Mexico for a while. I don’t want the diamonds, but I haven’t figured out how to get rid of them.”

“Maybe you should’ve just left them in the other hotel when Deke came in. Then he’d be happy and wouldn’t be after you.”

“Us, Wren. He’s after us. And that just goes to show how fucking little you understand about this shit. If I had left the diamonds there, great. Yeah, he would have them. But he wants me dead. It’s vengeance with him now. And as for you? I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s pissed off with you too. He’s not going to rest until we’re dealt with.”

“But…after Laredo,” she began with a quiver in her voice, “then what?”

Shit. I hadn’t really thought that through. “Don’t worry. We’ll deal with it when the time comes.” Not the most reassuring of speeches, but there you have it.

Now there really isn’t anything else to say.

Once it’s dark, we each don our hats and walk over to the convenience store to get a little more food and to kill time until Jamie arrives. There isn’t much to say, and as much as I wouldn’t have minded another round of spankings and sex, I need to keep my head in the game.

At eleven on the dot, Jamie knocks on the hotel room door. He’s a short little dude in a long black trench coat. With nothing but a nod in my direction, he comes in and sets up shop at the small table in the corner. Within thirty minutes, we each have a new identity.

Wren watches in apparent fascination as Jamie does his work. With a tiny laptop and mini-printer, the work went a lot faster than it used to. When he stands and packs his shit up, I hand him the cash that we had agreed on and he hands me a set of keys.

“White Honda in the back of the convenience store.”

Shit. I hate white cars. “White? Seriously?”

“Trust me. You’ll blend. There are so many white fucking cars on the road that unless someone is driving around only looking at plates, they’ll have a hard time pinpointing you.”

It makes sense. I still fucking hate it. “Thanks, man.” And then he’s gone.

Wren and I do a final sweep of the room. We managed to grab some stuff for the car at the convenience store, so we’re leaving with a little more than we came with. Then we leave. I check out of the room and go find the car.

We climb, in and it’s your standard-issue program car. Once we’re situated, I look over at Wren, and she seems a little nervous. “You okay?”

“This almost seems too easy. Like…I just can’t believe that we’re gonna drive out of here and go to Laredo and that’s it. It doesn’t seem right.”

“Well, that’s the plan, and I gotta hope that it all goes that way. I don’t plan on looking for fucking trouble.” Although trouble seems to fucking find me easy enough. I don’t share that with her, though.

Instead, I pull out of the parking lot and hit the highway.

Wren

So now I’m sitting in the passenger seat of the car beside the guy who took me hostage, and we’re driving into the night like we’re on some sort of romantic road trip. None of this is how I expected to spend this week.

I should be at home right now, doing homework or watching TV. Someone—maybe Philip—should have asked me out for Friday night, and I should be thinking about what we’ll do, what I’ll wear. Shelley should be sending me obnoxious, catty pictures of her and Greg. My dad should be asking me whether I like the birthday present he bought me.

I never did get it, since the bank hold-up happened before I had my birthday lunch with him.

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the seat, feeling a little sick at the thought of how worried my dad must be. He’s the only one who really cares about me, so he’s the only one I’m really bothered by.

The rest of my life can pretty much go to hell—there was nothing really good about it anyway—but I don’t want my dad to worry.

“You aren’t hatching an escape plan, are you?” Code asks out of the blue.

I glance over, and for some reason the sight of him in the pale light from the dashboard startles me by how attractive he is. I really shouldn’t be so attracted to him. He’s rough and big and pushy and dangerous, but my body clenches briefly at the sight of him, even just sitting behind the wheel of a cheap, ugly car.

“No,” I tell him. “I was just thinking about…” I trail off, since it’s really none of his business what I’m thinking.

“You were thinking about what?”

“About what I’d be doing if you hadn’t grabbed me.”

“What would you be doing?”

“I don’t know. Homework, maybe. I’ve got a research essay due next week in my history class that I might be working on. Or maybe hanging out on Facebook or something.”

There isn’t much traffic, so he doesn’t have to focus on the road very much. His eyes shift back to my face, and then lower to my body. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

I start to answer, but then stop myself. He sounds like he’s entitled to an answer, like I have to tell him details of my personal life.

“Tell me,” he says, his voice a little more guttural.

“Why do you care?”

“Because I want to know who else you’re giving your hot little pussy to.”

That pussy—hot or not—clenches hard in excitement at the dirty words. “I didn’t give it to you.”

His brow lowers. “Don’t you dare act like I forced you into anything. You came on to me. You wanted it bad.”

I did want it bad—from him, from Code, from my hostage-taker. What exactly does that say about me? “Well, I never would have fucked you if you hadn’t kidnapped me to begin with. You’re not my type at all.” It’s important to me that he knows this—that he doesn’t think I’m some spineless girl who swoons when he cocks an eyebrow at me.

Although part of me is afraid that might be true.

“That doesn’t fucking surprise me. I know your type.”

“What type of guy do you think I like?”

“You like those rich pretty boys who have to make up for their inadequacies with expensive toys.”

So, yeah, he’s hit on my type pretty damned well. It perfectly describes most of the guys I’ve gone out with in my life. What I say is, “You don’t know me as well as you think.”

“Don’t fool yourself about that, princess. I know you. You have a rich daddy who has given you anything you ever wanted, but nothing has ever satisfied you. You look little and delicate, like you need a man to take care of you, but inside you’re secretly wanting a man to not treat you like your made of glass. You want a man who sees how hot and wild you really are beneath your pretty-princess looks.”

His voice gets thicker as he continues talking, and soon I’m flushing red-hot. Because he’s right about me. I’ve never known it about myself before, but the two days I’ve spent with him have revealed that the person I pretended to be before isn’t really who I am.

I guess I’m not sure who I really am.

“Tell me I’m right,” he demands.

“You’re not right.” I’m saying this purely out of stubbornness. “That’s not me at all.”

“Yes, it is. You’re blushing because you know I’m right. You want a man who won’t be fooled by the way you look. I’ll show you.”

He reaches over with one arm and strokes my cheek. His touch is so gentle and feels so good that I gasp and lean into his hand. Then, while I’m distracted, he lowers his hand so it skims over my breasts, caressing and then tweaking one nipple hard.

I give a little cry of surprise and pleasure at the jolt of sensation. So I’m still distracted when his hand moves further down, pushing up my skirt so he can reach my pussy.

His eyes move from my body to the road and back as he fingers me, discovering that I’m hot and wet, just from him words earlier.

He smiles at me with a primal kind of pleasure. “That’s what I thought.”

“Asshole,” I manage to gasp, since it really doesn’t seem to right to completely give him the upper-hand, even though he’d completely found me out.

“Tell me I’m right,” he demands, teasing my clit with his fingers. His touch isn’t really focused—he has to keep looking back at the road, and he can only use one hand—but it’s enough to sensually torment me.

I arch up and clutch at the armrest. “You’re not right.”

“Yes, I am. If I keep this up, you’ll come for me again right now. That’s how hot and wild you really are. That’s how much you want a man who sees you for who you are.”

My whole body is blazing now, and I’m desperately trying not to ride his hand. I make a little whimpering sound.

“Tell me I’m right.”

“Oh, God!” I pant, giving up and grabbing his hand to hold it where I need it to be. “You’re right. Fuck, you’re so right.”

He chuckles and pulls back his hand, and I practically howl with disappointment because my body is desperate now for an orgasm. “Next time, don’t try to lie to me.”

So now I’m mad as well as aroused, and I shift restlessly on my seat, resisting the urge to get myself off with my own hand. It might be kind of embarrassing with Code sitting in the driver’s seat beside me. I glare at him and say nothing.

He’s been looking at the road, still looking far too pleased with himself, but he cuts his eyes back to my face. “You must have surrounded yourself with losers who’ve been incapable of giving you what you need.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? How many times have you come during sex before me?”

None. The answer was none. “That’s not your business.”

“I think it is. I think everything about you is my business. Tell me. How many times?”

“Not many.” I stare down at my hands on my lap.

“How many?”

“Never.”

“When was the first time you had sex?”

I look away from him suddenly because I don’t want him to see my expression. A familiar sick heaviness fills my gut.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his tone different from before. He must have seen something of how I’m feeling in my body language.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

I can’t help but respond to the authority in his tone. Plus, for some ridiculous reason, I want to tell him. “It depends on what you’re counting as sex,” I tell him, still not looking in his direction.

“What the hell does that mean?” He sounds urgent, almost angry now, but I have no idea why.

“You asked about the first time I had sex, and it depends on what you mean by sex.” I swallow hard. “It depends on whether you think my step-father counts.”

He doesn’t respond, so I manage to glance up, and his whole body is so tight it’s almost shaking. I’m not sure exactly how he’s feeling, but there’s a cold tension on his face that terrifies me.

I’m pretty sure it’s not aimed at me, though.

“Anyway,” I say, wanting to move past the awkward moment. I can’t believe I actually admitted such a thing to Code. “Not all the guys I’ve gone out with have been losers. You’re not the only guy who’s managed to turn me on.”

The tension in his face gradually relaxes until he can give me a hot look. “You’re lying to me again. Princess, I can read you like a book.”