Hostage (3 page)

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Fucking hostage.

The plan was to take a hostage each for cover, but to let them go as soon as we’re clear. I thought I picked a quiet one who would easily do what I want. Shit, was I wrong.

Now I’ve got this chick who won’t stay still, and although her skirt keeps riding up and her tits feel good on my arm, I just wish she’d shut up so that we can get out of here.

The truth is, this whole situation feels like it’s spinning out of control. All of the other hostages are being somewhat cooperative. How the hell did I end up with this head case? And why the hell did I underestimate her so she could actually get out of my arms?

I need to get my head back in the fucking game, or it’s all over.

I’m feeling more than a little frustrated, so I pull her tighter against me until I hear her gasp. “Stop. Fucking. Moving.” I say it through clenched teeth, and she finally calms down.

I can see the make-shift exit—a window that’s been blown out to take us out to an alley where Deke is waiting. If anything goes wrong, there are several smaller crawl spaces that we’re all supposed to scatter to like rodents until the coast clears.

I’m supposed to be at the front of the line, but because of this chick and her near-escape, I’m at the back.

Not that it really matters. I just want to get the fuck out of here.

This is almost over. I’m almost free.

I can see sunlight from the blown-out window. I can hear the sound of Deke’s bike revving. Waiting.

Three more feet and then…

Bang! Bang! Bang!

What the…?

Chaos explodes all around, and I stop in my tracks and almost trip over the chick in my arms. Deke shot Axl. And then, fuck it all, he shot Axl’s hostage too—a middle-aged woman. Wait? What? Why would he…? And then it hit me. I was supposed to be first. I was supposed to hand Deke the case with the diamonds.

I was supposed to be shot and left for dead.

Fuck.

Everyone is screaming. Deke is losing his fucking mind, asking where I am. Where am I? Frozen to the fucking spot because I can’t believe this shit is actually happening.

“There,” the chick whispers to me, pointing to a doorway. “It leads to the basement storage. There’s another exit down there.”

Seriously? She’s giving me an escape route? Clearly she knows that something’s gone wrong, and for whatever reason—self-preservation or whatever—she knows that if we go through that window, we’re not getting far.

I loosen my grip a little and head carefully to the basement door. Someone’s dropped their bag of cash. Purely out of reflex, I reach out and grab it. We move quickly to the door. Open. Close. Silence. No one notices. No one is coming up behind us. It doesn’t seem possible. The cops must not have burst in yet, and everyone else must be too scared. I wonder about the guy that she had tried to run to.

How did it end up that we’re the only two fucking people in a quiet room when the world is going crazy on the other side?

“Where now?” I whisper against her ear, pulling her close again. I can probably put a little distance between us, but I’m not ready to trust her yet.

Even if she did just save my life.

“Back corner,” she says hesitantly. “There’s an old access. It’s blocked by some boxes and it leads to an access tunnel.”

Now I do pull back and spin her around to face me. It’s dark, and I can’t fully make out her features but I can see her eyes are wide with fear. “If you’re fucking lying to me, I’ll kill you.” My words are low. Deadly calm. But I need her to believe me. I need her to get me out of here.

“I…I’m not,” she stammers.

“How do you know about this exit?”

“My father...when I was a kid and he had me on the weekends, he would come here to work. I’d just play around the building. I used to come down here and…and explore.”

Yeah, I don’t know whether to believe that or not. This chick has some serious issues.

And we’re running out of time.

I pull her in close again—but this time face to face. “I’m going to let you go,” I begin, making sure my voice conveys menace. “I want you to get to the door and get us into that tunnel. If you so much as make a sound or try to get away, I’ll kill you.” For emphasis, I put the gun under her chin so that she can feel the metal. “Understand?”

She nods and then immediately moves to the back corner. She’s quick, I’ll give her that. Less than a minute later, she’s moved the boxes just enough that nobody will notice, but wide enough that we can squeeze through.

It’s dark, and it smells, and she closes the door and faces me. “Now where?” I ask. Wordlessly, she reaches for my arm and pulls me further into the darkness. For all I know, she’s leading me to where the cops are waiting, but I’m kind of screwed no matter what at this point.

“Where does this go?” I demand and yank her to a stop.

“It will end about two blocks over. It’s an old access tunnel that was supposed to be blocked off, but it’s not. There’s a ladder farther in that leads to an alley behind the movie theater.”

Well…shit. How was it that this bank wasn’t hit more often if it was this easily accessible? Which is exactly what I ask her.

“The access only opens from inside. Not outside. People want in most of the time. Not out. I don’t think anyone else even knows about it. I just happened to run across it as a kid.”

“You better hope that your luck continues or—”

“You’ll kill me? Yeah, I got that.”

Seriously? Did she just fucking mock me? I’m momentarily stunned but recover. “Make sure you do,” is all I manage to say as we continued on in the dark. My mind races. What the hell am I going to do once we even get out of there? If things had gone as planned, I would have tossed her aside once we were out of the bank and been on my way.

Now what do I do?

It’s dark. It smells. And it’s wet.

I can see a hint of light up ahead. I can’t believe that she was actually right. We get closer, and I can hear voices. At the top of the stairs we stop, and I pin her against the wall with my body and motion for her to keep quiet.

She squirms a little against me. I know it’s because the wall is fucking gross, but she’s got a kick-ass body, and in that moment all I can think of is forcing my hand under her skirt and fucking her right there against the wall.

I smirk at the thought of what little-miss-prim would do if I even tried.

There are still too many voices on the other side of the door for my liking. I don’t want anyone seeing us come out of here. You never know who will notice and what they might do. It’s better to stay hidden for a little longer.

Deciding to test my theory with time to kill, I lower the hand that has the gun and rest it on her bare thigh. She jumps a little, but I pretend not to notice.

Slowly, I begin to raise it, sliding it along her skin until the tip of it is resting on her panties. Her breathing quickens a little, and damn if I’m not getting turned on. My cock twitches, and I shift my hand until it’s my knuckles grazing her panties.

And they’re wet.

“Not. A. Sound,” I growl as I lean in and breathe against her ear. She’s trembling, and I can’t tell if it’s with fear or arousal.

My finger moves back and forth. Back and forth. She turns her head away and my mouth comes to rest against her throat. She smells good. But also a little like…

Sex.

Fuck
.

Like she’s just been fucked.

And not by me.

Quickly, I move my hand away and rest it against the wall. The wall is fucking disgusting, but I’m really not into someone else’s sloppy seconds.

No matter how hard I am.

We stand like that for what seems like a fucking eternity. And then there’s silence. No one is out there. I reach for her hand with my empty one and then place the gun under her chin. “We’re gonna walk out of here, and if anyone sees us, you’re gonna pretend that you’re with me. You’re mine,” I growl. “I’m putting the gun away. But it can be out in a fucking second so don’t tempt me.”

There’s enough light now that I can see the fear in her eyes as she nods her head.

“Good girl.”

I make sure the safety is on the gun before I slip it into my pants and use my shirt to cover it. I start to open the door, but she stops me.

“Where are we going?” she asked nervously. “Can’t you just let me go?”

The thing is that I probably could, but it would mean giving up one of the few advantages I have.

Plus, I don’t want to.

Not yet.

Wren

So here’s the thing.

When you’re stuck between two bad choices, you pick the choice that sucks a little less. That’s just common sense. It’s instinct. The lesser of two evils is better than the worst of two evils.

That’s why I tell this guy about the access in the basement. His partner shot one of the crew. And then shot a hostage.

That could be me. Dead in the alley behind my dad’s bank. I can actually picture my dad’s face when he walked out to see my lifeless body. He was scared earlier, when he saw this guy dragging me with him. He might be the only person in the world who would be sad that I’m dead, but I don’t like the thought of how he will feel. I also don’t want to be dead.

This guy—as rough and gropey as he is—is better than a murderer. If he’s not going to let me go, then I’d rather both of us not be shot by his ruthless partner.

So through the tunnel we go, and then I have to suffer through his little sexy act with the gun. The sick thing is that I still feel a little pang of interest between my legs. I don’t think I’m the kind of person who would get turned on by a gun, so it must just be the combination of adrenalin, fear, and helplessness. My body is confusing the stimulus.

I figure my chances of getting rescued are higher once we’re out in public, so I stand still while he waits and watches until the coast is clear.

Then he gestures with the gun toward the ladder. “You first. If you try anything, I will kill you.”

I can see on his face that he means it, so I just nod.

My skirt is short—way too short—so I’m sure he can see all the way up it as he climbs the ladder behind me. I can’t believe the bastard had the nerve to put his hand down there.

Sure. Why not? Take me hostage and then cop a feel. As if I were going to be turned on by any sloppy grope this asshole was capable of.

I don’t do anything stupid as I climb out the street access. There’s no one around at the moment, so it wouldn’t do anything except possibly get me killed. I stand and wait as he climbs out too, and then he takes a measure of our location. I assume he’s trying to think of a plan.

I’m sure as hell not going to help him.

If it were me, I’d dump the hostage and then make a run for the Mexican border. But I figure maybe he thinks I’m the only leverage he has if he gets trapped.

Then he grabs me and pulls me to his side, keeping his arm around me. Maybe to someone else, it looks like we’re in a romantic clench, but his arm is so hard around my ribs that it almost hurts.

I know my own strength, and it’s nothing compared to how strong this guy is. There’s no way I’m going to be able to pull away from him.

“Walk,” he grits out, forcing both of us forward.

So we walk that way. Right along a pleasant, downtown street. Like we’re so in love we can barely keep our hands off each other.

Or like one of us has been taken hostage.

It’s all pretty surreal, when I think about it. Mostly, I’m too scared to do much thinking.

No one seems to be paying attention to us. I hear a lot of sirens, so I assume help has arrived at the bank. It would nice if help could arrive for me too.

We turn a corner, and I see a couple of uniformed police officers walking toward us. I can’t believe my luck. If I can get their attention, maybe they can shoot this guy and I can get free.

There’s not much I can do except say something, so I open my mouth to call for help.

I just start to make a sound when the guy pushes me back against an SUV parked on the curb and covers my mouth with his.

It hurts. He moves so abruptly and so roughly that it hurts when my shoulder blades hit the hard metal of the car. I can’t even breathe because his mouth is over mine. I can’t move because his lean, strong body is holding mine trapped.

My heart, my pulse, my vision is all pulsing with fear, surprise, and helplessness. My body is hot and cold at the same time. My arms are trapped between our bodies, but I can use my fingers and I claw at his shirt.

Then suddenly I can breathe. He’s torn our lips apart, although his face is still directly in front of mine and his body still pushing into mine. “Little bitch,” he mutters, his eyes flashing anger. “Don’t even think of doing something like that again.”

I open my mouth, and I’m not sure if it’s to scream or to snap back a reply. It doesn’t matter because his mouth has claimed mine again.

It’s not even really a kiss. It’s hard, punishing. And his hand slides down my bare thigh and pulls my leg up, like he’s really into the kiss. He’s mad at me, so I can’t imagine that he really is. He’s probably just putting on a show for the cops, who must be walking by us right about now.

I’m pretty well experienced with kisses, but this kiss isn’t anything like I’ve had before. My stepfather would kiss me when he came to my bed at night. They were always light and gentle—some sort of brutal mockery of tenderness. Guys always kiss me before they fuck me—usually kind of sloppy and like they want to get them over with so they can get to the main course.

I’ve never been kissed hard and rough and punishing like this.

I don’t like it. At all. I hate this guy like nothing else for the way he’s treating me.

And I hate him even more because my body is reacting.

I feel an ache building in my pussy, and it’s something I almost never feel. It makes absolutely no sense—that I’d get turned on by this guy’s demanding mouth and hard body and intrusive hands.

But the ache between my thighs starts to throb as his tongue delves into my mouth, and he keeps pulling my leg tighter around him.

My vision darkens as the fear and arousal both steal my breath and blur my mind. I’m still clawing at his shirt, but I’m not sure whether it’s because I want to push him away or pull him closer.

Then he suddenly releases me.

I suddenly realized he was hard against me. I felt it, despite the confusion in my head and body. His eyes are smoldering now as they rake over my body.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking of trying,” he says, his voice no more than a low rasp. “Don’t. I’ll fucking kill you if I have to. You better believe that.”

“I do.” I swallow hard and tell myself that, in a crisis like this, one’s body can get easily confused. That’s all that’s happened here.

This guy is nothing I’d ever want. In any way.

In
any
way.

 “Give me your purse.”

I hand him my purse and he pulls out my wallet. I have just under forty dollars in cash.

“We’re going to get out of downtown and find a motel room where we can lay low until the worst of this mess blows over.”

“What do you need me for?”

“Protection.”

That’s what I was afraid of.

At the very first opportunity, no matter what it takes, I’m going to get the hell away from this guy.

There’s a painting by Monet called
Morning on the Seine near Giverny
. I remember it from the art appreciation class I took last year. Everyone else always raves over the gardens and the water lilies, but something about that painting was mesmerizing to me. There were these dark billows on either side, surrounding a pathway of light along the river. The billows were menacing, threatening, making that path of light all the more riveting.

For my whole life, I feel like I’ve been living in the billows. And, right now, they’re darker and more threatening than ever.

All I’ve wanted was that pathway of light, but it’s always felt hopelessly out of reach.