Hostage (4 page)

Code

“Go take a shower.”

“Excuse me?”

I seriously have no patience for people who pretend they can’t hear. “Go. Take. A. Shower.” She looks at me as if I’m fucking crazy, and maybe I am. With everything that’s going on, it’s probably the last thing I should be saying. Or thinking.

“Fuck you,” she says with a little more bravado than I think she really feels. Her voice trembles just a little—just enough to push me over the edge.

I push her back against the wall, my hand around her throat more for impact than to cause pain. “Listen, Princess, we’ve got a long night ahead of us, and it would all go a fucking hell of a lot easier if you just did as you’re told and shut up.”

Her wide eyes look back at me. I can’t for the life of me figure out why she’s even still with me. It would have been easier for everyone to just lose her and then lose myself in the city. But now I’m stuck in a fleabag motel with this chick who looks like she should be eating at the fucking Ritz right now.

Having a hostage is supposed to be some added protection, but I wonder if it’s worth it.

I release her and take a step away. I think the matter is settled until she says, “Why don’t
you
take a fucking shower. You need one more than me.”

Ah, so she’s going for insults. Original. My head drops back in frustration as an agitated sigh slips out. I look back at her face. “Right. I’m going to go in the fucking bathroom and take a shower and leave you out here alone to escape. Think again, Princess.”

Her eyes dart to the door, and for a minute, I almost think she’s going to bolt. I might even let her. But she doesn’t move. She’s back to looking at me. With disgust. With contempt.

“Look,” I say, trying to sound reasonable, “just do what you’re told. It’s not difficult. Go and take the damn shower.”

“Why?”

I have to scramble for a good reason. I can’t very well say that she smelled like the last guy she fucked. Or can I? My eyes narrow, and I decide that’s just the button to push. Stepping in close, until I can feel her hardened nipples against me, I whisper in her ear, “Because I don’t like the smell of your last fuck. Go and take a fucking shower.”

It does the trick.

She gasps at my words and shoves against my chest before walking to the bathroom and slamming the door. Right. Like that’s going to prove anything.

I hear the water start, and I begin to pace. Now what the fuck do I do? We’re here. No one knows where we are, and I’ve still got a bag full of fucking diamonds. I should be on my way to Mexico by now.

Wrong.

I should be dead right now.

If Deke had gotten his way.

Fucker
.

I don’t want the fucking diamonds. Too much of waving the red flag if I have to sell them. I want the cash. That was the deal. I give Deke the diamonds. He gives me cash and my freedom.

That didn’t work out according to plan, now did it?

The thing is, I don’t know how to get out of this. I mean, in a perfect world, everyone would have done what they were supposed to do, and that would be it. But now? Now what? I can’t stay here. I don’t want the diamonds. And I don’t want to deal with the chick in the bathroom as a hostage.

Don’t ask me why, but something is wrong in there. I can sense it.

Walking over to the bathroom door, I listen. The water’s running, but I can tell that no one is under it. What could she be doing? And then it hits me.

“Son of a bitch,” I mutter and kick the door open.

And see the lower half of her body hanging out the small bathroom window. It’s one of those cheap-ass hotels that’s only one room wide, so there are windows in the bedroom and the bathroom both.

I hadn’t counted on the windows in the bathroom. It’s tiny, but so is she.

She has a fine ass. A very fine ass. And her little skirt does nothing to cover it.

Neither does the barely-there panties.

She lets out a scream as I pull her back inside, and she puts up more of a fight than I would have given her credit for as I wrestle her down to the ground. She spits in my face, and I shake her. Hard.

It’s instinct. It’s what I do when someone spits in my face.

It doesn’t feel right—she’s small and female, and I’m neither of those things—but I push that thought to the back of the mind because it doesn’t matter worth a fuck right now.

Her eyes go wide with shock as I let her go. “All you had to do was take the fucking shower!” I growl, right in her face. “That was it!”

I’m straddling her on the ground. Her skirt has ridden up around her waist revealing the front of pink silk underwear.

Her breathing is a little erratic.

Good.

My hands are braced on either side of her head. Her brown hair fans out against the grimy linoleum. She’s trying to look defiant but her gaze is…softening. Her eyes meet mine.

“Why won’t you just let me leave?” she asks, almost helplessly. “I won’t tell anyone where you are. I swear. I’ll…I’ll even take you to an ATM and get cash for you. Then you can leave. Go. I’ll tell the cops that you let me go and that I don’t know where you went.”

Her words are tempting. Very. If her father works in that bank, chances are that she’s loaded. I can definitely use an infusion of cash.  What I grabbed from the bank will only take me so far.

I look down at her and consider my options. Let her leave, and I get some cash to figure out what the fuck it is that I’m going to do. Or keep her and…

That’s when I see it. Her gaze goes from my lips to my eyes. I’m hard, and there’s no way to hide that. Doing a little experiment, I rock against her.

One of her legs moves a little wider to rest against my hip.

I rock again.

The other leg comes around to rest on the other.

Fuck.

“Please,” she whispers and I’m not sure if she’s asking for me to consider her earlier request to let her go or to keep doing what I’m doing right now.

I rock once more, and she moans.

I know which option I’m going with.

Wren

So, I know it’s absolutely wrong to get turned on by the asshole who takes you hostage, pushes you around, and then shakes you, but my body doesn’t seem to realize this.

My body needs a few lessons about proper responses—that much is clear.

But I’m totally aroused, my pussy pulsing with a stronger ache than I’ve ever experienced before, as this guy pushes his hard-on against my groin.

At least he’s turned on too. At least his body’s responses are just as inappropriate as mine are.

He does it again. Rocks right into my pulsing arousal. He’s too big and too heavy and too hot and too mean and too everything, and I’m still a little shaken up from our earlier altercation.

Yeah, this is just great. I can barely tolerate sex with somewhat decent guys, but I go on sexy overload with this brutish criminal.

I actually hear myself make a silly, little moan at the pressure against my sensitized clit. It’s feeling so good now that I’m not thinking very well. I just want to rub against that bulge in his jeans even harder.

I do manage to resist that impulse, but my skin flushes so hot I’m afraid he’ll have to notice it.

He definitely notices the gasp of pleasure that escapes when he pumps his hips against me more rigorously. I see his vivid blue eyes go all sexy. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re a hot little thing, aren’t you?”

My pussy clenches in excitement at the guttural sound of the words—quite inappropriately—and I squirm against his grip. Maybe it looks like I’m trying to escape his grip, but it’s mostly because my body is in desperate need of stimulation. “Let me go.”

“I don’t think you want to be let go. I think you want more of this.”

My body definitely does. Arousal is so strong now between my thighs that it actually hurts, and there’s no way to keep my body still. I writhe beneath his weight and groan when he pushes down hard against my pussy.

“Fuck, yeah, you like that. You want it bad.” His eyes are raking all over my face and the parts of my body he can see.

It’s plain to see that he wants it bad too.

Then I suddenly get an idea, even though the hot haze of my inappropriate arousal. If I’m this distracted by my physical response, then he’ll probably be too.

He wants me. I can use it. It’s the only advantage I have here.

I’ve had sex with men before without feeling any sort of affection, respect, or even real interest in them. I can have sex with this guy too without it changing who and what I am.

If he fucks me, he might feel more attached to me and won’t want to hurt me. He might even let me go.

And, if that doesn’t work, then maybe he’ll be distracted enough for me to get away.

Either way, it gives me the advantage, and all I lose is another fuck with a guy I don’t like.

I can do it. I can survive this.

I want to survive.

“I do,” I gasped, arching up into his body. “I want it. Oh, fuck, please.”

My body wants it. My mind doesn’t. But my mind can use my body to get what it wants.

He makes a sound in this throat—like a growl, and this is a totally different kind of growl than the mean one he makes when he’s angry. And he pulls up enough to curl his fingers around the bottom of my top and start to pull it up.

I’d have thought he’d be rough about undressing me, but the move is surprisingly slow, as if he’s waiting for me to stop him.

I don’t stop him. I’m not in the habit of stopping men who undress me, and I need him to be totally into this if it’s going to work.

He’s gotten my top up enough to expose my lacy pink bra when a loud crash makes me squeal in surprise.

Then a lot of things happen at once. It takes longer to describe than it actually takes to happen. Both of us turn in surprise toward the door of the room, which has been kicked in by the super-scary guy who shot the robber and hostage in the alley behind the bank.

He’s even scarier than ever now, and he’s holding a gun. “Fucking bastard! You think you can get away with my diamonds?”

My hostage-taker leaps to his feet, and then ducks out of the way when a gunshot sounds. Then he hurls himself on the other guy, and the two of them fall to the floor in a violent tumble.

The gun falls out of the scary guy’s hand as he hits the ground.

It takes me a minute to get my bearings, since it’s all happening so fast I can barely keep up. But I eventually manage to stumble to my feet, and then I run over to grab the gun, which neither of the guys have been able to reach, since they’re trapped in a vicious wrestling match on the floor.

I’m considering just taking the gun and walking out the door while my hostage-taker is distracted, but then I squeal in surprise when an arm reaches to grab me from behind.

Another bad guy came into the room after the first, and I’d been too distracted to notice.

The guy is trying to grab the gun from me, but I don’t want to let it go. I’m not stupid, and I know my life is in more danger at the moment than it’s ever been before.

Acting on instinct, I swing out my arm and clobber the guy in the face with the gun. Unfortunately, it’s not hard enough to knock him out, but it’s hard enough to get him to loosen his grip.

I yank myself away from him and scramble away, ending up in a corner of the room with the gun held out in front of me.

Somebody would have heard the gunshot earlier. Someone surely has called the police and they’re on their way here even now. I just need to stay in this corner and hold off the bad guys with a gun until help arrives.

I’m going to do it. My hand is trembling desperately as it holds the gun, but I’m determined to do it.

My hostage-taker has managed to get the upper-hand on the scary guy, even though the other guy is bigger than him. He’s gotten to his feet and gives him a hard kick in the ribs. Then he swings his fist and knocks the second guy out without even appearing to make an effort.

It’s pretty impressive—I have to admit.

“Come on,” he mutters, reaching out for me.

I raise the gun and point it at him.

“It’s out of bullets,” he says matter-of-factly, walking toward me with no fear at all.

I gasp in surprise and outrage and, just for the briefest of moments, glance down at the gun. It’s enough of a distraction for him to reach out and grab it out of my hand.

The fucking asshole just took the gun out of my hand, and I’m evidently stupid enough to have let him.

For a moment, I’m so angry I want to scream.

He grabs my arm and drags me with him.

“I’ll find you,” the scary guy says, trying to drag himself up off the floor. “There’s nowhere you can hide. I’ll find you and make you pay.”

I guess they’re rather clichéd words, but they give me chills of fear anyway. This guy is scary enough to make your blood run cold, and he obviously hates my hostage-taker more than anything.

Said hostage-taker just kicks the guy again, hard, right in the ribs, before he leans down and pulls keys out of the guys pocket and then drags me out of the room.

There are a few cars parked in the motel lot, and one of them is a tricked-out, black Escalade.

“Get in,” he says, hauling ass into the driver’s seat as the two guys we left in the room appear and start limping after us.

I’d rather stay with this guy than be left with those scary guys, so I climb into the passenger seat as fast as I can.

He’s out of the lot before I can even put my seatbelt on.

We drive for a couple of miles, but then he pulls over into the large parking lot of a strip mall. “We can’t keep this car. He’ll be able to track it.”

That makes sense to me, so I start to get out when he does.

Then he’s patting himself all over, and I have no idea why until I see him pull a tiny device out of one of his pockets. “Fucking Deke put a tracker on me.”

That must be how they found us so easily in the hotel.

The guy drops the tracker into a nearby garbage can and grabs my arm again. “Remember, if you try to run away from me or say anything, I’ll hurt you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it.”

“Is that sass?” He gave me a stone-cold glare.

I’ll have to work harder if I’m going to get him turned on again. That will have to be my strategy. “Sorry,” I say, dropping my eyes. “I’ll be good.”

“You better be good,” he replies, in a slightly mollified tone. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Wren.”

“What the hell kind of name is Wren?”

“It’s like the bird. My mom named me because I was so tiny and delicate when I was born.”

“You’re still tiny and delicate,” he mutters, pulling me along with him. I have no idea where he’s going, but he’s heading for the strip mall.

“I’m not that delicate. I got the gun from that guy in the room.”

“Yeah, you did.”

I’m not sure, but I’m hoping there’s faint appreciation in his tone. Not that sexy arousal, though. That’s what I need to go for.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Code.”

“And you were asking about
my
name? What kind of name is Code?”

“It’s a name.”

“Not one I’ve ever heard before.”

“Okay, shut up for a minute and let me think. I’ve got the crew and the cops both after me, and I’m hauling you and a buttload of diamonds around. I’ve got to figure out what to do next.”

I have to bite back a sarcastic response about how it’s obviously great effort for him to think at all. That’s not the way to get him thinking about sex again.

It’s kind of hard for me to think about sex too, since my heart is racing from fear and fatigue, as I’m trying to keep up with Code’s long stride.

But, if there’s any way for me to get out of this nightmare alive, it’s by using sex. So that’s what I’m going to do.