I Am The Alpha (6 page)

“Where are we going?” I asked tremulously, and hated just how broken I sounded. I sounded used up and broken. William didn’t answer me. I swept my fingers against my cheeks, swiping at the wetness there, the handcuff swinging from my wrist, gleaming silver and cold in the morning light. I sighed out, frustrated in so many ways.

“To find food,” he said finally, tone gentle despite remaining intentionally obtuse, still, he wasn’t being an overt dick right this minute, which I guess was something, and so I would take it.

“I have to pee,” I told him.

“We’ll stop soon, when we do, I’ll get the keys and take those off but Chloe…” the way he said my name made me turn and look at him plaintively, “Don’t run, Sugar. It’s not worth it. I’ll catch you, I’ll drag you kicking and screaming and we’ll be gone before the police can get there to make any difference.”

I closed my eyes and nodded, desolation filling my heart. We drove on in silence and finally he pulled into the parking lot for a strip mall that held a bunch of bargain basement retail type places. He shut off the car and looked at me.

“What size shoe do you wear?” he asked gently.

“Six,” I said hollowly.

“Thanks for not arguing. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I’ll be here,” I said sarcastically, rattling the handcuff against the door.

He disappeared and I stared out the passenger window. It was too early for anything to be open, I didn’t know what he would do or how and truthfully I didn’t really care. I was alerted to his return by the trunk opening, the clack of the mechanism letting go making me jump. He shut the trunk and came back, getting behind the wheel. He handed me a bag with two shoe boxes in it. I blinked.

“They were open?” I asked.

“One of ‘em, yeah,” he said and took a key to the handcuff closest to him. He released the cold metal from around my wrist and his fingers were warm and gentle where he rubbed out the mark left behind. I watched his hands, fascinated for the moment by the rhythmic motion they made against my skin.

William seemed to startle, realizing what he’d been doing and let me go. He cleared his throat and started the car, my right hand, my dominant hand, remaining cuffed to the door for now.

“Should find someplace to eat further up,” he said quietly and I nodded. We were in some kind of muted, uneasy holding pattern with one another and it was so tentative, so fragile… I didn’t want to break it. I was tired and I much preferred the nice William to William the Asshole and so for now I simply took the path of least resistance.

I peeked into the bag, a pair of running shoes and a pair of flip flops. Simple, nothing fancy, but that was okay. They were shoes where I’d had none before, which was something. I sighed and looked at my ruined, ragged jeans. One leg torn to the knee, the other mostly intact.

“Can you fix this?” I asked quietly, and he glanced over. He smiled, the first really genuine smile I’d seen since this whole ordeal began. It made him… human.

“Worried about the fashion police?” he tried to joke but I had no humor. I turned and stared out the window, silent instead.

“Yeah, I’ll fix it for you,” he said quietly and we lapsed into a short silence while he found us someplace to eat.

He parked at a little mom and pop diner that was mostly deserted at this hour, it being during the week and early like it was. He reached across me and unlocked the handcuffs while I studied the place through its windows. There were a few people inside, retirees by the look of it, so no help there. Not that I would want to put anyone else in danger. I sighed.

William came around my side and I swung my legs out the door, setting my shoe boxes on the floorboard my feet and legs had just vacated.

“How short you want ‘em?” he asked and I used the blades of my hands atop my thighs to indicate. He raised his eyebrows at me and I looked at him plaintively.

“Okay,” he said in an almost sing song timbre and he went to work, tearing the denim with an almost wet, sloppy sound. I marveled at the strength he possessed, I mean, he made it look so
easy
.

Within moments, I sat in his passenger seat in a brand new pair of cut-off shorts that were so short, they made my legs look long. An amazing feat on my five foot four frame.

“Was that a smile?” he asked me, and let his fingertips graze my leg. I nodded and tried not to think about the sensations that little, seemingly unintentional, touch left behind.

“Let me get you some socks,” he murmured when I said nothing. He got my bag out of the back and rummaged for a pair. He propped my heel on his knee and stretching the sock wide, took care to get it on my foot without hurting me further. I swallowed hard.

“Why the change of heart?” I asked.

“What?” he asked, distracted by the act of getting my new running shoe on.

“You haven’t been worried about hurting me up to this point, why are you worried about it now?” I asked.

He looked up at me, gaze intent and fixed on my own and arched a brow, “You’re cooperating. You try, I can try too,” he said solemnly and I nodded faintly, not sure of what to make of that. I sniffed and flinched as he slid my heel home into the bottom of the first shoe.

“Sorry,” he said, consternation in his voice. I let my bottom lip go from between my teeth.

“It’s okay,” I murmured and just like that, I think a small, and I do mean infinitesimal, truce had been declared.

It didn’t stop him from waiting right outside the bathroom door for me to come out, nor did it stop him from ordering for me when I perused the menu a touch too long, but that was okay. I really wasn’t hungry and my mind was just purely out of any decision making skills.

Our food came, William watched me for several moments as the waitress set down many, many plates and finally, he ordered me gently, “Eat,” adding a belated, “Please,” to the end. I nodded and picked at my food while he watched me, eating ravenously. He finished well before I did, but leaving, well it wasn’t an option until he was satisfied I’d had enough. I was struck by the thought,
even in prison they can choose how much and how little they eat…
but again, I didn’t want to argue or complain, he wasn’t being rude, or mean, or harsh today, I wanted to keep it that way as best I could.

“Come on, we can’t stay, we have to keep moving,” he said quietly and guided me out of the restaurant by a firm grip on my elbow. Firm but not hurting. I stumbled along beside him anyways. My feet hurt, so did my stomach where he’d shoulder checked me while taking me. God, I was in such a mess.

He started the car and returned us to the highway, I didn’t even know where we were, what state we were in anymore. I suppose it didn’t really matter. I wondered vaguely if anyone was looking for me. My dad must have been out of his mind. He’d always been so over protective of me since mom had died, so demanding. Not loving, not my dad. No, no and did I mention no? That wasn’t and had never been his style. Who knew? Maybe he was relieved I was gone. I’d never been much of anything except a disappointment my whole life.

I stared sullen and silent at the passing scenery while William drove, startling when he turned on the radio. I stared at it as he surfed the channels looking for something he liked and I realized, it was because I was curious. I mean, what
did
he like?

“What do you like to listen to?” he asked as if he’d plucked the thought right out of my head.

“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” I told him truthfully.

“Rock, metal… sometimes blues or jazz depending on my mood. I even like a little bit of country from time to time,” I blinked, I hadn’t expected him to answer me, at least not so stark and honestly.

After apparently not finding anything that interested him on the radio he popped open the small compartment hidden in the center console and reached blindly into it, fishing around for a moment before he came up with a rewritable CD. The word ‘Happy’ was scrawled across it in messy writing with a thick, black marker, and he popped the disc into the CD player.

A moment later the music started and he started bobbing his head and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. It wasn’t until the chorus that he started singing along.

“Peel me from the skin, tear me from the rind,” he sang. “Does it make you happy now? Tear me from my home, tear me from myself–” he cut off and turned the radio down when I suddenly started laughing.

“What?” he asked, sounding offended, “I’m not that bad a singer you know!” I couldn’t help it. He seemed so hurt and offended that it was just hilarious and I burst out into even more uncontrollable laughter. He sat in silence and waited for me to get myself under control, which took a while. When I finally did I held my stomach, sore from my bruising and the laughing and looked over at him.

“No,” I admitted. “You’re not a bad singer, you just don’t know the lyrics.” I laughed a little more and he blinked, surprised. He looked at me, then glanced at the radio as if it held the answers he sought, then back at me again.

“Huh?” he asked, oh so eloquently.

“The song. It isn’t ‘tear me from my home.’”

“It’s not?” he asked sounding surprised.

I shook my head. “No it isn’t. The line is ‘tear meat from the bone’.”

“You’re kidding,” he reached out and restarted the song and cranked the volume up a bit more, head tilted to the side slightly while he listened. When the line he screwed up arrived again he listened intently and there was a dawning look of wonder on his face that almost sent me into hysterical laughter again.

“I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “You’re right. How the hell did I never notice that before?”

“Couldn’t tell you, but now I’m almost afraid to hear you sing more.” He gave me a sidelong, confused look. “I’m not sure my stomach could handle it if I laughed like that for much longer,” I sputtered and giggled for a bit while he cracked a smile.

“Alright, message received, Princess.” He turned the music down as the cd changed from Mudvayne and moved over to something by Bruce Springsteen, definitely an eclectic mix, and for a few minutes we just listened, our truce seeming to grow ever so slightly in a sense of shared amusement.

“Why did you kidnap me?” I asked a minute later, figuring I might as well go for broke. I mean he did answer when I asked what kind of music he liked, and he didn’t bite my head off when I laughed at his expense so maybe…

“I told you, your father killed mine and there’s a debt that must be paid for that,” he said and that muscle along his jaw began to tick, beneath that pale scar. I frowned and tried to remember if I’d really touched it or if that had been a dream.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I lied, and he let me with a careless shrug of his shoulders. We lapsed into silence after that and he drove, leaving me alone with my thoughts, for which I was grateful.

Morning crept into afternoon, afternoon brought the sun in our eyes and a pair of wraparound sunglasses out of the little cubbyhole meant for such things above our heads. He slipped them on and it was very terminator-esque. I kept my smile secreted inside. I didn’t know if it would pitch him back into being an asshole or not. He may have let me get away with laughing at his expense once but the mood was much more somber now. I tried the sun visor but I was too short for it to do much for me and so finally, I settled on closing my eyes against the glare, but I didn’t sleep. I hurt, and I was tired, but I couldn’t sleep.

Eventually, the sun sank below the horizon, the glasses went back into their spot and William hit his signal to get us off the freeway. I perked up as he traversed lanes towards the next exit.

“We’re stopping?” I asked hopeful. I was sick of the car, sick to absolute death of it.

“Yeah, you’ve been good Little Huntress, I figure we can stop, and if you behave while I fill up, then I might consider stopping for the night,” he flashed me a smile and I sighed inwardly, it looked like William the Asshole was back in part.

“Can I use the bathroom?” I asked sullenly as he pulled up to the pump.

“Yeah, let me get this started and I’ll take you in,” he said.

It was better than nothing so I waited while he got the gas flowing, listening to the clack of the nozzle going in and the subsequent rush of fuel in the tank did absolutely
nothing
for my bladder, but he quickly popped my door and I slid out. I shivered in the cool, autumn evening air and he was at my back, he radiated warmth and stayed close, by all accounts for the other patrons of the station he was just my overly protective and affectionate boyfriend keeping me safe in unfamiliar surroundings. Gag me with a spoon.

He waited outside the bathroom for me and walked me back to the car, but he let me stand and stretch while the tank finished fueling. It’d been a very long day and we’d gone God only knows how many miles.

“Get in,” he said, pulling the nozzle from the tank and what could I do but comply?

He took us back onto the highway and I felt discouraged, I’d really been hoping we were going to stop for the night as he’d said, and just when I was about to open my mouth and say something about it, he hit his signal again and drifted off the next exit. He pulled into the lot at a roadside motel and all I felt was grateful. He reached over me and cuffed me to the inside of the door.

“Really?” I asked and it sounded exasperated even to me.

“Fool me once, shame on you, Princess. I don’t give second chances,” he searched my eyes, my face from inches away, so close we could kiss, before he pulled back to his side of the car, “I’ll be back in a minute,” he professed and then he was gone, the door clicking shut and I watched him make strides for the little glassed in lobby that held the front desk.

He spoke to the attendant, an older gentleman who looked past him curiously and nodded. He ran through the check in process and activated a key card for William and within a few minutes time he was back behind the wheel and steering us towards a room at the other end of the motel.

“Good girl,” he uttered as he pulled us into a space and he shifted the car smoothly into park, shutting it off and regarding me.

“I really want a shower,” I said and he nodded.