Battlefield Love

by Skyler Andra

  “Don’t worry, though,” the stranger assured me. “We’ll get you some new things and do a wee bit of shopping.”

  Damn. He was good. I glanced at him real quick, feeling a little shy, but smiled at him.

  He peeled away from the curb at fifty miles an hour, and my body pressed into the seat. I griped the handle on the door for dear life as he turned onto a two lane road. We zoomed past a cop at the speed trap, but he didn’t so much as turn on his siren.

  “Where exactly are we going?” I asked, my pitch hiking at the speed at which we zipped in and out of lanes.

  “A nice little diner in Illinois,” he said, cranking up the radio, and bopping his head to a tune blasting through the speakers.

  “Illinois?” I yelled above the racket. “That’s like three hours away.”

  I lived in from Indiana the state across from this, and didn’t understand why we couldn’t eat somewhere nearby.

  Instead of soothing my quickly unraveling nerves, the stranger tapped his hands on the steering wheel and howled out the lyrics to the song.

  Where was this guy taking me? Some creepy sex dungeon in another state? No way. Whatever trust I might have felt earlier now washed away in a hurry, and when he slowed at a busy intersection, I unbuckled my seatbelt and threw the door open.

  “Jesus,” he cursed in surprise.

  In my haste to get away, I stumbled to the gravel, earning a pretty nasty scrape. I couldn’t complain. It was no broken nose like I’d given my would-be Taser attacker back in my apartment. But it stung like hell and I swore under my breath too. Hurrying off the road and away from the BMW, I sent up a silent prayer of thanks to God for not killing me yet.

  My next move involved concentrating on finding someone able to help me. I jogged up an adjacent street, putting distance between the BMW and me. A brightly lit drugstore up ahead might have had a phone I could use. Staggering a little, but mostly whole, I made my way to the store. A bell on the door chimed as I entered the store, staggering through the aisles of crap piled high on shelves. At my arrival at his desk, the clerk stared at me up and down. No shoes and a ripped shirt meant usually meant no service. Not in my crappy neighborhood.

  “You got a phone?” I asked, about ready to sock him one for staring at my chest.

  The bell chimed again and I turned, my stomach twisting, expecting to see my handsome rescuer pursuing me. But two cops entered instead.

  Awesome. They could help me.

  I started to go over to them, preparing to spill my crazy story when their radios went off.

  “Officers,” the robotic voice said. “Be on the lookout for a young Caucasian woman with a curvy build, long, brown hair, and on foot. She’s wanted for robbing an apartment.”

  At first my fingers curled. Had the two creeps who’d broken into my apartment called the police on me? Those lying sons of bitches! But then the reality of the situation sunk in. If the cops arrested me, what then? Whoever those creeps worked for, they wanted me badly enough to send the police after me. They were obviously connected to people with money and resources. The kind I couldn’t fight on my own. What if they found me in jail and kidnapped me? My mind raced with all these crazy conspiracy theories. Just the thought had mindless panic consume me, and I hid behind an aisle out of sight.

  Every instinct told me that the clerk was going to give me away, but there was something strange in his eyes, almost something familiar. He gave a tight nod, opened the low door in the counter, and waved me in. Every nerve screamed at me to flee, but I wasn’t getting out of the place without going right passed the policemen. Elbows pressed to my sides, I crouched under the counter instead. Time seemed to pass slowly as the cops paid for their snacks. With each passing second, my stomach hardened. I didn’t breathe until the chiming bell signaled their departure.

  The clerk leaned down to offer me a hand up. “They’re gone,” he said. “You in trouble?”

  “Yes. I mean, no,” I stuttered. “Thanks, I was just going to…”

  “You could come home with me,” he said with a casual shrug when we both knew it wasn’t.

  I stood up and approached the door in the counter. “What?”

  “I get off in a half hour,” he said, leering at me again. “My roommates are out. We could be all alone. I’ll keep you safe.”

  There was a glazed look in his eyes that freaked me the hell out, and I shook my head.

  Didn’t he know how many men tried a similar pick-up line on me over the phone?

  “No. No.” I waved my hands in the air. “Oh my god, don’t proposition women who are being chased by the damn cops. Not cool. Not at all.”

  He protested, muttering something about just wanting to be a good guy, but this was officially too weird for me. Before he started telling me that he had plenty of female friends who thought he was a nice guy, I was out from behind the counter and shooting for the door.

  I burst out into the cool air, stuffing my hands under my armpits, charging up the street.

  Just as I was wondering what the hell I could do from here, a familiar sleek black car rolled down the road towards me, stopping at the sidewalk in front of me. The driver rolled down the passenger side window, and I blinked at the grin on his face.

  “All credit to you, love of my days,” he said, leaning across the passenger seat. “I did not expect that. Not many people pull a fast one on me.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I asked, continuing walking as he rolled along beside me.

  “Look,” he said, pulling the car up against the curb. “I won’t pretend to be acting out of pure altruism, but the truth is that I’m probably loads better than the fuckos back in your apartment. Come with me, and I’ll get you cleaned up, clothed, and fed.”

  There he was again. Still dodging the truth, the whole story, and I didn’t trust him.

  “And then what?” I asked. I was far too aware that I had absolutely nothing to bargain with and everything to lose, but damn if I was going to act like it.

  “And then that’s it.” He shrugged with his palms facing skyward. “You’ll get your answers and then you can decide what you want to do. Sound good?”

  I wasn’t exactly in the best position to bargain. Where I’d scraped my knee, my skin ached and had bled through my pajama bottoms. With my lack of clothing, I was cold and shivering, and holding my arms tight to my stomach wasn’t cutting it. Delicious scents carrying from the restaurants along the street made my empty stomach cramp. Something on my left sock made it stick to the pavement as if it had gum on it. The police were on the lookout for me, no doubt sent by the creeps who had broken into my apartment. There really weren’t many places to hide. Especially for a girl without a phone and wallet or shoes. A girl who wanted to know what the hell was going on.

  Dammit. The stranger knew exactly how to play on my weaknesses.

  He’d obviously been on my fire escape for a reason. I wanted to know why. Sure, I had other choices, but he was probably the best option overall, and he knew it as well as I did. The last six months of my job taught me to filter out the sick jerks from those guys in it for a good time. Whenever some twisted fuckwit called in, my stomach twisted with a sickening dread, and this stranger didn’t elicit that reaction. Didn’t mean I could trust him. It just meant he wouldn’t hurt me. Guess my decision was made. With a groan, I got back into his car.

  “I’m Mads, by the way,” he said, pronouncing it properly as “mass.”

  I wondered if he was Swedish or from some sexy northern European country. He had the high cheekbones typical of those regions. Green mischievous eyes that told me he’d like to experiment in the bedroom. And that sandy blond hair. God, I was doing everything in my power not to run my fingers through it.

  Locke. Snap out of it.

  He may have been rescuing me, but I was not in the mood to be anything but surly, at least until I cleaned up my knee, got a pair of shoes, a new top, and some bloodless pants.

  “That’s very nice fo
r you,” I replied sarcastically.

  ***

  Music blared, drowning out Mads’ singing, while we drove for almost forty minutes. High-end shops, palatial townhouses and apartments indicated we had entered a much nicer area of town. A place where my rescuer’s car looked like it belonged, but we certainly didn’t.

  “Where exactly are we going?” I asked.

  “Somewhere to get you cleaned up,” he replied, pulling into the underground garage filled with cars exactly like his and then some.

  I swallowed, overwhelmed with the wealthy surrounds, leaving me feeling dirty and out of place, especially in my old and tattered pajamas.

  An unexpected jolt as Mads ripped into a parking spot between a Ferrari and a Bugatti left me with whiplash.

  “Jesus,” I said, massaging my neck.

  He leaped out of the car before I got the chance to whack him in the shoulder. Soon he opened my door, offering me his hand again, and plucked me from his car. I stumbled into him, pressing my breasts against his chest, earning a cocky smile.

  Oh god! Heat scaled across my cheeks. I hope he didn’t think that I did that on purpose. Locke Casey did not throw herself at men. Especially hot confident ones.

  “This way, love of my days.” The smile in his eyes told me I was in for a lot of trouble if I wasn’t careful.

  A few moments later he walked me past the night watchman without raising a single eyebrow. He oozed so much swagger that I felt naked beside him. I tucked my head, pulling my shirt tight to my body to hide the tears in it, which Mads had caused by ripping me out the window frame.

  As we got into the brass and wood-paneled elevator, I finally had to ask. “Do you live here?”

  “Absolutely not,” he said with his trademark grin. “This place is terrible.”

  If by terrible he meant incredibly expensive and classy, he was right. I felt like I was bringing down the property values by walking down the short hallway to the door. Spinning, I admired the rug over the marbled floors; the textured wallpaper; the armchairs; and the lamps. A flash of light to my right caught my attention.

  Mads had already unlocked and opened the door for me, and now leaned against the wooden door. Even if he didn’t live there, he entered as if he owned it, gesturing expansively at the enormous apartment. Whoever had decorated it had terrible taste, and now I understood what he had meant. The minimalist style reeked of people who seemed determined to keep everything stark white and fingerprint-less silver. Talk about bland and boring.

  My mysterious rescuer, however, was making himself at home, reaching in the refrigerator and making tutting noises about whatever he was finding there.

  “Bathroom’s at the end of the hall,” he said, shuffling something around in the fridge. “You’ll want to clean yourself up a bit, and then there’re clothes that ought to fit you in the bedroom right beyond that.”

  What? He had promised to clean me up. And, ashamed as I was to admit it, a tiny part of me wanted him to. For his warm hands to brush my skin again.

  Cool it, Locke.

  I had about a thousand questions for him, but the exhaustion hit me like a tide. We were well past the time when I would usually be snuggled down in my bed, and, if not asleep, at least reading on my phone or listening to some music. Instead, I was in an apartment where the monthly rent probably cost as much as I made in a year, and there were cops looking for me.

  Giving up, I trudged down the hall into the bathroom. A gold-plated mirror hung on the far wall, and I made a face in it. The harsh lighting made me look slightly zombie-ish. Red edges around my eyes made the gray in them look stark and scary. Dried blood on my arms and shoulders looked ugly and sharp. My shoulders sagged. Jeez, how in the world had the clerk not thought I was some derelict looking for a drug fix?

  After everything that had happened, I felt justified in taking a long, hot shower, letting the water warm my freezing flesh. And boy, did I feel a thousand times less grimy after I was done. Naked and sizzling, I sighed as I got out, not wanting to leave.

  As I started looking for the first aid kit, the door flung open and Mads waltzed in.

  “Oh, what the hell?” I groped for a towel and hurriedly threw it over my body.

  But not before Mads’ mischievous green eyes soaked me up. Clearly, he showed no sign of leaving like a decent person.

  “Knock first, why don’t you?” I wasn’t tremendously body shy, but no one liked being surprised in that situation.

  With an amused look on his face, he backtracked, knocking lightly on the doorframe like a smartass.

  “I was thinking,” he said, his voice dripping pure honey, “that maybe I should come help you with some bandages.”

  Every part of me wanted to tell him to fuck off for barging in like that. I could handle it on my own. But I was so tired that I just shrugged and sat down on the toilet lid, snuggling the towel a little more tightly around my torso.

  Matter-of-factly, Mads got the antiseptic cream and some bandages from the drawer and came to kneel in front of me. This close, I observed the very faint splatter of freckles across his nose. He smelled good—of something sweet and vanilla over a natural scent that definitely smelled good too. I shivered as he wiped down another cut and treated it, and then I noticed him looking up at me with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

  “What?” I said.

  His eyes twinkled. “Want me to kiss it better?”

  For just one second, I wanted to say yes. Right then, it was too easy to imagine his long lean hands easing the towel all the way down, his mouth on my skin, and his suddenly dark voice asking me if that felt better.

  Common sense reasserted itself. What a tease. I reached for a luxurious hand towel hanging on the wall and smacked him in the head with it.

  “No flirting,” I said, his smile filling me with such inner warmth that I struggled to be mad at him. “I’m not up for anything like that until things are normal again.”

  Mads laughed and shook his head. He stood up, as if he hadn’t been looking at me with the kind of smile that dropped panties in a second just a moment before.

  “Oh, darling of mine, if you think you’re getting back to normal any time soon…”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Instead he pointed down the hall. “Clothes that way.”

  With a slightly nervous feeling stretching across my stomach, I went to the nearest bedroom to see what he had in the way of clothing. The bedroom appeared as sterile as the rest of the place, and I wondered if Mads was some kind of trust fund kid, and all of this money was normal for him.

  In the closet, I found dresses that probably cost more than I could comprehend. There were actual ball gowns in there made of the finest silk and lace, along with designer purses and pumps. Did these belong to Mads’ girlfriend? Or was he such a player, loaded with so much money, that he stocked his cupboards with women’s clothing for all his “guests”?

  For the moment I didn’t care. I just wanted to try one of the dresses on. I pulled out a pale purple dress that felt as if it were made out of clouds and a pair of leggings. Everything fit well enough, even without panties and my own bra. C’mon! If these did belong to another woman, then that would have been weird. To finish off my new look, I took a pair of leather ballerina flats from the closet because whoever owned these items didn’t have anything as sensible as boots or sneakers.

  “Beautiful.”

  I spun around to see Mads leaning against the doorway, watching me with animated interest. In the better light, there was something cheeky and handsome about his face. Far taller than I was, topping six feet, he had a strength to his lean frame I had felt on the roof. Now his eyes were a bright green, more like a fox or a cat’s than a person’s, and I frowned at him.

  “Pretty sure I closed that door,” I said.

  “You did.” His smile was captivating, and it made my heart beat a little faster. “I opened it.”

  For a while he just examined me, like a lion about to eat h
is prey. My heartbeat sped up as he approached, and I backed away, my butt hitting the cupboard door.

  Chapter 4

  “You look good.” There was a casual note to his compliment, as if I could choose how I wanted to take it.

  I wondered if he referred to the clothes themselves, or how much he liked my figure in them. They sure looked better on me than what I’d previously been wearing. Or any of the dresses I’d picked up from the big box stores or Goodwill.

  “Thank you,” I replied, rubbing the length of silk down my hips.

  I remembered him offering to kiss my knee better just a little while ago, and I imagined him doing so. But to my disappointment, he didn’t make a move, probably because he had a girlfriend, and I shrugged it off.

  “Okay, cleaned and dressed now,” I said. “You promised to tell me what’s going on.”

  He grinned, and god, for some reason, it was so difficult not to grin back when he did that. Something about him reminded me of a friend I had just run into after a long time apart, someone I liked a whole heck of a lot. Of course, I didn’t actually have many friends, and that made me even more wary.

  If he saw the distrust in my eyes, he didn’t seem to take it too seriously.

  “I also promised you food,” he said, clapping his hands together. “And unfortunately, the people who live here are on some kind of juice cleanse. I’m a little too polite to ask you to sit down to a pleasant dinner of orange juice and cranberry juice, so let’s go elsewhere.”

  “People who live here?” I repeated, my voice trailing off.

  He threw an arm over my shoulder, guiding me out of the bedroom. “I told you this wasn’t my place.”

  “Well, whose is it?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder one last time at the whitewashed walls and expensive, but dull decorations.

  “Who knows?” He flung his free arm up into the air.

  “How’d you get in here then?”

  “Magic.” He winked.