I Know What Love Is

by Bianca, Whitney

  A hand slaps against the passenger's side window and I jump nearly out of my skin. I hit the unlock button and the door opens. The car jerks with his weight as he slides in and I smell him. Warmth floods through me, and I turn in my seat to face him.

  “Baby,” I hear him whisper and that's all I need. I practically lunge across the seat at him, finding his face with my hands. It feels like him and I have to resist turning on the pilot light to look at him. He's sweaty and breathing heavy and I almost can't believe he made it.

  “You're here,” I hear myself murmur.

  “Fuck yeah, I'm here,” he says with a snort of laughter. Then the back passenger door opens and I jerk my head to look in the backseat, although I still can't see anything.

  “Who's that?” I say as the door slams shut.

  “Drive bitch!” I hear a gruff voice hiss. I can feel Elliot's eyes on me in the dark and glare right back. Another person wasn't in the plan. We'd gone over and over the plan, in code of course, and he'd never mentioned another person. I drop my hands to the keys and start the car as angrily as possible, then press my foot on the gas. We take off down the dark country road, my headlights shining the way.

  I keep my face forward, not looking at him, even as he drops his hand to my thigh. My anger is heightened by the danger of the situation, and I'm veering closely to hysteria. I think about the gun pressing into my calf, bound by an ankle holster. It's a .32 that I picked up a year or so ago. I'm a pretty good shot by now, and I had no intention of coming out empty-handed to the middle of nowhere, with no protection. I may be a lot of things, but I'm not fucking stupid.

  If Mr. Backseat wants to get frisky, I have every intention of shooting him right between the eyes. The only thing that would give me pause is destroying the mint condition fabric in my new Ford Focus with his brain matter. I don't want to fuck with the resale value.

  Eventually we reach the highway, and I can finally check both of them out under the streetlights. I flick my gaze up to the rearview, and Mr. Backseat looks haggard and dirty, with dark circles under his eyes. He looks like a Methhead, skinny and craggy with a long face. Beside me, Elliot has that manic glint in his eyes, and he keeps them on me, dragging them up and down my body. I know he wants me. I can feel his arousal with every fiber of my being. His fingers flex on my thigh and I run my tongue over my lips.

  I want him, too. I wouldn't be in this ridiculous situation right now if I didn't.

  We drive on for an hour in complete silence, the rumbling of the road lulling my nerves. Elliot keeps his hand on my thigh the whole time, and I can feel his warmth through my jeans. However, I refuse to talk to him with a stranger in our midst. A motherfucking stranger, who's probably a murderer.

  “Daisy,” Elliot whispers, dropping his head back against the headrest. I ignore him for awhile, then I place my hand on top of his on my thigh. His hand is calloused as always, rough in all the right spots and I crave the way it will feel on my body later, when we ditch our third wheel.

  We pass the border into Kansas, and I pull over at the first rest stop we see, as planned. I park in the darkest part of the stop, although the sky is starting to lighten to a dark lavender.

  “Clothes are in the trunk,” I say, opening the door and practically bolting out. I don't realize how thick the tension inside is until I step outside. I force myself to take a deep breath as I unlocked the trunk and pop it open. I feel Elliot walk around to me and then the other man is beside me as well. We're all lit up in red from the tail lights, and I'm not going to lie, both men look similarly sinister, their features heavily in shadow.

  “Well, ain't you a pretty one,” Mr. Backseat says, his hot breath too close to my face for my liking. I turn away, grabbing the duffle bag of Elliot's clothes out of the trunk and tossing it in their general direction. Elliot catches it, his face blank and unreadable, as far as I can tell.

  “Get changed. I'm going to switch out the license plate,” I say, lifting out the Kansas plate I swiped a couple of days ago.

  “Bossy, bossy,” Mr. Backseat says, grabbing the bag from Elliot and strolling toward the little building at the other end of the parking lot. I don't look at Elliot as I crouch down, quickly unscrewing the little screws from the plate, just like I practiced.

  “Where are dropping him?” I ask, my voice tight, letting him know exactly how much he's pissed me off.

  “Topeka,” he says, stepping closer to me.

  “Topeka was not in the plan. We're supposed to be heading toward Denver.” I finish screwing on the Kansas plate and he holds out a hand to help me up. I ignore him, standing so quickly I almost bang my knee against the bumper. His hands are on my hips in a flash, and he turns me around to look at him.

  “Don't,” he says, low, his face close to mine.

  “That shithead is not going to fuck this up for us.”

  “He won't,” he whispers, his hands gripping my jeans tight, like he wants to rip them off of me. “Goddamn, I want to fuck you.”

  “Guess you'll have to wait til Topeka,” I say but I'm already leaning into him, our lips almost touching.

  “Or I could drag you into that restroom.” He drags a hand up my front, over my left breast. My nipple hardens immediately. “Or just throw you into the backseat.” He thrusts his hand into my hair, pulling my head back. I gasp and he takes advantage, running his tongue along my lower lip. My hands have a mind of their own, gripping his shirt and pulling him into me. I can feel his erection, hard as steel, between us, but I give it no attention.

  I still want to punish him, just a little bit.

  “Starting this party without me?” a sick voice says out of the darkness. I stiffen, not liking his tone. Not liking it at all. Elliot stiffens as well but then he relaxes so quickly that if I wasn't so in tune with his body, I wouldn't have noticed it at all. Mr. Backseat tosses the bag at Elliot's feet and leans against the car, gazing into the open trunk. “You go get changed, Pritch. I'll keep your girl company.” He smiles, and my heart goes cold in my chest. He's a bad man, a very bad man. I have no idea what his crimes are, but I'm quite convinced that whatever he did, he deserved to be locked up for a long fucking time.

  Topeka suddenly seems very far away.

  "Okay," Elliot says and I blink, schooling my face so that my fear doesn't show. I hope Elliot can feel it, though. He pulls me toward him roughly and kisses me and I know immediately he's staking his claim on me. He dips his tongue between my lips and drops his hand to my ass and I can only hold on, working my lips against his in a silent request.

  Don't leave me alone. Please.

  But he doesn't listen. He lets me go and dips to pick up the bag.

  "I'll be back," he says, and strolls off like he doesn't have a care in the world. I watch him, the familiar love and hate swirling through me.

  "That Pritch. Who knew he was such a lady's man?" Mr. Backseat says, a laugh at the back of his throat. I force myself to look him in the eye. I know his type. He likes fear. He likes pain. He and Elliot obviously have some things in common.

  The only difference is that I trust Elliot. Kind of. Elliot hurt me once, but now we're on the same page. This motherfucker and I will never be on the same page.

  "You got a girl in Topeka?" I ask. "A family?"

  "I don't need to go all the way to Topeka to find a girl," he says. Okay. So much for small talk. I hinge at the waist, grab the old plate off the ground and take a step back. He steps closer. "You want to know what I did?" he asks.

  "Not my business," I say, attempting to appear blasé. Who knows if I actually pull it off, especially with my heart beating like a drum in my ears.

  "It's your business to know what kind of a man you're driving all the way to Topeka," he smirks.

  "The less I know, the better," I say, my voice as hard as I can muster.

  "Don't say I didn't warn you," he says, then slams the trunk door shut. I jump at the abrupt noise, but I don't let my fear get the best of me.

  "You trying t
o scare me?" I ask, cocking me head.

  "A smart girl would be scared."

  "A smart man who just escaped from prison might be a little grateful to the girl who's helping him out. A smart man might also back off of his very dangerous friend's girl." I manage to get out the retort without my voice wavering. Mr. Backseat lets out a sinister chuckle, not at all convinced by my tough words. I feel a warning shiver go down my spine.

  "You might want to have a conversation with your boy. Seems he's left you a little in the dark," he says, his voice smug.

  "You ladies done gossiping?" Elliot's voice carries across the parking lot and my whole body releases a sigh of relief. "We don't have all night," he says, stepping around the car, his Texas twang heavy.

  "We was just getting to know each other," Mr. Backseat says, his shoulder brushing against mine as he walks around to the passenger side. "Real nice girl you got here," he says with a smile as he slips back into the car. I catch Elliot's eyes over the roof of the car, and the manic light is shining bright within them. I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the fear. I hurry over to a trash can and take the lid off. I bury the Oklahoma plate deep in the stinking garbage, then turn back to the car.

  For better or for worse.

  *****

  We make one more stop on the way towards the heart of Kansas, and Elliot offers to drive. I stare at him for a moment over the gas pump, then nod. I don't want him to think I'm jumpy, although I am. I want him to believe I'm at ease. I want him to believe that I trust him. I have to believe that I can.

  But doubts are creeping in. I want to know what he promised to Mr. Backseat, other than freedom. I know I'm out of the loop and I don't like it one bit.

  I'm tired as fuck but I don't dare sleep. I catch myself nodding off and I force myself to shake it off. I have to stay sharp. I can feel their eyes on me. I rub my legs together, feeling the hard metal of the gun against my ankle bone. I need a reminder that I am strong. I'm not going to let anyone fuck with me.

  No matter what happens.

  "Take this exit," Mr. Backseat pipes up. Elliot obliges him and we get off the highway. The road narrows, the smooth asphalt of the off-ramp turning into a bumpy backroad. I hold my tongue, although I wish I was back behind the wheel. We continue on, our surroundings growing more and more desolate.

  Elliot makes another turn, down a dirt road. The butterflies in my stomach continue their fitful dance. I trust my gut and my gut says that this is not good. Wherever we're going, we're so far off the plan that I don't know how to get back.

  I'm in trouble.

  We're deep in a wooded area now, the straggly branches reaching above us like arthritic fingers. The sunny sky pokes through the foliage, oddly cheerful despite my desperation. Whatever is about to go down, at least I'll get to feel the sun on my face. I'll get a chance.

  Elliot brakes and we slow to a stop.

  "Fucking finally," Mr. Backseat growls out and I feel his fingers twirling in my hair. "I've been waiting all night."

  "Daisy," Elliot says and my heart stills in my chest. "Get out."

  I don't bother asking why. If he wanted me to know, he would have told me, in code. I open the door and set one foot on the ground. I'm tempted to take off running, but I force myself to wait. Like the last five years of my life, I'm playing Wait and See. Elliot doesn't look at me as he gets out of the car. The T-shirt I picked out for him stretches across his broad shoulders and how much bigger than me is woefully obvious. I back up, leaving my door open and my eyes on them. The two men watch me, and I don't like the way Mr. Backseat is eyeballing me. The clothes meant for Elliot are loose on him, but he's not small. He's still a lot bigger than me.

  “What are we doing here in the middle of nowhere?” I finally ask, because I can't take it anymore.

  “Yeah, what are we doing, Pritch?” Mr. Backseat asks, scratching his head, feigning confusion. Elliot's eyes are hard on me, and I know it's not good. It is so not good. “Come on, Pritch. Tell her that I'm about to get my knob polished by a pretty girl named Daisy.” I can feel my eyes widen as I let it sink in. This crazy man thinks I'm going to have sex with him. Elliot has apparently promised me to him. For what? What did this man offer him in return? “You like it dirty, Daisy?” he asks, taking a step toward me.

  “There's no way in hell,” I say, shaking my head slowly, flicking my eyes to Elliot. He's working his jaw and I can feel his energy radiating off his skin. He's angry, I realize. His mouth ticks and I take another step back. I get it now. This is about punishing me for the pictures, for the torture. Mr. Backseat grabs his crotch and licks his lips.

  “Get over here, girl. I know you like to suck cock,” Mr. Backseat says. “I know you're a dirty whore. You want to take two cocks at once?” He adjusts his crotch, screwing his face up like he's ready to go. “What do you think, Pritch? I know you like to watch.” He grins, which only makes him look more menacing. Elliot's eyes darken, his anger shimmering between us like electricity.

  There's really no other option.

  I turn and run.

  I dart through the trees, my lucky blue boots serving me well. I hop over branches and through the brush, cursing Elliot every step of the way. I wanted him so badly, I let it cloud my judgement. I wonder if I have enough bullets for both men. I just have to get rid of Mr. Backseat, I tell myself. I can handle Elliot. At least, I think I can. I hear the crushing of leaves and twigs behind me and I know that they're coming for me.

  “Whoo! I like a chase, girl!” the creep yells, his voice echoing all around me. I make a sharp right, cutting off to the side. My shoulder slams against a tree and the pain radiates down my arm. I don't stop, though. I keep going. Eventually, I know I'll have to stop and face them. I can't keep going forever. Adrenaline is pumping, but I know I have to conserve strength. I zag again, changing direction once more. I calculate how long it will take to get my gun out of my ankle holster. At least ten seconds, twenty if I fumble. Twenty could give him enough time to catch up with me. It's a chance I'll have to take.

  There's no other option.

  I stop abruptly, dropping to one knee so fast that I rip my jeans on a rock. I wince as the sharp edge scrapes my skin, but I don't let it slow me down. I curse the holster until it unsnaps, and then I lift the gun and point. I'm not sure where to point, but I do it anyway. I swing my arm, my eyes searching for them. My heart is thundering in my ears and it's impossible to hear anything else. I force myself to count to ten, force myself to calm down with each number.

  “Ain't you a cute little girl with a cute little gun,” Mr. Backseat says, his voice breathless as he stops less than ten feet from me. Elliot isn't with him and I feel my insides clench. My fear is he might be circling around behind me. I can't fight a two front war and I know that. I have to get rid of Mr. Backseat as soon as possible. “I know you like a bad man. I can be that for you, baby.” He licks his lips again, as if he's unfazed by the gun in my hand. He's trying to unnerve me, or he doesn't think I'll shoot him. Either way, he's barking up the wrong tree.

  I pull the trigger.

  I don't get him in the head like I hoped, but my bullet hits him in the shoulder. It's a consolation prize, but I see the spray of blood hit the tree behind him and I know I got him good. The blowback knocks me on my ass, but I scramble up as he sways on his feet, shock on his face.

  “You're a wildcat, ain't you?” he says, his face pale. He stumbles toward me and as I take aim again, Elliot runs into the clearing. He slows to a stop beside Mr. Backseat, his eyes on my gun. His eyes flash with the manic light and I know he's pissed I brought a gun.

  Tough shit.

  “Stay back,” I say.

  “You got enough bullets to take us both down, girlie?” Mr. Backseat says, his voice shaking. I don't think twice—I shoot. My second bullet hits his thigh. His blood mists the air and he goes down on one leg with sickening scream. Elliot uses the distraction against me, tackling and throwing me back against a tree. The gun flies out of my
hand, into the brush, as the air is knocked out of me. The rough bark of the tree scratches me painfully through my shirt. A desperate cry wells up in my throat as he slams his big body against mine, dropping his face to look me in the eye.

  “You should have trusted me, Daisy,” he hisses, tossing out my fake name like an accusation.

  “Fuck you,” I hiss back, refusing to show fear.

  “You will,” he says and kisses me, so fast my head spins. I push against his shoulders, conflicted. I'm pissed and scared and wanting so badly to trust him, but I don't. Not at all. But he doesn't budge, just continues kisses me like a man possessed. His kiss is messy and hard and all-encompassing. I can't help but get swept up in it. I've missed the way he kisses me. I've missed the way his body takes hold of mine and completely bewitches me. He invades me, thrusting his tongue against mine and sucking my lips and pulling my hair. He acts like touching me is his right and he's going to take what's his, by charm or by force.

  Just like old times.

  “Pritch! That crazy cooze shot me.” The man moaning and sputtering on the ground finally pulls Elliot's attention off of me. Mr. Backseat's looking right at me, and if looks could kill, I'd be dead as a doornail. “I'm gonna kill you, you bitch!” he hisses, bug-eyed and frantic, pain and anger tightening his face. He tries to stand, but falls back on his ass. Elliot disentangles himself from me, slowly. His green eyes never leave my face, but I dart my gaze between him and Mr. Backseat. The creep is still moving, despite his injuries. I'm not quite convinced he's no longer a threat.

  If I still had my gun, I would put him down like the rabid dog he is.

  “Pritch! I need a doctor, man,” Mr. Backseat moans. “Fuckin' kill that bitch and we can get outta here.”