Held Against You

by Season Vining

  With the lamp broken, the only light comes from the muted television. His skin is highlighted in flickering blue and silver light. He lies on his back on top of the sheets, his ankles crossed leisurely. That calm and cool exterior gives no clue to the complicated creature inside.

  I can’t explain why I’m drawn to him, but it’s undeniable. At first, it was just physical, because let’s face it, he’s gorgeous. There’s the ruggedly handsome face, anchored by ice blue eyes that seem to see every piece of me, no matter how hidden away. His body is lean with golden skin molding around the curves and valleys of muscle. Though his arms and chest are covered with tattoos, the black-and-gray piece on his hip taunts me, always. It disappears beneath the waistband of his pants, just begging me to explore.

  Now, after all the danger we’ve been through, there’s something else. Something lying just below his surface, something he guards with his life.

  “No handcuffs tonight?” I say, wiggling my eyebrows at him.

  “No handcuffs,” Steel answers. “I figure you’re telling the truth when you say you’re done running.”

  “Sorry I’ve been such a pain in the ass,” I say, fluffing my deflated pillow. “Nothing like one last grand adventure before being locked up indefinitely. Kat and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, dude. Wyld Stallyns!”

  “I feel like I need a translator to have a conversation with you sometimes,” he says, frowning up at the ceiling.

  “Tell me why you don’t know any of the things I talk about.”

  He sighs and stares at the television. “We didn’t have a TV when I was growing up. We were poor, so no movies or anything. There was a radio, but it was downstairs. I liked to hide out in my room most of the time. What money we did have went to my father’s whiskey and cigarettes. He put food on the table and that was the extent of his providing.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that. We were on the low end of middle class, before Dennis, that is. But at least we were happy.”

  Steel nods and turns to face me. We mirror each other on our separate sides of the bed. My eyes follow the art of his muscled chest, down to my favorite tattoo. Without thinking, I reach out and run my fingers over the black circle and the elaborate design around it. His stomach muscles contract and he holds in a breath.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “A compass.”

  It’s then I can make out the N, E, S, W within the circle. It’s exquisite, such detail in the swirling pattern surrounding the compass and thick masculine lines carving through. It’s truly a work of art.

  “A reference to your travels?”

  He shakes his head and I pull my hand back, tucking it under my cheek to keep from touching him again.

  “Not just that. It’s more about choices, something my mom always told me.”

  “You always have a choice,” I say.

  He gives me a surprised smile. “Yeah.” Steel hooks his thumb on his pants and pulls them down a little so I can see the entire design. “It has no needle. No direction. Limitless choices.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  His brow dips and his mouth turns down into a severe scowl. He shakes his head and turns onto his back again.

  “She’s dead.”

  The pain in his voice is unbearable. I want to hold him and comfort him, but I won’t cross that line again. I have a feeling he’ll just break my heart.

  “Do you believe in God?”

  “No,” he answers quickly.

  “Me and my mom used to say our prayers every night. I had this super long list of people I’d ask God to protect.” I replay the memory of night-lights and Disney Princess PJ’s. “My mom would stick around for a while, but eventually she would get tired of waiting on me to finish.”

  I close my eyes and picture her kneeling next to my twin-size bed. She always smelled like vanilla. I think it was her perfume. Her hair would be pulled up into a bun and she’d clasp her hands together in her lap. She’d run her hand along my head and place a kiss on my forehead before heading off to bed. I wonder if she still prays. I wonder if she prays for me.

  “I guess now that I’m a bad person, it would be easier to believe that there isn’t someone waiting to pass judgment on me.”

  “You’re not a bad person, Kat.”

  “If I’m not bad, then neither are you.”

  “We are not the same,” he insists.

  “My grandmother always told me that I’d grow up to be successful and loved. She thought that I’d marry a rich doctor and have two point five kids. Of course, she also thought the VCR was trying to kill her. She’d be so disappointed now. She’s buried in Paradise Memorial in Avondale, Arizona. That’s where my dad’s family is from. I got lost last time I went to visit her grave. I remember finally finding her, staring out over the lake and telling her about my life.”

  “When was that?”

  “When I was eighteen. Seems like so long ago. My problems of prom dresses and college majors seem lame compared to the tales I could tell her now.” I glance at the television and back to his face. “I was named after her. You know, I didn’t even realize that until she died. She’d always been Mimi to me. It wasn’t until the funeral that I realized her name was Katherine.”

  “I’m named after my grandfather,” he says.

  I pop up in bed and try to maintain my casual expression. “Oh yeah? What was his name?”

  “Nice try.” Steel shakes his head and smirks in my direction, one dimple appears. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

  “Damn. I don’t know why it’s such a big deal. It’s not like I’ll ever see you again. You’ll be rid of me in two days and then you won’t ever have to worry about Katherine the Terrible.”

  “If it’s not a big deal, why do you want to know?” he asks.

  I shrug my shoulders and look down at him. The way he looks, lying beneath me, reminds me of last night. I close my eyes for a moment and envision our bodies tangled together, exchanging breaths and moans of pleasure. When I open my eyes, he’s still waiting on an answer.

  “I suppose a person’s name is very personal and revealing. I understand why you won’t tell me. I just wish you would.”

  He reaches over and turns off the television, blanketing the room in complete darkness. I drop back down onto my pillow, pull the sheet over me, and close my eyes.

  “I wish I could tell you too.”

  My eyes pop open in the dark. I stare at the black space that holds him. My breathing picks up as I process his words. After a minute, my eyes adjust to the light and I can make out the rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps. It’s then that I realize, maybe under all that anger and armor, is just a man.

  * * *

  I’m startled awake as Steel clamps his hand over my mouth. I sit up in a panic and he motions wildly for me to keep quiet. He points to the door. I glance over and see the handle moving back and forth. I pull my lips in and bite down to keep from screaming. My heart is hammering, my pulse so loud it echoes in my head. It’s all I can hear in the quiet room, like an eerie soundtrack in a horror film.

  I look back to Steel and he motions for me to get out of bed. I follow him through the dark room to the closet where he pushes me inside. I watch as he grabs the handcuffs and snaps one side around the bathroom door handle. He then turns the shower on, closes the curtain, and closes the bathroom door.

  I move over and make room for him. He slides in behind me and closes the closet door, leaving only a slight crack. I lean against Steel, my back to his chest in the small space. He wraps his arm around my chest. I’m not sure if it’s to keep me still or comfort me and I don’t care. Our erratic pulses beat together in one frenetic rhythm. I’m mindful of my breathing, forcing myself to take slow controlled breaths. My fingers grip onto his forearm just to have something to hold on to.

  After a minute, I hear a click, then a snap, and the sound of the cut metal chain clinking against the doorframe. The door swings open and my whole body st
iffens, every muscle rigid and ready—but for what, I don’t know.

  I hear footsteps around the room and then I see a leather jacket through the crack. I hold my breath. Boots pays no attention to the handcuffs and slowly opens the bathroom door. Steam pours out and engulfs him. He takes two steps across the small room and grabs hold of the shower curtain. I feel like I’m going to vomit or pass out, but I keep my eyes on his back.

  Boots pulls the curtain back and sees no one there.

  “What the hell?”

  In a flash, we’re out of the closet and running. Steel pulls the bathroom door closed and cuffs the other side to a towel rack next to the sink. I grab my bag and head for the door.

  “Go! Go!” he says. He throws his bag over his shoulder and we hightail it out of the room. “It won’t hold him long.”

  I run to the car and try to get in, but it’s locked. I look to Steel.

  “Hurry up!” I say.

  “Not there, in case he’s tracking the car again.”

  “Then what?” I ask, panic lining my voice.

  He runs his hand through his hair and searches the parking lot. There’s a linen delivery truck parked near the front office. The driver throws bags of laundry inside and closes the door before heading into the office.

  “This way.”

  Steel pulls me along and we hop into the back of the van closing the door behind us. There are windows on the van, but they’re covered with sticky graphic ads. We can see out, but you can’t see in. The only sound is our ragged breathing.

  “What if he…” I start, but can’t bear to finish the sentence.

  Boots plows out of our room, gun drawn. I whimper as Steel pulls his gun. The driver comes out of the office and Boots quickly tucks his weapon away. He runs to the van, waving at the driver.

  “Hey!” he yells. “Hey!” The driver opens his door. “You seen a young couple running around here this morning? Probably still in their drawers?”

  “No, man. Sorry,” the driver says.

  This is the first good look I’ve gotten of Boots. He’s a big guy, beefy and tall. He wears jeans and a black T-shirt covered by a very worn leather jacket. His face is tan and freckled, made up of hard masculine angles. His short black hair is greasy and pushed back from his face, the result of wearing a helmet. He’s appealing in a bad-boy kind of way, but he’s gone too far toward dangerous to be attractive.

  “You sure? You better not be lying, boy,” Boots says. He holds the driver’s door open and glares into the truck.

  “I swear,” the driver says. “I haven’t seen anyone.”

  As the driver starts the van, we see Boots pull out his phone and place a call.

  “I lost them again. I don’t fucking know. This bitch is getting to be more trouble than she’s worth. Call me back when you have a location or it’s your ass on the line.”

  The van pulls out of the lot and we can do nothing but watch as Boots and the hotel disappear. With a metal wall between us and the driver, we feel it’s safe to move around, though it’s difficult on the mounds of laundry bags.

  “Who do you think he was talking to?” I ask softly.

  Steel drops his cotton pants and opens his bag. I stare as he awkwardly slides into his jeans while balancing on the bags. Sitting there, surrounded by clouds of white, he is almost naked and so sexy. He turns and catches me staring.

  “I don’t know. Get dressed,” he says.

  I nod and get busy changing into my jeans and Gregory’s shirt since I left my other one in the bathroom. I don’t miss that Steel sneaks glances at me in various states of undress as well. I make sure to bend and stretch, giving him a show. When I peel off my tank top and sit there topless, Steel chokes on his own saliva. Mr. Professional is slipping.

  I start buttoning Gregory’s shirt up from the bottom. “You okay?”

  “Was that necessary?” he whispers.

  “Yes,” I answer while shaking my head “no.”

  He silently flips me off wearing a tiny smile. Definitely slipping.

  A few minutes later, we pull into another hotel and the driver backs up to the office. I sling my bag across my body and Steel carries his. There are no door handles inside, so we have to wait for the driver to open the doors. When he does, we hop down.

  “Whoa!” he yells and drops his clipboard. “Where’d you come from?”

  “Thanks for the ride, man. It was good for me,” I tease. Steel rolls his eyes and we walk away quickly, crossing the parking lot and around the side of the building. “Oh my God, I think we gave him a heart attack.”

  It’s still early and a bit cool out. There’s not many people awake yet and no one in the parking lot. Steel starts trying the handles of every car we pass.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We need a new car,” he says as if it should have been obvious.

  “We’re going to steal one? You’re going to end up in prison with me. What kind of bounty hunter are you?”

  “Borrow,” he says, correcting me. “Desperate times and all that. Now, help me.”

  I shrug and start checking door handles. The third one I try is open. It’s a green, late model minivan with peeling paint and the distinct smell of weed inside.

  “Hey! I got one,” I say.

  Steel comes over and hops into the driver’s seat. In a matter of minutes, he’s pulled part of the dash away and is sparking two wires together. After a few attempts, the thing starts.

  “Are you kidding me? Where’d you learn that, MacGyver?”

  “From my misspent youth,” he says, backing out of the space and pulling onto the street.

  As we tear down the road, I click my seatbelt into place. “He almost got us,” I say. “I can’t believe we escaped again. Thanks for that. I don’t want to die at the hands of some shady guy after getting this far.”

  Steel frowns, his hands slide around the steering wheel until it creaks from his grip. By the time we make it to the freeway, he seems distracted and back to his old self. He doesn’t answer my questions and just stares blankly at the road. The man who laid in bed with me and exchanged childhood stories is gone. It’s like he flips a switch and all of that is forgotten. His walls are in place. He is detached. I guess it’s better this way. It’ll be easier when he turns me in.

  13. HIM

  The traffic in Los Angeles is a nightmare. We sit in one spot for almost thirty minutes without moving. The smog surrounding us and the endless sea of cars makes me feel on edge. Kat has me floundering. It’s like her chatter and know-it-all smile unravel me to my core. I can’t allow it.

  “Come on, move,” I growl at no one in particular.

  “I’m not sure why you wanted to leave during morning rush hour traffic. This is your own fault,” Kat says.

  It’s not my fault we’re on the run. Boots isn’t after me. But I don’t say anything. I don’t even look at her. The sound of her voice, the sight of her face infuriates me. It’s not her fault. It’s mine. I let her in. I allowed this.

  “I always wanted to live in LA,” she says.

  I focus on the brake lights in front of us.

  “I don’t know what’s so desirable about this.” I glance over to see a woman on the phone, shiny trails of tears down her face. “I mean, look at this lady next to us. She’s got her power suit on, cell phone attached to her ear, two empty child seats in the back, and she’s crying.”

  “When I was a kid, I would make up stories for people in their cars,” Kat says. “Let’s say she pretended to go to work like any other day. But really she called in sick, so that she could meet her lover. He blew her off and now she’s stuck in traffic, halfway between her suburban home where she lives with her husband and kids, and her lover’s apartment. She’s got no place to go and she’s wondering how she can have so much and still feel so empty.”

  I stare at the woman as she covers her mouth with the back of her hand and shakes her head. More tears fall and it’s easy to believe Kat’s story.
/>   “Or look at this guy on the other side. He’s smiling and checking his watch constantly. Maybe he’s on his way to the airport to pick up his daughter who’s been backpacking through Europe for the last two months. He missed her and is sad that she’ll be leaving for college soon. She’ll be happy to see him, but will wonder if he’s still dating that snooty bitch from Orange County. They’ll argue about the girlfriend and she’ll end up leaving for college early. He’ll miss her every day, but he won’t call, so she’ll never know.”

  I turn and stare at her.

  “What?” she asks.

  “Jesus, Kat. Do any of your stories have happy endings?”

  “Not anymore.” She searches each car as we pass, assessing the occupants and telling their invented tales. “Ooooh, look at this one. This is a good one. You do this one, Montel.”

  I shake my head and keep my eyes on the bumper in front of me.

  “Of course. You couldn’t possibly lower yourself.”

  Her disgusted tone goads me. “Fine, you want a story? Let’s see. She’s a bottle blonde, great rack, fake fingernails. I say she’s one of those tramps from The Price Is Right. She just got finished blowing Bob Barker for her weekly bonus.”

  “You suck at this game,” Kat says, huffing and crossing her arms.

  “My story isn’t any worse than yours. And I threw in some TV details I thought you’d appreciate. I’m not completely ignorant of television shows. The woman in my first foster home was obsessed with Plinko.”

  “I appreciate the effort, but your facts are all wrong. Bob Barker retired. Drew Carey is the host of The Price Is Right now.”

  “The ugly guy with the buzz cut and glasses?”

  “The very one. And he’s not ugly. His personality and sense of humor make him adorable.” I frown at her. Kat sighs. “Not everyone can pull off the whole ‘beautiful tortured’ look, like you.”

  She reaches over, pinches my cheek and gives it a light slap. I force myself away from her touch.

  “What’s our story?” I ask, trying to distract her.

  “Let’s see, we’re a couple who’ve only been dating for three months. We met in the seafood department of Whole Foods. You were trying to pick out tilapia filets when I offered help. Of course, you swept me off my feet.” She pauses, smiling off into the distance, as if envisioning our meeting. Her face turns hard and she stares down at her lap. “Two days ago, I found out I was pregnant. We just left the clinic, where it was terminated. You’re bringing me back to my place, where you’ll tuck me in and place supportive kisses on my forehead. I’ll never see you again.”