Dead or Alive

by Trevion Burns

  Violet considered his words, and smiled when a lock of his hair tumbled down across his forehead. "Your hair falls into your eyes a lot. How are you still breathing?" she sputtered. At the expression on his face, she pressed her lips together to stop herself from laughing. He had a thick head of dirty blonde hair that had quickly escaped from the carefully gelled style he’d put it into for court. He made an effort to keep it off of his face, but every once in a while a few pieces would fall across his forehead, shadowing his soft blue eyes.

  “If your hair was getting you beat up in prison, why didn’t you just chop it off?”

  “Because fuck that son of a bitch.” His steely eyes hit hers. “Fuck him.”

  “Now who’s the potty mouth?” she mumbled, a Cheshire grin pulling at her lips.

  She couldn’t stop smiling, and he couldn’t handle how little the sight bothered him. Quite the contrary, it made him ache for more. "Is my misery this amusing for you?"

  She finally let herself laugh. "No, I was just..." She covered her mouth, eyed him, and then shrugged, letting her hand fall into her lap. "No wonder you're always pushing it out of your eyes, or combing it behind your ear. For a while I was sure you were more concerned with your hair than most women. That, or gay."

  "I wish I was. Might’ve made the last seven months in that hellhole a lot more tolerable."

  "Were you assaulted sexually?"

  "Absolutely not."

  "I remember seeing footage of you when you were first arrested. You were 28, but you looked so much younger. Baby face, long, trim body. You were… A prisoner's dream, really." Looking at him now, Violet noted that he was anything but delicate. He was still long, he seemed about a foot too long for that aircraft, but something about him was manlier... stronger. His arms had doubled in size. They were now large and more muscular. Violet shifted in her seat as she recalled the feeling of that big arm wrapped around her, dragging her out of the courthouse. His strength was not to be questioned. A light brown shadow dusted his sharp jaw, giving him a rugged look.

  Remy knew how skinny he'd been when he'd gone to prison, and he wasn't thrilled that she was recounting it. "They tried... they all tried. For the first three months, it was like a game to them. Eventually they realized that I would die before I ever let them r..." He couldn't even say the word.

  Violet bit her lip softly.

  "I started lifting weights... bulking up. I wasn't afraid to fight. Most of them started to leave me alone."

  "But not all of them?"

  "Not all of them." His eyes grew vacant as he stared out of the chopper’s windshield.

  What she wouldn’t give to climb into his head. “You've been in a lot of fights." It was more of a comment than a question.

  "It became my life, kind of like eating, or using the bathroom. It's just something you do because you have to." He was now mumbling to himself, in his own world.

  She could only imagine what was on his mind. "Why are you wearing your uniform? Why didn't you put a suit on for your trial?"

  He threw her a look. "Are you interviewing me now? You are definitely a reporter. Always on, even when you're in danger."

  "I don't feel like I'm in danger.”

  "You should."

  "Well, I don't."

  He cleared his throat. “What’s the point of getting all dolled up? My lawyer was state appointed. He didn't give a shit. The prosecution had solid evidence, the public wanted my head on a stick, and the D.A. wanted a conviction. A lovely young girl, my coworker, was... poisoned... and I was the face they slapped on it. It didn't matter whether or not I did it. No one wanted to listen when I insisted I was being framed. No one wanted to hear it. They just wanted... they needed someone to blame. I never stood a chance. I knew I was going to be found guilty."

  "So you planned this escape all along?"

  His head snapped to her. "No. I planned to hear a guilty conviction. But the second I heard the juror say the actual words, the second it became real, I just... The guard was coming at me, and his keys..." He stared out ahead of him. "His keys were jingling. When you're a prisoner, that’s the worst sound in the world. He was coming at me with those keys, and I saw that his hand wasn't on his gun." He shook his head. "I completely lost myself. I grabbed the gun." He looked back to her. "I grabbed his gun."

  "Please tell me something I don't already know, it’s been trained at my head for the better part of the morning.”

  "It's technically evening now."

  "Time sure flies when you've got a gun at your head."

  Remy suddenly took the controls and veered the aircraft. Soon, they were flying over a body of water that Violet could only assume was the beginnings of the Pacific Ocean, and her heartbeat sped up. If they’d hit the ocean, then they were officially hundreds of miles outside of Redding. Why were they going over water?

  Oblivious to her concern, he continued. "I didn’t plan this. After I took the gun, it was too late to turn back. I figured, if I wanted the chance to prove myself, I was going to have to do it myself. I had to take you with me, because it was the only way I could get out of there. But I will let you go. I will. I'm not interested in hurting you. I just want to prove my innocence."

  Violet blew out an exasperated breath. “There are other ways you could’ve proven your innocence. Ways that didn’t involve breaking even more laws. There are attorneys out there who devote their lives to freeing innocent men who’ve been jailed for crimes they didn’t commit.”

  “Which can take years, decades. Not to mention a limitless supply of money and manpower. Three things I don’t have.”

  Violet watched him closely for a while. "So what are we waiting for?"

  We.

  Remy swallowed thickly, tried to ignore the rapidly escalating pain in his leg, and let his head fall back against the seat. "Dark... I'm waiting for dark."

  Violet sighed and fanned herself. Even as the sun was slowly setting, the humid clouds seemed to grow thicker every second, and the stuffy heat was just as excruciating as it had been at high noon. She unbuttoned her blazer and removed it, sighing in contentment when it was off, leaving a thin black cami underneath.

  Like she did every afternoon after work, she tossed the jacket into the backseat with no concern about where it landed, or the mess she was making. As she turned to toss the jacket, she caught Remy's eyes, and was shocked to find them riveted to her. It took a lot to make her blush, but at the moment she found it difficult not to under his gaze. At first glance he looked angry, but closer inspection made the strong yearning that pulled his face taut clear as day.

  Remy’s throat had run dry. At first he wasn't sure if she was actually removing her jacket in front of him, or if he was imagining the entire thing. He wasn't. She’d swept it right off and thrown it in to the back of the plane, making her sweet scent fill the space even more than it already was.

  The sight of her in the flimsy black top, brown skin smooth with perspiration, immediately put to shame even the nastiest fantasies he'd been conjuring up in his head in the last seven months. His response was intense and immediate. Her cleavage glistened with sweat that he wouldn't mind licking off. If she'd let him, he'd lick every single inch of her. Before he could collect himself, he envisioned her climbing onto his lap and fucking him in that very plane, bouncing on his dick until her head was banging against the roof.

  Violet tilted her head at him, unable to accept that he was staring at her so openly. “They’re called breasts,” she joshed.

  He jolted, sputtered, and forced himself to look away from her completely. At this point, he was sure he’d lost his damn mind. Here he was, a fugitive of the law with a gunshot wound in his leg, and all he could think about was what could be hiding under Violet’s skirt.

  Violet’s eyes fell to his lap where the small pool of blood had quickly soaked the entire leg of his pants. "You need a doctor. Look at yourself. You can't even hold your head up right now. You're going to be dead soon."

  It did
n’t help that the sight of her undressing had sent every drop of the precious little blood he had left shooting straight for his dick. "I'm a fugitive convicted of murder, and now kidnapping. Death is the only thing I can count on. That... or freedom. And I think we can both agree I'm not shouldering the greatest odds on the latter."

  Without answering, Violet pressed her head back against the seat, murmuring softly to herself.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d done that, and Remy found himself unable to look away. His curiosity got the better of him. “Do you go to church?”

  Her eyes opened slowly, and she found herself entranced at the beautiful view they had. “What makes you ask me that?”

  “You’ve been saying a lot of prayers.”

  “I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly religious woman. I don’t bow my head before a meal, don’t utter a quick one before I go to sleep. Not ever. I don’t know…” She shrugged and feigned a far-away tone of voice. “There’s just something about having a pistol pointed at your head that really brings it right out of you.”

  “I didn’t keep it pointed at your head, did I? I eventually moved it to your waist, instead.”

  “Oh how kind.” She clapped her hands together. “How amazingly kind of you, Archibald. Wow. Really. Where do I send the flowers?”

  Her voice rose higher and higher with each sentence she said. As his head began to spin, Remy suddenly realized that he didn’t have the energy for this. Almost a year in the pen and he’d forgotten how wonderful it was to breathe in the scent of a woman, but he’d also forgotten how exhausting it was to listen to one who refused to shut up. Violet was giving him just enough of both to drive him absolutely insane.

  “You’re going to bleed to death soon.” She whispered.

  “I’m fine.” He continued to look down into the ocean water blankly.

  She couldn’t tell if his blank stare was boredom, or if it was his body finally succumbing to all of the blood he was losing.

  “Son of a bitch.” She sighed and leaned into the back, swiping up her blazer.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We have to slow the bleeding.”

  “Why would you help me?”

  She froze. “Because we’re so far over water that I can barely see land, and I don’t know how to fly a helicopter. Now shut the hell up and hold this taunt.”

  Still suspicious, Remy gave in. He tried to move, and winced. Never in his life had he experienced such pure, unadulterated pain.

  Violet watched him struggle, wondering what he was doing, before she realized he was lifting his bloody leg over the plane’s controls and into her lap. She barely had a moment to protest before his bloody pants leg was lying across her thighs. Immediately, blood began pouring out of his wound and onto her skirt.

  Horror covered her face. She’d offered to help him stop the bleeding, not to have him sling his huge, bloody leg across her lap. "Oh my god, this is disgusting." She looked to him with a newfound hatred.

  Remy was not interested and not listening. Instead, he was ripping to shreds the blazer that she'd just taken off.

  Violet forced herself to look away from the sight of her two thousand dollar suit being destroyed. It was far too painful. She’d already known using it to stop his bleeding would ruin it, but he seemed to be taking a little too much pleasure in—unnecessarily—ripping it to shreds.

  Remy frowned in pain as he rolled up the pants leg of his prison garb. When the wound on his upper thigh was presented, they both cringed down at it. It was an absolute mess.

  "You need a doctor." Violet stated the obvious, once again.

  "You're absolutely right. Unfortunately I'm a fugitive with a bullet in his leg and a loudmouth hostage. You're going to have to do." He handed her the blazer. "You offered to stop the bleeding, I’m letting you.”

  Violet was already regretting her offer. Perhaps she should just let the son of a bitch bleed to death. She seriously considered this, but her thoughts came to a grinding halt when he pressed her torn blazer into her hand.

  “Tie this around my leg as tight as it will go. Take off your stockings and secure it with those. If I scream, pay me no mind, just keep going."

  To both their surprises, Violet snatched the blazer and did as she was told with little argument. With a sigh, she reached under her skirt and shimmied out of her nylons.

  Remy forced himself to look away while thinking about the distant promise of her hands on him. Even if it was just to tend to his oozing wound, he ached for her touch so badly it was curling him inside out. After months of fat, balding prison guards snatching at him, Violet’s dainty hand would surely be to his undoing. He’d never been so ready to come undone.

  Watching him from under her eyes, Violet laid the nylons across the top of his leg, then she dabbed away the blood on the wound with her favorite blazer, cringing the whole time, until she could see it perfectly.

  "The bullet only grazed you, there's no entry hole." It was a small lesion, but precise, and she knew it must hurt like hell. She wrapped the blazer around the wound, as tightly as it would go. Apart of her relished in his groans of intense pain, since she wasn't exactly his biggest fan at the moment, but another part of her hated it, because she hated knowing another human being was in pain. She hated even more being the cause of it. She finished the job quickly and efficiently, then looked up at him. "There."

  Remy studied her work, nodded his approval, then rolled his pants leg back down while looking at her. "Thank you. You did better than I thought you would." He moved his leg off of her lap with a wince.

  "I have two tomboy sisters remember? I know a thing or two about oozing, bloody wounds. It'll be fine for now, but not long enough for you to do what you say you're going to do. You're going to need disinfectants, antibiotics."

  "You see that small compartment next to your knee?”

  Taken aback by the change of subject, Violet looked toward her knee. “I see it.”

  “Open it for me, will you?"

  She hesitated, then leaned over and opened it. A few papers and a pair of shiny handcuffs gleamed up at them. Violet stared down at the handcuffs in complete dismay.

  Remy smirked. "I thought so. Cuff one of your wrists, please."

  Her head shot to him, making her thick hair fly, then frame her face. "Excuse me?”

  He closed his eyes, willing himself to be patient, then opened them. "Just do it. The sooner you do what I say, the sooner we land and the sooner I let you go, so just do it." He waited for her to cuff her left wrist, and when she had, he took the other cuff and closed it around his right. He took the key out of the hole and slipped it in his pocket.

  "Oh my god," she cried, staring at their linked wrists.

  He raised his hand, causing her to raise her own, as well. "This is what happens when you run from me. All right? I'm through with your stubborn attitude and your hard head. From this moment on I am running this show, not you."

  "And you prove your stance as the big Kingpin of the helicopter by handcuffing our wrists together? How's that for logic."

  "Shut up."

  She watched him for a long moment, then a slow smile crept to her face. “Don’t fucking tell me to shut up.”

  If she had any idea how long it had been since a woman smiled at him like that, she wouldn't do it. Her filthy mouth was doing nothing to help her, either. If she kept this up, he would happily take her right there in that aircraft, bum leg and all, and give her a real reason to spew that kind of profane language.

  Remy assumed this was as close to shutting-up as she'd ever come. He leaned forward, pushing his blonde locks out of his eyes while he looked out at the sky. "It’s getting dark."

  He looked over to her and destroyed what was left of the gel in his hair, causing the rest of it to fan down just above his ears and shadow his eyes even more. Violet would never tell him how much she actually loved the way he looked right at that moment. It was as if that silky blonde hair of his balanced
out his grouchy demeanor, creating a happy medium of him. Just as quickly as it was there, though, he was pushing it back again, eternally annoyed by it.

  "It’s getting dark," he repeated.

  She took a beat, looked away from him, and then looked back. "Back there... back on the roof…" She paused. "Would you really have shot me if I'd kept running? Or would you have let me go?"

  He caught her gaze and held it for a long moment.

  “Would you have let me go?” Her eyes grew bigger as she repeated the question.

  He was surprised to hear such trepidation in her voice, since she'd been such a hard ass up until then. He was happy she'd asked him this, because he knew exactly how to answer. He knew exactly what she didn't want to hear, and exactly what would make her fear him the way she should’ve been fearing him from the moment he'd grabbed her. He looked her dead in the eyes and answered. "No, I wouldn’t have let you go."

  Violet's mouth dropped, and she examined his face, looking for any clues that he was lying. She couldn't find one. Eventually, she gave up and looked away, not sure what to make of the answer he'd just given her.

  They flew in silence for so long she almost drifted off, and was startled out of her revere when Remy suddenly unarmed the locks of the helicopter.

  Her eyes flew to him.

  “We’re losing fuel,” he croaked, his deep voice having grown much weaker in the short time they’d been airborne. He lifted their cuffed wrists and fiddled with the hundreds of different buttons on the console. “I disabled the GPS after we took off, and I’ve been flying under the radar, but that’ll only keep them off our tails for so long. And we’re losing fuel.”

  Violet nodded, craning her head when he stopped speaking at what she would describe as a pivotal point of the conversation. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Remy turned away from her and swung open the door of the helicopter. She cried out in surprise, but the sound was muffled by the violent wind that instantly hit them, almost knocking them both out of their seats. Remy grabbed a hold of the nearest safety handle and looked out of the open door, taking in the black waters of the Pacific Ocean hundreds of feet below.