by R. J. Lewis
Breakfast was delivered shortly after by Christy. Another tray with the same food as before. She didn’t look pleasant. Gone was the wonder from yesterday.
“Don’t do what you did before,” she told me before she left. I was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, waiting for her to go when she’d spoken. She didn’t sound as kind as before. Her lips were pursed, like she was pissed.
My spine tightened at her bitchy tone. Levelling her with a cold stare, I retorted, “I’m not marrying him.”
She huffed, crossing her arms as she looked at me like I was a child. “Reaper’s the real deal, honey. He isn’t some wanna-be criminal. The man has gone through hell and back, and he’s lost his soul in the process. You need to remember that when you see him next, or expect to be squeezed next time.”
My head jerked up.
Squeezed next time?
She had seen what he did. She’d known he hadn’t squeezed my throat. I glanced at the window, realizing she must have watched it right after he dismissed her. Was that why he’d looked toward it? Had he sensed her?
“Does our soulless man know his translator’s snooping through the window?” I wondered, narrowing my eyes at her. Slowly, her face whitened. “Oh, I guess not.”
Looking rattled, she turned and hurried out. I heard her footsteps outside the room, fading away. It was slightly amusing, given she’d looked so goddamn cocky standing next to him.
I re-joined the bed and made slow work of the food this time, thinking about what she said. He’d lost his soul? That meant he had had one to start with. There was no shred of humanity in his gaze when he looked down at me last night. It was hard to think a soul could have ever lurked there.
I chewed slowly, watching the nasty yellow looking thing climb up the wall. I was willing to give the repugnant thing the other half of the room so long as it stayed there.
“It won’t bite,” came a familiar voice.
I looked to the window to find Green Eyes peering in at me, an amused smile on his face. A strange flutter went through my chest. His familiarity gave me the false impression of safety. Which was foolish. Just because he was kind to me that one time didn’t mean he was a good guy. Ignoring him, I looked down at my plate and took a bite of rice. Truth be told, after last night’s encounter with that man, my appetite was back to nil.
Funny what fear could do to you.
And a hand around your throat.
I shuddered.
“I imagine you’re a biter, though,” he continued, chuckling. “Christy isn’t easy to piss off, and she’s got her tail between her legs right now. What the hell did you say to her?” I fought the urge to smile. “Ignoring me? After all I did for you?”
“What exactly did you do for me?” I retorted, unable to stop myself.
“Picked your curvy ass up when you could hardly walk. You came in one piece.”
I scoffed, glancing at him. “Hardly.”
“Hardly?”
“My body is broken.”
“Well you were tied up for a long while.”
On that note… “Who piloted that plane?”
He straightened himself, smiling proudly at me. “You’re staring right at him.”
I pointed the fork at him. “You could have killed us.”
His smile dropped instantly. “I did a good job.”
“We practically nosedived before we landed.”
“I live on the edge.”
“Keep living on the edge and you’ll be ashes soon.”
“We’re all ashes at some point, baby.” He had the nerve to add, “It only stunk for you because you were stuck in the back.”
“On the floor,” I reminded him sharply. “And don’t call me baby.”
“Yeah, on the floor,” he acknowledged. “And I say baby to every hot chick, so don’t flatter yourself.”
“How am I flattering myself?”
“By thinking I’m hitting on you.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
He made a face like he disagreed. “I’m irresistible, so I don’t blame you. I even got the men’s heads turnin’ around here.”
I didn’t know if he was serious, or if he was joking. Honestly, I didn’t have the time or patience to find out. I grated my teeth. “If my kidnapping was for show, why tie me up so tight? Why blindfold me?”
He shrugged again, casually. “In case your father set us up. Couldn’t be too sure. Plus, it wasn’t for show when you were taken. Had to make it look credible to your fiancé. Or ex, I’d say, given life has a funny way of changing, huh?”
Tony. “Is he looking for me?” I wondered, quietly. I didn’t know why it mattered to know, but I was curious anyway.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “If you haven’t noticed, news doesn’t travel very fast around here. You kind of need an internet connection, and man, if I had one, I wouldn’t be standing here, talking to you. A man gets tired of the same mags, if you catch my drift.”
I ignored that disgusting bit of information. “Where is here?”
“Nowhere. Anywhere. That’s the whole point.”
I focused back on my meal. I caught the tone in his voice. He wasn’t very happy about here. So where was he from then? And how did he get here?
“Does my father at least know where here is?” I asked, curiously.
“That’s not business I’m allowed to discuss with you.”
“I’ll take that as a no.” It made more sense my father didn’t know where I was just yet. If Reaper was smart, he would make sure no information of my whereabouts made it to him or to anyone outside of here. That would be a loose end. If Tony was still hanging around with any kind of muscle with him, he’d know about the betrayal very soon, and he’d be kicking down my father’s door trying to get to me.
“My name’s Logan,” he then said, pulling me out of my thoughts. “I’ll be kicking around in case you need me for anything…”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Things.”
I raised a brow and gave him a wry look. “Things?”
He took a moment and then his eyes widened. “No, no, not anything sexual. I’m not looking for a fucking death wish. You’re hands-off, and I like my life.”
My mouth fell open. Was this guy serious? “I didn’t…” I started, shaking my head at him. “I didn’t mean it like that…”
“You don’t ever fuck with Reaper,” he continued, backing away from the window. “Dead men tell no tales, ain’t that the saying?” He glanced around quickly, like he was freaking the hell out. It would have been comical if I was in any other situation. “See ya later, princess.” He was gone.
It was evident everyone was afraid of Reaper. So, what the fuck was going through my mind when I talked back to him? I thought of the way his hand wrapped around my neck and the look of pure power in his gaze as he dropped his head to look at me, warning me. But while he did terrify me, I felt something else. A feeling I’d encountered him before, though for certain I knew I hadn’t.
Eleven
Liv
For most of the day I was kept all on my own. I spent a lot of it by the window, peering out. Whoever I happened to see was moving around with purpose. Just what were they doing here in the jungle? And why would my father deal with them? Logic told me it was a drug operation, though I couldn’t see any evidence of that from the little view I had. But, again, my father didn’t need anymore business than he already had.
I happened to see Reaper a couple times, and when his giant frame came into view the first time, I backed away from the window, too afraid to watch in case he noticed. I couldn’t afford having the window covered up. It was the only thing keeping my sanity in check.
When I crept back to watch, I made sure to do it carefully, with most of me out of view. Given the circumstances, he was the only man I watched intently. I watched him the second time come around the fire pit. There was no fire but a bucket of water that he knelt beside. He dunked his hands in it,
at the same time looking up and directing more orders to those around him. He splashed a heap of water on his face, and it trickled down into his black tank, soaking it. It made every line of every muscle on his torso that much more pronounced, another obvious indication he was huge. It was intimidating. Then he was out of view again.
Hours later, I heard a loud engine, and when I returned to the window, I watched a truck pull up off the trail and men were around, unloading giant, heavy bags. It looked like soil. They were throwing them down on the ground in a neat pile, and Reaper joined in, this time without his shirt on. His upper body was covered in tattoos, most notably a large one on his upper back of an animal. Maybe a wolf? I couldn’t tell from this distance. There was writing above that too I couldn’t read. I wondered if they were gang related.
I noticed that he never raised his voice. His command didn’t need to come in the form of a screeching madman. He stood by the truck, pointing at what needed to be carried off first, and the men obeyed instantly, never once questioning him. It didn’t surprise me when he joined in after his instructions. He wasn’t the type that stood still and watched the work get done. He went balls to the wall, working up a sweat with the rest of them. That too was intimidating. It meant his men respected him, and when his own men respected him, it meant there was loyalty.
Loyalty was hard to gain.
He was in incredible shape, something I furiously had to tell myself to stop remarking on. It was getting out of hand now, but the more he came into view, the more I found myself lured to the window, sneaking glimpses of bronze skin, marred and muscled and unfortunately gleaming in the sunlight. He wasn’t scary big in a gross steroid-popping way. It was all natural, a largeness that took years of demanding work. It made me think of last night when he pulled me down the bed and leaned over me. I’d been so glued to his scary eyes, I hadn’t taken in just how wide he was over top of me. It had me revisiting the thought more than I wanted to admit.
Another car appeared in the distance. It was the same jeep I had come here in. Reaper stepped away from the truck and moved toward the car. He stopped at a lawn chair where his shirt was splayed over and grabbed it in the palm of his hand. Standing patiently, he waited for the car to stop in front of him. When it did, the doors flew open and a few girls climbed out, dressed in outrageously small skirts. The driver, a man in cargo pants, followed, shouting out to the men at the truck. They stopped what they were doing and when they saw the ladies, they perked up, suddenly filled with more energy.
For some reason, I kept my eyes glued to Reaper, watching him closely as he approached the women. He threw his shirt over his shoulder, and before even speaking to them, he looked them over, like they were fresh merchandise. Not inventory like me, but merchandise that required a very detailed inspection. He circled them once, slowly and intently, and then stopped to speak. I looked at the women, gauging their reaction. One smiled provocatively, her small hand reaching out to his chest. He grabbed her hand roughly and pulled her to him. I couldn’t see her face from this far, but I imagined she was surprised. Her head jerked up to him, and her body quaked as though she was in fear. He lowered his head to hers and said something in her ear. She nodded in response, and he let her go. Standing there, he watched them move to the men already clamouring around the fire pit to get it started.
Then he looked my way.
I jumped back, hiding myself. I couldn’t be sure he saw me. I told myself there was no way. And even if he did see me, what was the harm in that? I cringed hard. It took me a long time before I re-joined the window, and he was gone by then.
What followed was an extremely loud evening. There was more rap music blaring, the sounds of cheers and laughter. Crates of beer were opened around the fire pit. They were having a grand old time. I watched bitterly, catching no sight of the bastard Reaper with his bronze fucking skin and black tattoos.
Why had I spent a ridiculous amount of my time watching him? Why was I annoyed I couldn’t see him? Why did I notice the same girl that prodded him was missing too?
These were dangerous thoughts to have. I pulled away, choosing to retreat from the window. I needed sleep and to remove these thoughts from my mind before they grew. I left my tray of food half-finished on the ground, feeling weighted by depression. The room was aggravating me. I felt stifled. There was no light in here, so the room got darker, and the only light there was came from the flickering fire outside.
I was crawling out of my skin. Nobody had stopped to even blink at my existence. I was stuffed in a room to rot. Was that what awaited me in life? Was that how Reaper was going to treat his fucking trophy wife? By stuffing me away like a goddamn shovel in a shed while he fucked jungle prostitutes?
Fuck him.
Fuck everyone.
The bed creaked with every movement. I turned to one side, trying to get comfortable, only to be met with more shrieking and laughter that made my braincells die. I grabbed the thin pillow and laid it over my head in a futile effort to drown it out.
Nothing worked.
Stressed, I sat up and kicked the blanket off me. Then I pulled my dress up so my legs were exposed. There was no escaping this humidity. I sat there for a long time, waiting for their night time fun to end.
It didn’t.
It was never ending hell, and I’d just about snapped. I was trapped. Like a person chained to a chair, I felt chained to this goddamn room, to this goddamn noise, to their freedom and my imprisonment.
I was ready to scream when a shadow passed by the window. It should have been Christy stopping by to collect the dinner tray, but the steps that followed were heavier than hers, and frankly, I could already feel a different sort of presence approaching. The door suddenly opened, and for a breathless moment, all the sounds from outside went mute by the rush of my heart beats flooding into my ears.
He stood in the doorway.
It took a lot of courage to look at him. When I did, my body had gone completely still. I could hardly see him in the dark, but I felt his eyes hard as ever on me. I imagined them looking right through me in that clinical way he did before.
He spoke again, a question at the end of his sentence. I didn’t understand him, so I remained mute. He asked it again, and this time I caught the word “matrimonio”.
Matrimony? Was he asking me about the marriage bullshit?
I wanted to laugh, scream, rip myself to shreds and throw myself in a fucking fire – anything for him to fucking get it through his head that I was not going to go along with it.
“I’m not marrying you,” I growled out, every inch of me shaking. “No to matrimonio!”
He walked in right after I said that. I brought my legs up so my knees were against my chest. I held my breath, ready for his attack. I closed my eyes when he stopped before me. I waited, and the anticipation grew worse. Then, something soft hit my face. I opened my eyes, blinking down at a pair of pants and a shirt he’d thrown at me.
He said something to me then, and his voice was harder. The word matrimonio was said again, and this time there was no question in the way he said it. My face heated with anger, especially when the sound of more laughter filled the room, grating on my nerves. He turned around and began moving back to the door. With shaking fury, I balled the clothes and threw them at him, screaming, “I’m not changing, either!”
It hit his back, and he instantly stopped. My heart jumped to my throat, a feeling I was growing familiar with now. To my dismay, fear may have overcome me, but the adrenaline was worse and…almost satisfying. I’d spent all day locked inside this fucking room, and it was almost cathartic releasing my pent-up anger.
He slowly turned around, looking down at the clothes piled around his feet. Then he looked up at me. I could see his face a little better now that he was in direct view of the window. His lips were pressed down in a line, and his nose was flaring.
He was pissed.
Yeah, well, so was I!
“I’m not marrying you,” I told him firmly,
even though my voice was clearly distressed. “And I’m not changing out of this fucking dress.”
What was he going to do? Kill me?
Well…maybe.
Shit.
His face cleared a bit. Back to boredom but also…something else. Determination? I didn’t know. But when he bent over to pick up the clothes in one hand, he also pulled something else from his belt with his other hand. It shone in the moonlight.
A blade.
It hit me then, like a boulder to the face. I was going to die over not changing out of my nasty wedding dress. This was going to go down as the stupidest death in history. Dear god, what was my tombstone going to say? I could see it now.
Olivia Dillinger aka Business Pussy
Caffeine Deprived
Dead at 23
Cause of death: didn’t change out of wedding dress
Decapitated by Jungle Man with predator eyes
Really fucking stupid
World went on just fine
Must emphasize: Really. Fucking. Stupid.
His eyes met mine, and I stiffened for half a beat. I noticed the muscles in his shoulders tense, and it was then I realized I was fucked.
Suddenly, he moved to me so quickly, he was like a fucking panther. I was already attempting to move off the bed when I felt his hand shoving me down. I went crazy, screaming, trying to snake out of his grip. Something hard and heavy rested on my lower back. His knee. He threw my clothes next to my face, and then he grabbed at my arms in one quick movement, securing them above my head. I tried to move. My legs flailed, but I went nowhere. He kept me like that for minutes. I heard his steady breathing over top of me, waiting, waiting…waiting.
“Fuck you!” I screamed, unable to stop myself as I continued to writhe. “Let go of me!”
He didn’t. He patiently listened to me scream, holding me down effortlessly as I tried in futile to get out from under him. The scent of him was everywhere. A faint cologne, completely different to Logan, or to anything I’d ever smelled before. It was a nice smell. The nicest I’d ever smelled off a man. Dear God, why did Jungle Man smell so good? It made me rage even more, exasperating whatever energy I’d accumulated throughout the day. I didn’t stop. The more he held me down, the angrier I grew, the more frustrated I was, the more I wanted to fight.