by Whitney G.
“No, I— ” I finally find my voice and stand up. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. I need to go find my husband.”
“Me, too.” He smirks. “When’s a good time for you to introduce us? I mean, it’ll be nice to finally see you with someone since you’ve been all alone for these past few weeks.”
“I’d like to meet your husband, too,” his friend says, smiling. “Is he at the golf course right now?”
I swallow, feeling every nerve in my body race in fear, every synapse in my brain begging me to finally run the hell away. Right now.
“You know what?” The first guy smiles. “On a vacation, there’s no such thing as time, is there? I’ll just stop by. Room 1676, right?” He stands up and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a few twenties, and then a small, blue booklet. He opens it and sets it in front of me, revealing that it’s my fucking “misplaced” passport that Michael made for me. The one I now know never left the inner pocket of my damn duffle bag.
“I found that in your room the other day,” he says. “You really should be more careful with where you place things like that, if you ever consider leaving this country.”
As if he can tell that he’s rattled me, he takes one final look at my ring and smiles. “Hope you enjoy the rest of your day, Miss.”
His friend picks up the gun and tips his hat at me. Then they walk away, leaving me scared shitless.
The moment they’re out of the bar, I rush toward the back exit and to the front desk. I request an immediate room change, and the bellman eyes me suspiciously when I tell him that I’d rather move my things by myself.
I make it to my former room and start tossing all of my things into the duffle bag.
Right as I’m stuffing Michael’s letter into the side pocket, a loud knock comes to my door.
I stiffen and move to the closet, shutting the panel.
Another knock comes to the door, one that’s a lot louder, and I hold my breath.
Several seconds pass without a sound, but I don’t dare to make a move.
Just count to a million...
By the time I do risk moving, three hours have passed, and my legs are begging for a break.
Slowly stepping out of the closet, I walk over to the door and look through the peephole. Across from my suite is the same guy from the bar. He’s leaning against a grey Impala and smoking a cigar while two other guys at his side read a newspaper.
Swallowing, I stare at them for several minutes, and then I move away from the door and hope like hell that they’ll go away soon.
They don’t.
Meredith
Now
Hours later, the alarm clock reads 4:09 a.m., but I can’t bring myself to walk over to the door just yet. My heart is still racing like it’s on acid, and I haven’t been able to sit down for fear that I need to be ready to run.
The adrenaline running through my veins has caused me to sweat so profusely that my sundress is damp, and I have to keep swiping my palms against the mattress.
I wait until the clock reads 4:52 and finally force myself to make my way to the door. Holding my breath, I look through the peephole and see nothing.
The grey Impala is long gone and all the men who were there before are nowhere to be found.
Not trusting my own eyes, I walk over to the living room windows and slowly tilt the blinds. I look up and down the street, seeing nothing but darkness. The lanes of the resort are free and clear.
Grabbing my duffle bag, I step out of the room and make a run for the other side of the resort. I don’t look over my shoulder once. I keep running straight ahead, as fast as I can.
When I make it to the new building, I swipe my card against the room’s keypad and quickly shut myself inside.
Locking the chain on the door, I walk to the desk and pick up the phone.
“Puerto Vallas Resort,” a soft male voice says. “How may I help you?”
“I need your help in arranging some transportation to the airport.” The words rush out of my mouth.
“Right now, Miss?”
“Yes. Right now.”
“I can do that, but you’ll need to settle your room bill before you leave, Miss. You still owe for the last four nights.”
“I’ll pay it all in cash.” My voice is trembling. “Please call me a cab now. Please.”
“It won’t make one bit of a difference if I call, Miss…” His voice is suddenly softer. “I’m so very sorry.”
“What?” My heart drops. “What are you saying sorry for? Can’t you just—”
A series of loud knocks suddenly sound at the door, and I drop the phone to the ground.
The knocks come again, much harder and louder this time, and I move to the other side of the room. I’m wondering if I should risk hiding under the bed or jump out of the window, but I don’t get the chance to choose.
Something heavy pushes against the door and the lock falls right off. It swings open and I find myself face to face with the barrel of a gun, and—
Michael?
Glaring at me, he slams the door shut and lowers the gun.
We stand still staring at each other as tension and emotions quickly suffocate the room. I’m suddenly overwhelmed with all the pain and the confusion, with the twisted ass game in my chest that’s setting up a new, emotional tug-of-war.
Suddenly, my fear shifts to anger. Sexiest man alive or not, soon to be ex-husband or not, this man is in as much danger as I am right now, and it’s mostly his fucking fault.
“I need to leave this resort,” I say, shattering the silence. “As soon as possible…”
“I believe those were my exact instructions three weeks ago.” He clenches his jaw and parts his lips as he slowly looks me up and down. “Please tell me the part when I told you to check into this goddamn resort and not the one across the river.”
“It was in the part when you left me here alone to fend for myself.”
“Right after I saved your life?” A large vein swells in his neck. “Right after that shit?”
He takes a step forward and I take a step back. Two steps from him, two more from me. We go back and forth until my back is pressed against the wall, until he’s the only one with a move left.
When he closes the gap between us, he stares directly into my eyes—looking torn between yelling at me and fucking me on the spot.
“Since I remember how much you like playing the question game,” he says, “I have more than a few that you’re going to answer.”
“I’m not going to do anything except leave.” I try to step around him, but he grips my waist—hard, and holds me in place against the wall.
“Like I was saying,” he says, pinning me to the spot with his hips. “Number one. Why didn’t you listen to me?”
“Because I didn’t trust you.” My chest heaves up and down. “And because I didn’t have to.”
“Come again?”
“I. Didn’t. Trust. You.” I enunciate every word, and feel tears pricking my eyes. “You abandoned me after tearing my entire world apart, not giving me a chance to process it.”
“What fucking more did I need to give you, Meredith?” He hisses. “I showed you the goddamn video, told you exactly why I did what I did, and you still think this is some type of twisted game? I tell you that the person you’re closest to takes out a hit on you, one that I don’t go through with, and that’s not enough?”
“It’ll never be enough.” Tears fall down my face. “And I guarantee that I will hate you for the rest of my life for doing this to me.”
“Then maybe I shouldn’t have saved you.” He presses his forehead against mine, his gaze heated. “Maybe I should’ve never gotten involved, fucked you, or wasted my time marrying you.”
“On some nights, I honestly wish you hadn’t.” I glare at him. “The life I’m currently living isn’t much of a ‘life’ at all.”
He says nothing. He just stares at me, his gaze colder than it’s ever been.
I stare righ
t back, not backing down—not showing any sign of vulnerability.
He releases his left hand from around my waist and lifts it to my head. Then he slowly runs his fingers through my hair.
“You dyed your hair another color like I suggested, for your new life,” he says. “Why couldn’t you follow the other instructions?”
“Because those instructions came minutes after you said you would be finalizing our divorce.”
Silence.
“Is that why you came looking for me?” I say, wondering how the hell he found me. “To throw more salt in the wound and tell me that we’re legally over? If so, you could’ve saved the gas; no divorce is needed if there’s a death.”
He doesn’t get a chance to respond to that.
Knocks that are ten times louder than his suddenly sound at the door.
“Housekeeping!” A deep male voice says. “Is now a good time to clean?”
Michael glances at his watch. Then he shoots me a concerned look. “Who the hell have you been talking to at this resort?”
“No one,” I say, shaking my head. “Well, not by choice.”
“What the hell are you saying?”
The knocks come again and again. This time, there are other deep voices, and I know they belong to the three men who were standing outside my old room hours ago.
Michael doesn’t ask me anything else. He covers my mouth with his hand and pulls me into the suite’s bathroom. Then he pulls me into a utility closet. He slides a panel behind us, shielding us from view, should someone open the blinded door.
“Don’t say a word,” he warns, and within seconds, the door to my room is kicked open.
Footsteps hit the bathroom floor and someone opens the door to the utility closet and quickly slams it shut. They pull out all the vanity drawers, rummage through the private closet, and knock their guns against the tinted shower glass doors until they shatter.
“I thought the guy at the front desk said she moved to this room,” one guy says. “Did he give us the right number?”
“2206,” another guy says. “This is it.”
“In that case, we’ll need to wait here for an hour or so until she gets back.”
“If she gets back…”
“Her passport is still here. She has to come back.”
I swallow, recognizing that voice.
“She may not have been lying about being here with her husband, Boss.”
“Doubtful,” he says. “Front desk says she checked in alone, and I’ll make sure she leaves alone. Give me her passport.”
“That ring can’t be worth that much,” another guy says.
“In that case, give me five million from your own account,” he says, scoffing. “Just try not to be too rough with her after I take it.”
“What does it matter how rough I am when I fuck these foreign, tourist girls?” he asks. “It’s not like they can report the shit from their graves.”
“Just not too fucking rough, okay?” He hisses. “Because I said so.” He pauses, and the footsteps move to the bedroom. “Put your silencer on.”
Michael’s body stiffens against mine, and I can feel anger rolling off him in waves.
Letting out a slow sigh, he grips my waist and stills me. Even in the darkness, I can tell that he’s looking into my eyes.
“Ignore whatever the hell you hear,” he whispers. “And don’t make a sound. Can you follow those instructions?”
I nod, but he must not believe me. He grabs my hands and slowly positions them over my mouth. Whispering, he repeats his directions and then he slowly moves the panel to step into the bathroom.
Loud laughter erupts from the bedroom, and then there’s a sudden silence.
“What the—” One of the men says. “Who the fuck are you? Where did you come from?”
His sentence is answered by a series of gunshots. The sound of shattered glass and pained screaming follow.
Oh, my fucking God…
I hear what sounds like a wall collapsing, like its falling right over me.
I hold back screams as bullets begin to fly through the utility closet, right into the drywall next to me.
Crouching onto the floor, I bite down hard on my lip, struggling to stay quiet.
The next several seconds sound like utter war.
The gunfire is nonstop; the bullets rain down like a storm, and every now and then the sound of destruction—shattering glass, moving furniture, falling walls, gives way.
I hear moans.
A few more shots.
Then silence.
Sucking in a deep breath, I can feel fresh tears streaming down my face. My heart is aching inside my chest, unsure of who’s still standing on the other side of that door. Before I can think about it, the door swings open, revealing a completely stoic Michael.
Without saying a word, he helps me to my feet. As if he knows I’m distraught as hell, he lifts me up and tosses me over his shoulder.
He carries me past the carnage in the bedroom, and I damn near pass out as I look over what he’s done.
There are four men, not three, and none of them will ever leave this room alive.
A knife is embedded in the skull of one man; blood oozes down what’s left of his face. Bullets are riddled through the chest of two others. The fourth guy is slumped against a metal chair near the door—struggling to breathe, as his legs lay mangled beneath him.
Michael opens the door and fires a shot, putting him out of his misery.
I open my mouth and scream as the blood splatters against the wall, but no sound leaves my throat.
Within seconds, Michael is opening a car door and placing me in familiar territory: the floor of his backseat.
“Stay down, Meredith.” He commands, before steering the car down a rocky road.
Seconds later, amidst a chorus of police sirens in the distance, he brings the car to an abrupt stop.
“I need to have a conversation with the front desk,” he says, stepping outside. “Keep your head down.” He slams the door shut.
He returns seconds later flexing his fingers before speeding onto the road again.
I remain on the floor as more tears stream down my face, as my breaths come in haggardly.
Somehow witnessing him at work has made his profession far clearer than any of the words he said to me weeks ago, any of the thoughts he’s attempted to convey. And for whatever reason, despite the fact that this makes him far more dangerous than I thought he was, I don’t attempt to get out of the car at any of the stoplights. I don’t take my chances at getting away when he stops at gas stations and offers me the chance to sit up front with him.
It’s not until we reach a long, vacant strip of highway that he pulls over and makes me move to the front seat.
Reality slowly settles in, and I’m no longer sure if that’s a good thing.
“You shouldn’t be crying over any of those people.” He leans over and wipes a few of my tears away with his glove. “They would’ve killed you, if I didn’t kill them first.”
I don’t say anything. I’ve been fine—actually more than fine with the thought of him getting back at people if they’d hurt him somehow, and I’ve tried to justify that whenever I touched myself and envisioned his face. But the idea that he is capable of killing whoever, whenever is a hard pill to swallow.
“You should, however,” he says, still talking, “take this as a forever lesson to follow my fucking instructions, if you enjoy living. It’s either that, or Option B.” He starts the car again, and all of a sudden, those last six words from his lips trigger a haunting memory from our honeymoon. And now, I finally have the urge to jump out of the goddamn car.
He suddenly locks the door and picks up his speed, as if he can read my mind.
“How did you find me in the woods the first time I got away from you?” I ask as images of our honeymoon starting to play in my mind.
“That’s a very odd choice of question for this moment,” he says. “I don’t believe it’
s your turn in the question game yet.”
“Answer me,” I hiss. “How did you find me at the exact point, the exact tree?’
He remains silent.
“How about here in Mexico, then?” I say. “I’ve switched rooms more than once and this isn’t the resort where you told me to go. How did you know?”
“You mean, outside of the fact that you stole my fucking bank account information and used it when you booked the first room?” He rolls his eyes, and then he looks over at me. He lifts my left hand and taps the ring. “You never took it off. Despite everything, you never took it off.”
“I don’t understand…”
“I do remember saying, I’ll always find you.” His voice is terse. “I meant that, so I made sure there was a way to do so.”
I’m silent for several seconds, slowly realizing that there has to be some type of tracking device in my damn ring. My heart jumps, ready to say, “See? He was protecting you the whole time! Take him back right now and discuss the issues later.”
I open my mouth to say something along those lines, but logic catches my tongue.
“Wait a minute,” I say. “If that’s true, why did you take the ring away from me on our honeymoon, on the day you kidnapped me? You weren’t sure whether you were going to go through with saving me at that point, were you?”
“Meredith…”
“Be honest,” I say, on the verge of losing my sanity all over again. “You had second thoughts right after I married you…”
“Yes.” He pauses. “I did.”
“Are you still having second thoughts?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I was,” he says. “This conversation is over for now.”
“It’s over forever,” I say. “Just take me to the airport, so we can be done with each other once and for all.”
“That’s exactly where I’m fucking taking you.” He drives a little faster on the highway, and I wipe away the last stream of tears I plan to ever cry about this fucked up excuse of a relationship.
I should’ve seen this shit from the very beginning…
Meredith