Up in Smoke_A King Series Novel

by T. M. Frazier

  Smoke locks the device in place and tucks the little key into his pocket. He stands.

  “Mostly, because it’ll explode,” Rage squeals with joy, staring with an uncomfortable amount of interest at the little box now tethered to my leg.

  “It’s a bomb?” I exclaim, jumping up like I can somehow distance myself from the thing, but it’s too late.

  Smoke continues, “I’ve set the perimeter guidelines to the fence which goes around the prison. Zelda’s house is included. If you go outside the perimeter, it’ll give you a warning beep then you’ve got yourself ten seconds to get back inside before it goes off. Same goes if you try and fuck or tamper with it in any way.”

  “Boom,” Rage whispers, making an exploding motion with her hands.

  Terror dances up my spine.

  “You put a bomb…on my leg,” I whisper. I sit and look down at my new explosive ankle jewelry.

  Smoke smirks. “You can look at it that way.” His eyes meet mine. “Or, you look at it like I’m giving you some freedom.”

  “Freedom…with a bomb on my leg.”

  Smoke nods.

  Rage whistles.

  “But I thought she was here to watch me,” I say.

  “As I said. Insurance,” Smoke answers.

  He was giving me what I asked for. Some freedom during my last few days.

  Never in my life did I ever think I could be grateful for a bomb strapped to my leg, but I am.

  Smoke holds up something that looks like a controller for a DVD player. “I can also set it off remotely,” he says, tucking it into his back pocket.

  “Oh, can I have it?” Rage asks, making grabby hands in the air.

  “No,” Smoke and I both answer.

  I close off the part of my brain freaking out over the explosive factor of my situation and instead focus on the tiny bit of freedom aspect. I begin to dance around the kitchen, the weight of the ankle monitor making me feel freer than I have in days. Smoke watches me expressionlessly until I dance myself right into a cabinet. The monitor vibrates on impact, and I freeze, looking up to meet Smoke’s eyes.

  Smoke covers his mouth, and I realize it’s to hide a smile. I’m disappointed because I would like to have seen it.

  Rage leaps off the counter.

  “It’s sturdy,” Smoke crosses his arms over his chest. “It won’t go off if you kick it around or knock it into things. It doesn’t work like that.”

  I exhale. “Thank God.”

  “No. Thank Smoke,” Rage corrects.

  “Thank you, Smoke.” I say, and I mean it.

  For a few moments, we just stand there, staring at one another silently until Rage clears her throat.

  “I gotta go,” Smoke says. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

  Smoke leaves the kitchen and heads into the back bedroom where I hear him rifling through the storage containers.

  “So,” I say. “Your name is Rage.”

  “Yep. It’s short for Ragina.”

  “No, it’s not,” Smoke says, crossing back through the kitchen with a bag in his hand. He pauses at the door and looks at me, then Rage.

  “Go,” she says to him. “No boys. No parties. No booze and no rated R movies. We got it, Pops. Now, go!”

  Smoke pushes out the door, shaking his head as he leaves.

  I follow Rage onto the porch where we watch Smoke fire up his bike and roll out down the path past a blue scooter parked in the yard.

  Smoke could have left me cuffed. In a cage tied to a bed. Starved me. Tortured me. But for some reason, he’s given me room to run. A babysitter. An ankle monitor.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Rage says.

  “No, you don’t,” I argue.

  “I do. You’re thinking that maybe Smoke isn’t so much of a monster after all.”

  Shit.

  “You’re wrong you know,” she sings.

  “How so?”

  Rage brushes past me back into the house. “The man did strap a bomb to your leg.”

  I look down to the black box around my ankle.

  Shit.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Do you mind if I ask you a question?” I’m sitting on the front porch in one of the tattered rocking chairs looking over the landscape of the prison.

  My curiosity has gotten the best of me, and I’ve been wondering something ever since Smoke left.

  “That was a question,” Rage says. She turns the page of the bridal magazine she’s reading and makes a face of disgust. She rolls her eyes and closes the magazine, tossing it on top of a tall pile stacked next to her. She reaches in her bag and pulls out another, opening it and making the same face at the very first page.

  “You’re very literal,” I observe.

  “And Smoke was right. You’re very question-ey,” Rage gives up on the magazine, shoving it aside. She sits up in her chair and folds her feet underneath her body. “So what’s this mystical question you’ve got for me? Spoiler alert, I don’t do horoscopes.”

  “How do you know Smoke?”

  “It’s a tale as old as time,” she says with a sigh. “You might even say a song as old as rhyme.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you’re Beauty and the Beast?” I ask with a laugh.

  Rage wrinkles her nose. “No, why?”

  “Uh, no reason.”

  Rage pauses to think. “I guess you can say that Smoke is the Mr. Miyagi to my Karate Kid, but I haven’t seen him in a long while.”

  “What happened?” I ask.

  Rage lifts her hand, examining her nails. “All was not well in the dojo.”

  “So you guys have never…” I don’t know why I’m asking, but even I realize the question comes off as jealous when there’s no way that’s possible. Curious. That’s all I am. It’s human nature to be curious of those around you and right now those around me are Rage and Smoke.

  It’s as simple as that.

  “THAT is a lot more complicated. We’ve never felt that way about each other, but some shit went down where we were forced to…” she makes a finger in the hole gesture with her hands. “At gunpoint,” she adds.

  I don’t know what I was expecting but THAT certainly wasn’t it.

  “He felt guilty and took off. Today is the first time I’ve seen him in years.”

  “Smoke felt guilty?” I ask, taken aback. I didn’t think he was capable of guilt.”

  “Don’t get it twisted. That man is capable of much more than you or he even knows,” Rage answers cryptically.

  She reaches behind her back, pulling out the dagger she’d thrown at me earlier. The one with the shiny crystal handle. She fiddles with it, rotating it in her hand, pressing the pad of her index finger against the tip, testing its sharpness.

  “You know,” she starts. “I see the way he looks at you. A couple of years back, shit, even a year back I would never have seen it or recognized what it was. Even if I did it would only be an observation, something to mimic while I’m on a job and have to pretend to feel the same way everyone else does.” Rage spins the handle of the blade on the table between us. “But I saw it today. He looks at you like he wants to…”

  “I don’t know what you think you saw—”

  Rage cuts me off. “You’re a smart girl, Frankie. I can tell. But you might be more clueless to what people are feeling than I ever was because Smoke looks at you like he wants to stick a flag in you and claim you for the homeland.”

  I raise my eyebrows in question.

  Rage rolls hers. “I’ve been watching these emotional movies lately. It’s this therapy thing my parents want me to try. The stake a claim thing is from Far and Away with Tom Cruise. He goes out West and…” She stops. “Never mind. I’ve probably got it all wrong anyway.”

  Rage looks down to the blade in her hands.

  Feeling the need to lift whatever burden is sitting on her shoulders I tell her. “I like that movie.”

  After a few moments of silence Rage turns to me. “Be honest. Wha
t’s your story? How did you end up Smoke’s captive?”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  “He told me his side. I want to hear your side.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because I care about Smoke, and I need to know if I should bury you in the prison yard before he gets back,” she says.

  My eyes widen.

  She rolls hers. “Don’t worry, I’d totally tell him you offed yourself so he wouldn’t blame me. We’d still be buds.”

  “Good to know?” I say. It comes out like a question.

  There’s no doubt in my mind it’s the truth but she says it so casually, like she’s planning what to eat for dinner or talking about the weather.

  I know Rage’s loyalty lies with Smoke, I don’t know if I can trust her. Actually, I know I can’t trust her.

  I tell her everything anyway.

  Well, ALMOST everything.

  I tell her about my father and how he was negligent toward me after my mother died. About taking a false name and re-enrolling in high school to avoid the fallout from my father’s bullshit. The abduction. Smoke. Smoke. SMOKE.

  I toss one truth after another at her like clothes on a laundry heap until there’s a huge pile between us to be sorted.

  “Well, that was…educational,” Rage says, twisting the end of her ponytail in her hand. She pulls up her legs and sits cross-legged on the rocking chair. “But I guessed it.”

  “Guessed what?” I ask.

  “He named the bacon,” she whispers.

  I’m not sure if she’s talking to herself or to me.

  “Huh?”

  “Think of Smoke like a pig farmer,” Rage starts to explain. I have no idea where she’s going with this.

  “Let me guess. Am I the pig in this scenario?” I ask, pointing at my chest.

  She nods. “Yes, for this metaphor anyway. Smoke, or anyone who does what we do, are pig farmers and pig farmers don’t name their pigs, they don’t treat them like pets because they’re not. They might be walking around breathing, but they’re food. You don’t cuddle and play with food. You don’t tie pretty bows around your food’s neck.” She holds out her hands, palms up, and shrugs. “You don’t name the bacon.”

  “And you think Smoke did?”

  Rage nods. “Oh, Smoke’s a pig namer alright. Never thought I would say that about him. But if he isn’t careful, then soon he’ll be a pig…” Rage pauses and presses her lips together. A burst of laughter escapes, and she covers her mouth with her hands.

  “A pig fucker?” I barely get the word out.

  Rage and I look at each other, and we’re lost to laughter until our stomachs ache and our eyes tear. It feels so good to laugh that once I start I can’t seem to stop.

  I’ve got a death sentence looming over my head. I’ve been abducted by a killer, and I’m sitting across from another who just compared me to a pig being lead to slaughter.

  And I’m laughing.

  “I will say this though,” Rage says, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Her back straightens as she looks me in the eye. Her expression grows serious. Her smile falls. “There’s a lot more to us monsters than we let on.”

  I look out over the prison. “I think I’m beginning to understand that.”

  “So, what’s your next plan of action?” She asks, clapping her hands together.

  “What makes you think I have one?” I pull my knees up to my chest.

  Rage stares at me for a long moment, then flashes me a knowing smile. “Nothing makes me think you don’t. But, whatever it is, you better get moving on it. And soon.”

  “Why is that?” I ask, curiously.

  Rage sighs. “Because, if I know Smoke, you have a lot less time than you think.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  You have a lot less time than you think.

  I’m on my knees, fishing under the mattress for the garments I’ve hidden while Rage’s words play over and over again in my mind. She wouldn’t tell me why she thought I had less time, but whatever the reason, it’s time to try out Dr. Ida’s last tip for surviving captivity.

  Seduction.

  Smoke wants me. I saw it in his eyes. I felt it against my back.

  It’s all I have to work with. A hope. A feeling.

  Smoke was only gone for a few hours. Rage left shortly after Smoke came back. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since. He’s colder than before. If Rage was right and Smoke named the bacon, then maybe, he’s trying to place distance between us. Or maybe, it’s simpler than that and he doesn’t want to be around me.

  I’m nervous, shaking all over as I take a shower and scrub my skin with a washcloth until it’s smooth. I towel dry and brush my hair, then shave and groom using the electric razor I find under the sink. I dress quickly and look in the mirror, adjusting where necessary.

  My pulse is pounding in my ears as I give myself a once over. It’s only been three days since I jumped from the car, but I’ve always been a fast healer. My bruises have mostly faded except for the scrapes on my right arm, which are scabbed over.

  It’s the best I can do with what I’ve got.

  But will it be enough?

  I take a deep breath and push open the bedroom door. I find Smoke sitting on the couch with his arms stretched over the top, a cigar in his mouth. A bottle of whiskey at his feet. He looks deep in thought. His legs spread. His arms resting across the back of the couch.

  There’s a radio in the corner playing “Take it Out on Me” by Florida Georgia Line.

  “I like this song,” I say to get Smoke’s attention.

  Smoke turns his head toward me and freezes, cigar halfway to his full lips. His eyes widen as he takes me in, looking me up and down.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” He asks between gritted teeth. He’s angry. His vein pulses under his neck tattoo. His nostrils flare.

  I let his anger fuel my determination, and I walk with as much confidence as I can muster into the center of the room wearing only a sheer black bra that pushes my breasts up and amplifies my cleavage, along with a matching pair of sheer panties, leaving nothing to the imagination.

  “What?” I ask, feigning innocence. I look down at my body. “You don’t like the way I look?” I’m teasing him, or at least I’m trying to. The fire blazing in his eyes tells me that I’m either doing it very right or very wrong. It doesn’t matter. I can’t give up now.

  I sway my hips from side to side, hooking my thumbs in the sides of my panties.

  “What are you trying to prove, hellion?” Smoke rasps. His pupils dilate.

  “I’m not trying to prove anything,” I say, leaning over I pluck the cigar from his hand and take a puff before placing it in the ashtray on the end table.

  Smoke clears his throat and shakes his head. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing,” he grates. His eyes linger on the scrap of fabric between my legs then travel up to my breasts where my nipples pebble under his gaze.

  “I think I do,” I say in the seductive tone I’d practiced in the bathroom earlier.

  “Such big words for such a little girl,” Smoke drawls.

  “I’m not a little girl!” I shout, taking a step forward, before reminding myself of what I was trying to do and freezing.

  Smoke smiles, knowing he’s gotten to me. “What exactly are you playing at here, little girl? ‘Cause no matter what happens,” he grabs the whiskey off the floor and tips it to his mouth. He swallows and sets it back down, licking his lips. “You’re gonna lose.”

  That’s what you think.

  I don’t answer. Because I’m focused on his full lips. The way his tongue darts out to catch a falling drop of whiskey.

  Shit, get it together, Frankie.

  “You might be twenty-two, but all I see is innocence. You ever been fucked before, hellion? ‘Cause, I’m betting on no.”

  “Does it matter?” I ask, running my fingers across my breasts.

  My heart is pounding so hard it shakes me the way hard-hitting bass
rattles a trunk. I never pictured my first time. There were never enough minutes in the day for myself, never mind for fantasies or daydreams. Even if I had pictured it, attempting to seduce my kidnapper while quaking like the floor beneath me is shifting would probably not have come to mind.

  I put on my best smile and unhook my bra with shaking fingers. Slowly, I drop it. He’s watching my every move. When my bra hits the floor, his mouth gapes open, but he quickly corrects himself as if he’s given too much away.

  “I’ve seen plenty of naked women before. I’ve seen YOU naked before. You ain’t gonna shock me, hellion.”

  “I’m not trying to shock you, Smoke,” I say, dragging out his name on my lips as if I’m enjoying the way it sounds rolling off my tongue.

  “You’re playing a very dangerous game, little girl,” Smoke warns. “Stop before you lose.”

  “So, play it with me,” I say, rubbing circles around my taut nipples with my fingers. The way he watches me makes me want to grab his head and thrust his lips against my breasts. “And we’ll both win.”

  “I’m not fucking around. This is your last warning to cut this shit out before you end up in a position you’re going to regret…” His eyelids are heavy. Hooded. “And I’m going to enjoy.”

  “I just want to feel good. Don’t you want to feel good?” I snake my hand down into my panties and rub my clit painstakingly slow. I’m supposed to be putting on a show for him, making him want me. It’s supposed to be fake.

  Then why am I soaking wet?

  “Alright, Hellion,” Smoke smirks wickedly. “You think you can handle it? Then, come the fuck on.”

  He unzips his pants and pushes them down far enough to reveal the V underneath. It leads down his trail of abs to a very large bulge straining beneath the fabric of his boxer briefs.

  Doubt. Panic. Worry. Unease. Terror. Horror.

  They all crash into me at once along with a surge of arousal so strong and so unexpected I stagger on my feet, drunk with it, with lust.

  “A fuck is a fuck. It won’t buy your freedom. It ain’t that easy.”

  I kneel on the floor and spread my fingers on his hard thighs, hoping he can’t feel me shaking. I smile up at him through my lashes and lick my lips.