Snatched

by Cullars, Sharon

  He was quiet as he walked back to the bed and resumed his position.

  He didn't outright deny her request. Which meant she still had a chance.

  She would just have to wait it out to see what he would do.

  CHAPTER 8

  Sunset brought with it a whole set of problems to add to his already complicated life. Right now Eric – aka Dele – was at war with all of his senses. Common sense told him to handcuff her for the night. Yet a contradictory sense of humanity made it hard for him to refuse her plea since he was the one who had disrupted her life in the first place. And his ever-present sense of danger that constantly nagged at him told him he couldn't possibly get both of them out of this situation.

  And then there were his other senses that were equally disturbing.

  In the quiet hours following their earlier attempt at conversation, he'd contemplated the idea of lying next to her for a whole night. Not that the thought didn't have an edge of pleasure. She was very attractive. But he needed all of his faculties, especially in these next few days. Any distractions could prove deadly for either of them.

  She was slumped in the chair, her eyes half closed, her whole body looking considerably uncomfortable. About an hour ago, he'd turned on the lamp on the night stand. The harsh light cast the room with a sickly pallor, showcasing all of its hard dinginess. He was used to living in these types of environs. Being undercover for a long stint basically ripped away those small privileges one got used to: being able to wash whenever you wanted, to relax in clean clothes on comfortable furniture. And to not have to look over your shoulder all the time.

  He imagined the creature comforts she was missing right about now. Maybe back at her house or apartment she would be sipping a glass of wine, probably sitting on a terrace or veranda where she could enjoy the evening breeze. In this mental tableau, he imagined her in something silkier and revealing, not the casual shirt and jeans she wore now. At least she struck him as a woman who appreciated the finer things. Those women were few in his life right now.

  The least he could do was make her stay here as comfortable as possible. Especially after what he'd made her do back at the house.

  More importantly, he wanted to make her comfortable in these hours because if things didn't work the way he needed them to, these might be her last hours on this earth.

  He rose, walked to her chair and lightly touched her shoulder. She jerked fully awake. In those seconds of arousal he saw her expression morph from initial lethargy to momentary confusion to burgeoning fear with the awareness of her surroundings. These all morphed to an ultimate resignation as memory set in. She had awakened to a reality that she'd probably hoped was the stuff of a temporary nightmare.

  She looked up at him, fully awake. And fully resentful.

  "Time for bed. And we don't have to be cuffed. But you have to promise me you won't try anything. For both our sakes."

  She simply nodded her acquiescence then rose and let him lead her to the bed.

  ###

  The night was stifling and oppressive. As was the arm that lay across her stomach. Heavy in its lifelessness, it was now her only barrier to freedom. Although she couldn't see his face in the darkened room, she knew by the deep, regular breaths that he was asleep. Or at least she hoped he was. She'd waited for what seemed like an eternity for him to finally drop off after they'd settled on the bed. Thankfully, he'd kept on his clothes; the thought of him without clothes was disturbing on several levels.

  She shifted her weight on the bed, waited for a response. Waited to see if he was only pretending. But there was nothing. No shifting nor change in the breaths that were softly audible. She began shimmying to her edge of the bed, at the same time nudging away the burdensome arm. If he was truly faking, now would be the moment his hand would shoot out to grab her back. Instead it settled on the bed space as she moved away from him. Soon she was on her feet, looking down onto his dark silhouette. She stood there a few seconds longer until she'd reassured herself that he was not awake.

  She felt for her sneakers on the floor near the bed, gingerly slipped them. Since he'd taken the side nearer to the door, she had to circumvent the full width of it as she tiptoed in the dark.

  Standing at the door she realized she'd forgotten to grab his jacket. It had been discarded on the bottom edge of the bed. As much as she wanted to cover up her ripped top, she couldn't risk going back. Modesty could very well cost her her freedom. Feeling out the door locks in the dark was particularly difficult; harder still was sliding one then turning the other as quietly as she could. Desperation made her want to rush. It also made her desperately careful. She was too near to her goal now.

  A soft groan from the bed made her pause just as she was about to open the door. She turned, her breath strangled in her throat, waiting for him to charge after her. A second turned into two, then three. Outside the door, she heard the honking of cars. Somewhere in the distance, she heard female laughter. Those sounds made it hard for her to hear his breathing, to know whether he was still asleep or had awakened, biding moments before rushing her.

  It was now or never. She opened the door just a bit, hoping that the night sounds invading the room wouldn't awaken him. The door elicited a soft creak but she opened it enough, just enough to slip through the opening.

  On the other side, finally free since this afternoon – an eternity ago – she shut the door softly behind her.

  ###

  Nailah stood just outside the motel's parking lot trying to get her bearings. This was a part of town she'd never been to and would have gone out of her way to avoid. Saying that the area was seedy was being too kind. Even beneath the stark street lights, the stretch of blocks was dark and desolate with garbage strewn pretty much everywhere. Most of the buildings seemed to be dilapidated warehouses or repair shops, all of them seemingly closed up for the night. There wasn't a restaurant or a fast food place as far as she could see. Not even a bar or an all-night liquor store or any safe haven to run to.

  She didn't have her cell phone with her. And running up to just anybody – especially in this part of the city – ran its own risks. She estimated it was near midnight or a little past. Still the motel's manager or an employee might be in the front office. As she stood there debating whether to tempt fate and go back into the lot to find the manager's office, her heart jumped at the revving sound of motorcycles in the distance.

  She shook her head in disbelief at her bad luck. It couldn't possibly be them. Why would they even be here this time of night?

  As the sound of motors grew louder, panic took hold. If it was the bikers, they'd surely see her if they pulled into the motel lot. Maybe they would just pass by, but she couldn't take that chance.

  There wasn't time to think as instinct took over. She thought about running across the street to the darkened auto shop but there was still quite a bit of traffic even at this hour and she'd risk getting hit. She rushed back to the lot thinking to maybe duck behind one of the lone cars. But even as she looked around at a likely hiding place, the door to her captor's hotel room opened as though on cue. Obviously, the sound of the motorcycles had awakened him and he'd found her gone.

  She was only a few steps from him just as the cycles pulled into the lot. The last trace of hope dissipated with the idling motors that came to settle around her and her captor. She couldn't remember what they called him back at the house.

  "Dele! What the fuck you got her out here for?"

  The gang leader sat imperial on his bike, his ponderous beard tipping the slight beginnings of gut she hadn't noticed before. Holding on like a motor park queen was the blond woman she'd seen back at the house who'd looked as though she wanted to slap the black off of Nailah. Even in the dim shadows of the lot, Nailah could see the sentiment still held as the woman skewered her with a stare.

  The biker expected an answer from…Dele. The look Dele threw her was an
ything but chivalrous and she knew she'd lost her knight errant, the only one who'd been willing to protect her. Up until now. She'd gambled and she'd lost.

  But she still had an ace up her sleeve. And now was the time to play it.

  She immediately closed the space between her and Dele, who stood with an expression that could have turned her to stone. She sidled up to him and did the unthinkable.

  She kissed him. Not merely a touching of lips. She pushed her tongue into his mouth, sucked at his tongue for all it was worth. Just for a good show, she let a hand slide from the rock hard abs down to his belt buckle and settled just a little bit south.

  The chorus of hoots behind them was just what she'd expected. Was just what she'd hoped.

  Yes, she'd fucked up but if he knew what was good for the both of them, he'd play along.

  For a second, he didn't respond and her heart froze. But then he took the cue and pulled her into him, his hand settling on her ass, squeezing. The squeeze was hard and brutal. She knew it was meant to be.

  The returned kiss was equally bruising.

  "Look, Dele's done tamed the bitch!" Laughter erupted.

  "Guess Dele's put the rod of obedience to her," the leader said suspiciously, then more sternly. "OK kiddies, fucking time's over. We got business to tend to."

  Dele broke the kiss abruptly. The look of scorn he gave her lasted a second. Just a second. But it seared through her. She hoped no one else had seen it or the gig would be up.

  "What's going down, Rez?" Dele turned his eyes away from her as he asked the leader question.

  "The Jamaicans, that's what…or rather who's…going down. Muthafuckers been caught doing some back dealing. Skeet heard on the streets this afternoon they're meeting with the cartel in an hour. They're trying to cut us out of the deal altogether and we ain't gonna have no shit like that, not on my watch. Gear up, we're heading to Laguna. Guess your whore's gonna ride with you tonight. C'mon."

  If Nailah had been scared before, she was terrified now.

  "I can stay…here" she started. Her answer was another belt of laughter.

  "Oh honey, us females stick by our dudes come blood and pain," the blond offered up. "Ride or die, like they say." The look she gave Nailah was smug, enjoying Nailah's obvious fear.

  The meal from earlier roiled in her stomach at the inescapable realization that she was going to what might turn into an actual gang fight. She could very well die tonight. But she had no other choice. The biker Rez was rallying for a showdown and none of them were going to give her the opportunity to escape. Definitely not Dele, who was already straddling his bike. He turned to her, his look hooded. The unyielding expression defied her to protest further. She knew the cues now, knew when to move. She walked to the bike, settled behind him. He hit the throttle and a chorus of engines revved up. Then they were off.

  She held down the vomit threatening to rise from her stomach. The night air chafed against her exposed skin. Her torn shirt fluttered with the velocity of the wind. He seemed comfortable even though he had not brought his jacket. She settled her forehead against his back, felt the hard, unyielding ridges of his spine through his tee shirt. For some reason, the hardness settled her fear. And with the ebb of her fear came the belief that somehow he would keep her safe. She didn't know how she knew this; she just did.

  CHAPTER 9

  This was so fucked up. Some bad shit was going to go down tonight and she was going to be in the middle of it all. No way could he protect her when the guns came out. And knowing the Jamaicans, there was definitely going to be some hardware on site. All he could do then was try to shield her with his body. He'd only taken one bullet in his career and that had been with a vest. No vests tonight.

  He didn't relish dying but he couldn't let her get hurt if he could help it. Damn. How the fuck did all of this happen anyway?

  He cursed every sparerib that had ever existed. Cursed the weird circumstances that had brought her into his life. Especially now when everything was going so wrong.

  He felt her arms tighten around his waist. Liked the feel of them even as he was disturbed to realize how the feel of her body was becoming natural to him. The anger edged these thoughts. He couldn't trust her ever again. But he'd been stupid in the first place to ever take her word.

  Still he couldn't blame her. He'd probably done the same thing in her place. It was human nature to take chances in order to survive. To not trust someone who'd snatched you off the street. Who'd made you simulate a disgusting act for the amusement of a bunch of shit eaters.

  But then he wasn't much better than the shits he surrounded himself with. It didn't take much psychoanalysis to reveal his true motivation for going undercover. Yes, it looked good in his professional file, showed that he was willing to go far and beyond the call of duty. But if he allowed himself to dig deeper – which he rarely did – he would have to admit to himself that he was just a little too comfortable with this life. The filth and grime of the underground worlds he regularly inhabited now along with the danger and lawlessness – it was home. He couldn't see himself settling comfortably into a mundane world of paperwork or cruising in a car for long hours, his muscles atrophying from non-use. Even now, the adrenaline that fed the fear fed that part of him that needed the danger, that needed the lawlessness.

  This world wasn't for civilians. In this world civilians easily became collateral damage. If shit blew up tonight, that's exactly what she would be. At least tonight, he was packing. Not his standard issue, another piece. He'd grabbed it after hearing the roars of the bike and discovering that she was gone from the room.

  And as much as Rez liked his Bowie knife, he would be carrying much fire power tonight. As would the Jamaicans.

  Dele kept to the line, the strong smell of diesel kicking back from the bikes ahead. She coughed behind him and he felt the spasm of her body against his back. At that moment the remaining anger dissipated. Which actually was unfortunate because anger gave him an edge, something he was going to need in the next few hours.

  The bikes roared along the canyon road toward Laguna. On either side looming hills absorbed the lights from the bikes' high beams, but each biker instinctively maneuvered the bends and curves. This was a familiar route and night was often a convenient cover.

  Nearly an hour later the bikes snaked along the edge of Shaw's Cove. Southward, hanging precariously on rising cliffs, stood oceanfront villas that provided a stark contrast to weather-washed clapboard cottages. Waves moved in from the Pacific, the usually white foam of the water now a deep blue gray. Even this late, the night was illuminated with lights of hundreds of homes that dotted the hills.

  Straddled along the stairs providing access to the cove stood silhouettes, maybe twenty or more, just waiting, menacing in the darkness. The Jamaicans. The members of the cartel were expected to show soon, adding to the numbers of possible guns.

  The Demons were nearly seventy strong tonight, but they would still be outnumbered, which meant they would be outgunned and outmaneuvered. Whatever was going to happen would have to happen quickly. In a few hours, early morning surfers and divers would start arriving. Too many witnesses.

  Even as the bikes stopped, a voice boomed from the nearest stair landing.

  "Ya man, wha' ya doin' here?"

  Dele recognized the voice of the Jamaican gang leader. Russell Corrall. The file on him was pretty extensive and included not only drug running, prostitution but several low-profile murders. The Feds had been trying to get a hook on him for at least three years.

  Despite his bulk, Rez moved nimbly off his bike, leaving Clare still straddled. He really should have left her back at the house, but knowing Clare, she'd probably whined about being bored and insisted on coming. Well, she was about to get more excitement than she'd wished for. Might even get a bullet to the brain. The thought wasn't exactly an unpleasant one.

  Rez took a few ste
ps toward the landing.

  "I think the question is what the fuck you're doing here? There's a rumor about a deal going down tonight, supposedly between you and the spics. Now I said to myself that couldn't possibly be 'cause we're the ones supposed to have a deal down with you raffa muthas. I said to myself, 'No, those tree hangin' muthas wouldn't be stupid enough to pull that kinda shit.'"

  One of the silhouettes separated from the others, came forward. The emerging figure of Russell Corrall featured a man light enough to pass for white, his complexion contrasting oddly with deep black dreadlocks. The man was Hollywood handsome – at least that was what the bitches claimed - despite two fierce scars along his right cheek.

  "Now jus' who you callin' a monkey?" The Jamaican's voice was tight, barely controlled with anger.

  "If the tail hangs, it must be yours," Rez said, which garnered several snickers from the Demon contingent. A ruckus of angry murmurings came from the silhouettes on the staircase.

  "Now why ya gonna go and step on a monkey's tail because this sure shit monkey gonna rip you several holes. And for the info, we got other biz with the cartel. Our deal with the Demons is still in place. We good on our word here. More than I can say for a Demon muthafucker."

  "I don't know, man. I like to believe there's good and honor in this world, especially amongst us thieves, crooks and murderers. But then again, we're thieves, crooks and murderers and honor is only as good as the next brown bag in hand."

  Rez was feening for the several kilos of brown heroin the Jamaican's were shipping in from the islands. The street value was estimated to be several hundred thousands. Not chump change and something that Rez wouldn't take too kindly to losing out on.

  "You're gonna get your junk like promised. 'Cause like I said, we good on our end. But we're also entrepreneurs which means we're diversified in our wares. We got other business ventures. Other items that need to be brought in and sold."