Captured By The Warriors

by Daniella Wright

  “Seriously?” I asked. Part of me was apprehensive; I really was afraid of flying. But then I thought how comfortable I felt around my best friend and Penny, and how worth it it’d be to go see the world with them, and felt better about the idea. I’d still be nervous, but I knew they would help get me through it.

  “I want to be with both of you. I want to travel like we talked about.”

  I was more than happy that she wanted to be with us, completely relieved at her words. Giving her up would have been too hard on both Sebastian and I. I looked at him and he grinned, then leaned in to kiss her.

  “I’m in,” he said. They both looked at me, knowing how I feel about flying, and I smiled and gave them a nod. When it came to Penelope, I would do anything.

  We finished eating dinner, all of us in a celebratory mood for the night. I was excited for what was to come, all of the adventures we could go on together if we really wanted to. We went home and took our time undressing Penelope, who was more than happy to give herself to both of us for the night. When we were all finished, she curled up against my side and fell asleep between Sebastian and I. I kissed her forehead and wrapped her in my arms, and the three of us fell asleep together.

  Breaking The Law

  ~Bonus Story~

  A Contemporary New Adult Police Menage

  Eva Jones is what you would call a “wild child”. Life can be great when you have no cares in the world and have nothing better to do with your time than travel and see all the fascinating sites that the world has to offer. Eva started her journey that way but like a lot of people had to face the music and blend into society with a boring job that she wishes to be free from.

  She gets her break when a burglary gone wrong pulls her into the hot seat down at the local station. Sometimes an officer can be your worst nightmare and sometimes they can be your knight in shining armor. Eva has her life flipped around like a flapjack on a hot griddle and she couldn’t be happier.

  It may not seem like much, but one night of debauchery can change the world.

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  I loved my life back in college. I was wild, free, and could do pretty much anything I wanted to do. Weekends were the best. There were parties that consisted of long nights of drinking, flirting, and of course sex. Everyone knew then that I was ready to play it down and dirty with almost anyone who asked. I still had my standards back then and I always put the boys, and girls, through rigorous testing.

  After I graduated I took my savings and graduation money and traveled around the world, or at least around the portions I wanted to see. My journey began in Cuba and I met some great people there. I earned a few bucks working on one of the tobacco fields then I made my way out to the Philippines.

  The travel brochures never mentioned anything about the horse-sized mosquitoes, which were pure torture. Luckily the natives have some nice ways to dealing with such pests. I learned a lot about their culture and even got my first tattoo there. The man I was staying with did it for me; five colorful butterflies flying around my left shoulder.

  After that I went up to the mainland and found myself in India. It was beautiful there; the birds, the animals, the flowers, the festivals. I saw so many wonderful temples and places that I can’t describe it other than magical. My second tattoo came from there. An elderly woman gave me a permanent henna tattoo of an ivy chain wrapping around my left ankle.

  My funds were starting to get low but I figured I still had enough to get to Japan. When I got there I was amazed at the welcoming I got. I spent a lot of time there. Apparently a young white girl willing to take nude pictures and be naked on camera is a great commodity. I managed to make enough money to buy my next plane ticket and my third tattoo, two koi fish swimming over my right hip and thigh.

  My final trip before returning home was to Australia. I think I spent most of my travel funds on sun block because it was sunny. Then native people were so much fun and really knew how to live. We partied all night then went exploring all day.

  Then I went home and figured I had to actually get some type of a job if I wanted to keep traveling. I had made a promise to my sixteen year old self that I would never fit into that hetero-normative box with that poodle skirt, two and a half children, a dog, and a white picket fence. But, when you’re faced with the aggressive streets of the city or a decently paying corporate job, you have to make a decision.

  I made mine and I’ve hated it, but I’ve at least been able to eat and pay for my rent. Instead of wrapping sarongs or scarves around my chest I now seal away the girls behind a padded bar, button-up starched shirt, and a suit jacket. Once I wore little shorts or flowing skirts, now I cover it all with slacks or modest business skirts. My hair was either flowing freely or braided, now it’s pinned up in a bun.

  Sometimes I think about throwing my keyboard across the room, pulling the pins out of my hair so it flows like a wild woman’s, ripping off my jacket, and just walking out the doors. I know I can’t really do that, but it’s nice to think about.

  My life has become so scheduled that I feel like everything is a chore. I hardly go out with my friends, but when I do I might take just a bit too far. Although, they don’t really seem to mind because some of them usually end up in my bed.

  I‘ve done a decent job of keeping my personal life separate from my work life. The people I know at work don’t even know I have tattoos. They know I have traveled because I decorated my cubicle with postcards I collected and pictures I took.

  When work gets slow and I have nothing better to do, I look at travel sites and imagine myself traveling again. I loved the people in the local hostels that I got to meet. The locals that I interacted with were amazing people and just as free-spirited as me.

  In addition to the daydreams of just storming out of the office, I think about what it would be like to join a commune out in nature with free-loving people. A life as a hippie wouldn’t be too bad I think. Being in a group of positive people that have nothing but praise and love in their hearts and souls seems like a dream come true after being stuck in this place for so long.

  I’ve made a decent amount of money now. Maybe I could live in a commune for a while or I could travel to the other places I have yet to go. I could add to my inked canvas in new and interesting ways. But I guess that’s all just wishful thinking. The concrete jungle has become my roost and I’m kind of stuck here.

  Someday I’ll get out of my rut and escape. Someday.

  Chapter 2

  Wednesday, the day the office humorously calls “hump day”. Little do they know that to me “hump day” has a whole other meaning. They joke about it with me in front of the water cooler and near the coffee pot. I laugh casually but never talk about my inside jokes.

  Back at my desk I sit there and fidget uncomfortably with my pumps. I never much liked heels, but I don’t have much choice. Corporate policy mandates that women have to wear certain shoes even if the men can wear whatever they want. My manicured nails tap the keys and sound simply unnatural to me. Acrylic feels unnatural jutting off the tips of my fingers.

  Half of the office has already left for lunch so my area is rather quiet and no one notices me slacking off. I spin in my chair to look at the pictures tacked up on my cubicle walls. I have pictures of the Cuban beaches and large bundles of drying tobacco leaves. There are pictures of wild looking birds, playful monkeys, and exotic fish. I’m not in a lot of my pictures but the ones I am in, I look wild and happy with micro-braided blonde hair. The postcards are rather tattered since they were carried around in my luggage for so long but that means they are well-loved.

  I spin back around and open the drawer in my desk that is dedicated to snacks. Rummaging through it I find it is rather low. I only have about two little chip bags, one candy bar, and maybe a handful of nuts left. I look up at the clock and count how long until my lunch break; twenty minutes. I can wait.

  Back to tapping the keys on my computer and filling out the various forms t
o have this thing sent to that department. It’s a rather boring job but they hired me to do it, so I guess it has to get done.

  I glance at the clock on my screen; five minutes. They won’t notice if I leave a little early.

  I grab my purse and jacket then walk over to the elevator. Our building shares a wall with the mall so I can just pop over to walk around, get food in the food court, and take advantage of the little Japanese snack shop. The elevator dings, notifying me that it has reached the bottom floor so I step out.

  The walk is rather quick. All I have to do is leave the building, turn right, and go through the mall doors. From there I can go upstairs to the food court or across the way to the snack shop. Since I know my drawer is almost empty, I opt for the snack shop.

  The little store is decorated with little Japanese tchotchkes like cats, chibi cartoon characters, and intricate chopsticks. I wander through the aisles, taking my time to look at everything. I grab a few chocolate things, some cookies, and some crisps that have a wonderful shrimp flavor.

  The lady at the counter knows me and greets me as usual.

  “Eva, you back arready?”

  “Hi, Yumi. Yeah I’m back.”

  “Tell you boss come get more snacks for office. They like him better.”

  I laugh as does she.

  She rings me up and pats me on the shoulder with a big smile. She’s always so happy and I think it’s because she is doing something she enjoys doing. In my years of talking with Yumi, she has told me that she came to the United States with her husband over fifty years ago. She had three children who are all married now. Her oldest son wanted to give her something to do after her husband died and she wanted to bring Japan here.

  So he pays the rent for her little shop and she runs it. She is so happy doing it and loves sharing her culture with us, even if it is just in a weird food and tacky knick-knacks sort of way.

  After slinging my bag of snacks into the crook of my elbow I decide to wander around and look at all the shops. I stop by the clothing store where I use to shop, back when I wore nothing but sandals, flowing skirts, and scarves. I sometimes enjoy wandering through there and mentally picking out my next traveling outfit. They have their usual sale on the clothes I want. My eyes scan to the next store, which is where I actually shop, and all I see is women’s business suits and pencil skirts.

  Standing here between the two stores is like a brief history of my life; fun and free then boring and business. I walk into the business store and wander to the back where they keep their clearance rack. Why should I spend seventy dollars on a suit jacket when I can get it from the same store for thirty a few weeks later? This has been my money saving strategy and it usually works.

  As I slide the hangers, fingering through the clothes, I look up and look across the way at another store. The pictures in the windows are of couples sitting on white, sandy beaches, children playing on water slides, and silhouettes of birds flying over an ocean sunset. I feel the pit in my stomach that is my slowly dying wanderlust.

  The cashier waves at me with a smile and expresses her hope that I will return as I leave the store. I will return, eventually. I step up to the window and stare at all the picturesque views of far off places. I have never been to Africa and they have a package that includes air fare, hotel, and a jeep safari. I have never been to Europe either. They have a package that would take me to England, France, and Spain.

  I look longingly at the offers and wish I could go. The little wanderlust inside me cries silently. My vision and other sense almost go full tunnel vision on the storefront. So much so that it takes almost a full forty seconds before I realize there is an alarm going off from the store next to me.

  The alarm blares and echoes through the mall. I notice that the store next to me is a jewelry store and automatically think the worst. It must be a jewel thief with a big gun that is going to stop at nothing to get the jewels!

  Without another thought I turn on my heels and bolt for the exit. The floor is so slick that I almost lose my footing a few times. Other people are fleeing as well, so I guess I made the right choice.

  Chapter 3

  I’m only a few feet from the doorway and I can hear shouting behind me. I hope that the gun doesn’t go off. I don’t know what I’d do if that happened. Do you fall on the floor when that happens or keep running?

  I reach out and my fingertips brush the handle of the door as a large, muscular person crashes into me. I scream out, hoping that someone will help me. The person, probably a man by the sheer strength, is grabbing at my wrists.

  When I moved to the city I took a brief three-session self-defense class and they taught us to scream and that every part of the body is a weapon. I flailed, thrusting my knees into their sides and trying to push them off with my feet. I had already lost one shoe and when that foot slid down their side I could feel a hefty belt on their hips.

  After a few more attempts I finally realized that it was a mall security guard who was trying to restrain me. He was trying to say probably calming things to me but I could barely hear him over the alarm and my own screaming. It was only when he managed to grab both my wrists and slap a pair of cold, metal handcuffs on them that I realized what was happening.

  Once the made-up imminent danger was past my screaming changes. I go from, “No! Please don’t hurt me!” right to “What’s happening?! I didn’t do anything!”

  He doesn’t seem to care. He gets me to my feet and I kick off my other pump. A second officer collects my shoes, purse, and bag of Japanese goodies that had been sprawled across the floor in the tussle.

  They get my hands behind my back and adjust the cuffs accordingly. I keep begging and pleading with them that I don’t know why they are arresting me. They continue to be stoic and silent. I can hear some of the onlookers whispering but I can’t make out their words.

  I begin to think of what they would be saying.

  “What did she do? Did she rob the store?”

  “Wasn’t it a man? It couldn’t be her.”

  I hope the latter is happening somewhere but I can’t tell.

  They escort me into a part of the mall that I didn’t even know existed. Back down a hallway past the hidden restrooms, I’m led through a locked doorway into a small room with some chairs, desks, and computer monitors. Another door leads to a small room with a few chairs and one table. They sit me in the chair, set my things on another, and leave me in there.

  I look around the room. It is very dull, very boring. I can’t hear them on the other side of the door. I’ve never been in this situation. Despite the multitude of rallies that I have been to, in my own country as well as others, I have never been arrested. Sure a few times we were threatened with pepper spray but nothing ever happened.

  The only times that I have been in handcuffs were much more fun than this. I can hear the clock ticking and each little tick echoes through the room making me feel like it is slowly judging me for something that I haven’t done. Tick tock. I can feel the judgement.

  Tears start welling up in my eyes. My feet are cold and this carpet is rough under my stockinged toes. My arms are pulled behind me so I can’t even sit straight. I watch a few tears trickle down my nose and splash down onto the table.

  The tackling officer opens the door holding a tiny paper cup. He pulls up a chair across the table from me and slides me the cup. It is a nice offer but with my hand pinned behind me it’s a little taunting. I sniffle as the tears keep falling. I can’t help it. I’m scared and frustrated and I don’t even know why I’m here in the first place.

  “What’s your name?”

  “What?” I look up at him. My mascara and eyeliner are starting to streak down my face.

  “Your name. What is it?”

  “Why do you need my name?! What am I doing here?”

  He picks up a small blue folder and leafs through a few pages. “Just fifteen minutes ago the alarm from the jewelry store was triggered by the owner. Witnesses say the thief was a
‘blonde woman all in black’.” He pauses and looks at me as though sizing up another common thug.

  I look down and notice that today I happened to grab my black slacks and black suit jacket. And, of course, I have blonde hair and I’m a woman. “You think I robbed the store?”

  “You fit the description ma’am.”

  “I didn’t do it! My name is Eva Jones, I work in the office building next door, and I came here on my lunch break to get snacks! Look! Look in my shopping bag!” I tilted my head in that direction. “There’s chips and cookies not jewels.”

  He didn’t seem to believe me. He jotted something down into his little file and got up. Before he left he turned back to look at me, “You can just wait here then until the police show up.”

  “I didn’t do it!” I scream after him with tears of both fear and anger streaming down my face.

  The door is shut and I am left in the tiny room alone with the judgmental clock. After a few minutes I manage to get my crying under control but now my eyes are watering for a whole different reason. When mascara and eye liner run from tears, it stings. My hands are stuck so I’m left looking like an idiot trying to wipe my eyes on the shoulders of my jacket.

  Chapter 4

  Sometime later, I don’t really know how long, the door to the room opens again and there are two officers standing in the doorway. One that seems like he is fresh out of the academy and on his first call and one that is rather cute for an authority figure. I can’t help but stare at him. He fills that uniform in all the right places.