by S. Poirier
Leaning in just a breath away from my body he answers my question. “I’m protecting you because I know that you are not a bad person. Badass, yes. But bad? No.” I can feel his breath against my lips as he speaks. My own breathing has picked up and as my chest rises and falls in quick secession it brushes against his hard pecs. “In my line of work bad people die, and since you’re not a bad person I won’t let you die.”
I slowly lick my lips and say in a whisper, “Okay.” Suddenly I don’t care who he works for or why he feels the need to protect me. All I care about is the fact that the tension between us seems to finally be coming to a head. All I can concentrate on is how close our bodies are. How close his lips are to mine. If I want to I could lick his mouth without removing my head from the door it’s pressed against. And oh my God I want to.
Catch tilts his head and I think maybe he’s going to kiss me, but then he places his hand over my mouth. My first reaction is to bite him, but he puts a finger to his lips. He tilts his head again. That’s when I realize that he’s listening.
I don’t hear anything. Was this guy also part dog?
He takes my hand and starts pulling me towards the bedroom turning off every light on our way. The moment we enter his room he knocks me to the floor and crawls over to the bench under the window. He reaches around the back and the side panel flips open. Catch then opens up the floor and motions for me to get in.
I shake my head and dive for my purse.
“Max, get your ass in there now,” he hisses through the dark. I stick my hand in the side pouch, curling my fingers around the memory stick I pull it out and slip it into my pocket. The door leading out to the garage busts open, the sound of splintering wood echoes throughout the building. “Max, for fucks sake, now.”
As fast as my knees and hands can carry me I crawl over to the hole. Catch puts his hand on my ass, not giving me a moment to hesitate, and pushes me down into the darkness.
I roll to my back and watch as he lowers himself down, straddling my hips. He shuts the side panel on the bench closed and then lays himself on top of me as he closes the floor board.
Catch did not make this hidey hole big enough for more than one person to comfortably fit in. Every inch of his body is flush with mine. I can feel every muscle pressing against my soft flesh. He smells every bit man, spicy and masculine.
The darkness surrounds us and I’m unable to see anything. There’s a musty, damp smell, and I can’t move. It takes every bit of self-control not to completely freak out from being so closed in. I feel trapped and completely helpless.
My breathing quickens as my heart starts to race. My jaw tenses as I fight against the urge to keep my teeth from chattering. Heights and closed in spaces are two things that I don’t handle very well.
Catch senses my discomfort. “Max, I need you to calm down. You’re safe.” My muscles relax slightly and my breathing starts to slow. Normally, if a man tells me to ‘calm down’ he would taste my knuckles. But coming from Catch I believe him. His words comfort me. So, instead of concentrating on the panic that’s fighting its way to the surface I concentrate on him instead.
I hear a clicking sound and a little beam of light shines from the end of what looks like a pen. Catch puts the pen light in his mouth and uses his free hand to flip down another compartment. He jerks something out and tells me to pull it up over his back. It’s heavy in weight and I’m assuming it’s a bulletproof vest. As he keeps pulling things out I turn my head so we are cheek to cheek, the scruff on his chin rubbing against my smooth skin. I ignore the tingly feelings it’s causing and instead watch what he’s doing. With the little bit of light I can see numerous guns.
“Take this,” he says as he puts the cold metal in my hand. It’s heavy, a Glock, maybe a forty caliber. “The safety is off. If someone opens that hatch start shooting.” We hear the pounding of footsteps and muffled voices enter the room. Catch put his elbows down to hold some of his weight off of me as we quiet and listen.
As each man speaks I can hear Catch counting the different voices. He stops at three.
Hugging my arms around him I rest the gun and my hand on his back. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest. His breathing is rapid. Putting his head down I can feel his lips touch my neck. Not kissing me, just resting there.
A loud thump sounds against the window seat, and then someone says, “Sir, this is hollow.” Another loud thump sounds and I feel a fine sheen of sweat break out across my forehead.
“Catch,” I whisper against his shoulder.
I feel his lips brush against my ear. “If someone opens that floor you have to start shooting. Do you think you can see over my shoulder?”
I bring my free hand up and run it across his tight shoulder so I can better gauge where it is. “Yes,” I whisper.
There is a loud crash and the sound of debris falling on the floor directly over us. I hold my breath and wait as they walk over the door directly above us. Someone says, “Sir, they’re not in here.” Next we hear someone yell, “Okay, no one’s here. Let’s move out.”
I let out the breath I was holding as I listen to the sound of feet moving out of the bedroom and into the front of the warehouse. We stay in that hole for a good fifteen minutes until Catch hits a button and the floor pops open. He climbs out and then helps me up by my hands. I can feel my shirt sticking to my back with sweat. When I look up at Catch beads of sweat are rolling down the sides of his face. That hole was hot, in more ways than one.
He reaches down in the hole and starts laying guns on the floor. Then he tosses the bullet proof vest out, it lands on the floor with a thud. As he keeps digging around I look around the room. It’s trashed. Drawers pulled out, clothes all over the place. The mattress and pillows are ripped open, my purse and bags dumped out. All of my personal items are strewn throughout the mess.
My first thought goes immediately to my gun. I leave Catch to whatever he is doing and start digging for it. I’m throwing stuff over my head and rushing around frantically trying to find it. I don’t realize that I’m starting to panic until two strong hands grab my shoulders. I spin around and swing twice. He dodges my fist with ease and grabs my wrists twisting them behind my back, so my chest is pressed tightly against his.
I’m taking in big gulps of air. “Let go,” I say through clenched teeth. He narrows his eyes at me as I try twisting my wrist against his thumbs. “I need to find my gun. Catch, it was a gift.” My voice shakes and I realize that I’m starting to lose a little of myself. I’m losing the little bit of control I still have and I don’t like that feeling.
“Calm down.” There are those words again, and instantly I stop fighting him, and allow myself to relax some. “I don’t see why they would take it. I’ll help you find it, but Max, we have to leave soon.” I nod as he lets go of my hands. “Where did you have it last?”
“It was under the pillow,” I reply while pointing to the side of the bed it was on. He slides his big hands under the edge of the bed and shifts it away from the wall. He hands me his little pen light and I walk over to look behind the headboard. Sure enough there it is on the floor peeking out from under a pile of feathers. I scoop it up. “Oh, thank God.” I turn to face him. “How did you know?”
“I figured they might have tilted the mattress to look under it,” he replies with a shrug as he looks around his wrecked room. Suddenly I feel horrible. This would not have happened if he hadn’t brought me here.
“Hey, I…this is all my….”
He puts his hand up cutting me off. “This is not your fault. I was the one who chose not to walk away.” His voice took on a soft reassuring tone. “We have to get out of here.” Running both hands through his hair he walks over to the closet. He remerges with a duffle bag and starts putting the guns and other weapons in it.
I hurry over to my bags and start stuffing my clothes into them. When I go to leave out of the room Catch grabs my arm. “Don’t go out there.” I don’t argue. I only nod and finish packin
g my clothes.
We never turn on the lights, only using his pen light if needed. He explains that we can’t move around his place too much because they more than likely have people watching over the building.
“Well, how are we supposed to get out of here?” I ask as I sling my bags over my shoulder.
He smirks. “I have another trick up my sleeve.” Catch walks over to his closet and in the dark I can just make out the motion of his finger curling, beckoning me to come with him. I follow him into the closet and to my complete surprise the back wall opens. He flips on a light and we step into another garage.
“Jesus! How big is this place?” I ask while I stare at the black Jeep. “And do you own two of the same vehicle?”
He throws his head back and chuckles. “It was a big warehouse that was to be condemned. I got it for a steal and fixed it up. And no, I moved the Jeep to this garage just in case we needed to get out of here in a hurry.”
“So, not only can you fight, ride a motorcycle, and shoot a gun, but you can also predict the future?” I arch an eyebrow at him.
He smiles as he opens the back of the jeep. “No, I just know how they work.”
I eyed him. “They? Exactly who are they?”
Catch tosses the bag he packed into the back and then takes mine from my shoulder. “You tell me your secret and I’ll tell you mine.”
I shake my head, lift myself into the front seat, and wait while he finishes loading the jeep.
We pull out onto another road that is on the other side of the warehouse than we pulled into when he first brought me here. A few men dressed in black are lingering around the building. I assumed they are the ones watching for us, so I keep my focus on Catch. I was too worried that I might give us away if I looked anywhere but at him. Even when he assured me that the windows were tinted and they couldn’t see into the vehicle.
“Where are we going?” I ask after we have driven a good ten minutes.
“We may need to leave the country. You obviously have something that they don’t want you to have.” My hand grips the flash stick in my pocket. “I have a friend that can get us fake ID’s and fake passports. We’re going to see him first.”
While we are stopped at a red light he takes his cellphone out and sends a text. Then he stretches his arm over the back of the passenger seat. “If you won’t tell me what you know about the client who hired us then can you at least tell me how you learned to be such a hard ass?”
June is the only person who knows my past, the fact that my parents didn’t want me and that I was bounced from foster home to foster home. I was hardly a month old when I entered the system, but with my parents’ background, people weren’t too eager to consider me for adoption. I mean who the hell wants a baby that was born with a drug addiction, still suffering from withdrawal, and could possibly have future issues?
Being a ginger, and the notorious ‘drug baby’ of the group, I was bullied often. Girls were mean even if we were only ten at the time. The second home I was moved to the boys outnumbered the girls, but they also took pleasure in making me cry. My background wasn’t secret among the other kids, and when one of the boys said something about my ‘drug head’ parents, I snapped. I wrestled the boy to the ground, and started pulling out clumps of his hair. Our foster parents had to bring him to have his head shaved to correct the damage I had done.
From that moment on I was different, withdrawn. After that incident my foster parents wanted me out of their house. They were super religious and had somehow convinced themselves that I was possessed. After many therapy sessions and meetings with a priest, they sent us home with the answers that my foster parents weren’t pleased with. I was fine, normal. It didn’t matter what anyone said though. If they didn’t say that I was indeed possessed they weren’t happy. The only other option they had was to send me away. I didn’t understand it then, but when I grew up and thought back on the whole ordeal I realized how jacked up those people were.
Catch tugs on a piece of my hair bringing me back to the present. “Hey, Max, if you don’t want to talk about it…”
I take a deep breath deciding that I don’t have to tell him the whole truth, just the part about how and why I started fighting. “The third foster home I was placed in, when I was fourteen, one of the boys tried raping me. He was seventeen, so he was sent to a juvenile detention center and I was moved to another home. I made a few guy friends, I told them what happened, and they taught me how to fight,” I say with a shrug. “One of them grew up to be a MMA fighter, so I had some pretty decent training for about three years.” I smile remembering Joey with his buzzed blond hair and biceps hard as rocks. He was my very first crush. “He never went easy on me. I even ended up with a broken nose once while sparring with him.” I laughed at the memory. “You should have seen his face. He freaked out. Anyway, as far as the whole gun thing, my foster parent, Jim, used to take me shooting. He gave me the gun as a going away gift because he was concerned for my safety.”
“Jesus, Max,” Catch breathes. He reacts the exact way I expect him too, and that’s why I don’t like talking to people about my past.
I twist in my seat and point my finger at him. “Don’t you freaking feel sorry for me. No one has ever felt sorry for me and I’m not about to start allowing it to happen now. I did what I had to do to survive. I deal with all of this just fine. It’s what I’ve always done and will continue to do.” Catch moves his hand back to the steering wheel as I turn straight in my seat and stare out the front window.
I probably shouldn’t have snapped at him. It was an innocent question because he was only trying to get to know me. I’m just not accustomed to anyone feeling sorry for me. It took a long time to let June in, and now I’ve only spent a week with this stranger and I’m telling him things that I don’t tell anyone.
7
Max
I hadn’t realized I fell asleep until I woke up with a horrible crick in my neck. Rolling my head from side to side I look around at my surroundings, and have no idea where we are. Nothing looks familiar.
Catch is humming along to the song on the radio, some rock song from the seventies.
“How long have I been sleeping?” I ask as I look at the clock on the dashboard. “Over three hours,” I blurt when I see that it’s almost midnight. “Where the hell are we?”
“Roanoke, Virginia,” Catch replies with a yawn.
“Exactly where does this friend live?”
“New Orleans.”
“Are you serious? Jesus, Catch, you don’t have friends who live closer?”
He yawns again. “Not if I want the best, and someone I trust one hundred percent.” Catch pulls into a parking lot of a hotel close to the interstate. “We’ll stay here for the night. I’ll get a room with two beds.”
“I can drive, you know?”
He shakes his head. “We aren’t in any hurry. Snitch is away on business.”
“Snitch?” I raise a brow at him.
Catch opens his door and steps out of the jeep. He takes a moment to stretch, and I take a moment to watch. The view is always nice when he’s around. “Stay here. I’ll come get you when I’m done checking in. And no, his parent’s weren’t high.” I huff out a small laugh as he hits the locking mechanism and then closes the door.
I watch as Catch jogs across the parking lot and into the front office. His hair lightly bounces on the top of his head as he swings his arms lightly at his sides. The dark sweater and jeans he’s wearing makes him seem like nothing more than a shadow. Even through the dark I can see the sex oozing off of him. Crossing my legs I will the growing tension between my thighs to subside. I bring my hand up and start twisting a piece of my hair. I should have asked for a separate room.
A few minutes later the door locks click open as he rushes back across the parking lot. Catch yanks the door open and takes a tight hold of my upper arm. My heart launches into my throat as my fists ball at my sides. When someone grabs me with such intensity my first reac
tion has always been to start swinging, especially if it’s a man, but I don’t want to hit Catch.
Catch notices my reaction but never loosens his grip. He isn’t scared of me, and wow, that’s such a turn on.
“You need to get inside, right now,” he says as he guides me out of the jeep. There’s urgency in his step and I have to jog to keep up with his long strides. “I’ll come back out and get your bag later.”
“What’s going on?” I ask as we start up the stairs.
“There’s a missing person’s photo of you at the front desk, Max,” he says through gritted teeth. His grip on my arm tightens slightly as he pushes the keycard into the door. When it clicks open he shoves me inside and closes and locks the door behind us. “Did you lie to me? If you were in foster care your whole life then why has someone reported you missing?”
The room is dark and I’m unable to see his face, but judging by the edge of his voice he is angry. So, I take a step back. But he only follows me, his broad shoulders blocking the little sliver of light peeking through the closed curtains. I take another big step back and my knees hit the edge of the bed. I’m trapped, there’s no way I’m getting around him.
“Max, answer me. Dammit. Did you lie to me?” He growls as he takes one more step completely invading almost all of my personal space. I’m scared of him, but not because of the aggressive nature he is exhibiting, but because I want him close. I’ve been with men before but have never allowed them to get close to my heart. They were physical attractions and nothing more. They were gone before sunrise, and that was the way I liked it. With Catch it’s different. The physical attraction is there with Catch, but underneath is something deeper, and it’s starting to bubble its way to the surface. My heart is still protected, but with him I’m worried that he may break through.
I want his hands on me. I want his mouth on me. I want—no need—to feel him against me, inside me. Not just because of my crazy sex deprived body, but because he is making me feel raw emotions, things that I have never felt before. Yeah, they are scaring the hell out of me, but at the same time it’s a rush very similar to being high.