by J. C. Cliff
“They should, I’ve made it worth their while to accommodate me,” I state frankly.
Jared scratches his head. “Yeah, especially with the rate your accommodating them. I think it would’ve been cheaper had you bought out the company.”
“Not a bad idea. I still might just do that.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t already moved in with the CEO of the company so you could personally assist him in expediting your requests,” he taunts, trying to make light of the demands I’ve placed on this man’s company. It’s true; I have been a brutal pain in their ass every minute of every day. I’m sure the company is working with expediency just to get rid of my hounding ass.
“Damn, Travis,” I mumble, “what the hell is he doing?” I ask Jared, looking him straight in the eyes. “I still can’t figure out what in the Hell would’ve had Travis leaving New York City on a red eye flight, and then decide to come back here in the middle of the night, doing what he did. Travis is a stealthy son-of-a-bitch, and he would have thought this out with better precision than what he did. The plan Travis executed wasn’t his style.” I shake my head, pondering the thought for the hundredth time. “The methods and strategy he used was a little too haphazard for his liking; it’s almost as if his decision was an impromptu one,” I say, cocking my head to the side, and eyeing Jared with speculation.
“Nick, I seriously don’t know anything. You know how hard it is to get a read on Travis. He’s a closed-off island, unto himself. I bet God himself couldn’t figure out what goes on in that mind of his.”
I have interrogated Jared a thousand times about this very topic, and frustratingly enough, it’s the same answer every damn time; nobody knows jack-shit. Every time Jared tells me he knows nothing, he gets this sheepish look on his face, and that uncomfortable exhibitionism right there tells me something is off, but he continually denies knowing anything.
I take a step forward and poke my index finger into his chest with enough force to make him stumble back a step, and speak in a threatening tone, “If I find out you know something and you’re withholding important information from me, I will personally snap your neck…and that is not a threat. I don’t care if you are the inventor of Blyss.” I point back to myself using my thumb in gesture. “I’m the top dog here. I’m the one in control, and everyone here is replaceable, including you.”
Jared swipes at a few hairs which have fallen in his eyes, pushing his bangs off to the side of his face, a notorious signal he’s nervous. It’s always been his telltale sign, and I can’t tell if it’s my edginess making him this way, or if he truly knows something and is hiding it. I have to give him the benefit of the doubt that it’s my constant state of vexation keeping him on edge. I know he can’t handle the cutthroat side of this business; he would do anything to avoid it because he has too soft a heart.
Justin erupts into the room at break neck speed, stumbling over a broken chair. His eyes are wide and he’s breathing heavily. Both Jared and I look at him in confusion. “Nick,” he utters on a winded breath, “Mitchell says he has acquired a serious lead, and to get ready to assemble some men. If all works out, you should have her back in a couple days.”
~Travis~
By the time I get Jules back to the cabin, she’s exhausted. I might have pushed her too far today, but the sooner she gets trained, and the faster I can get her to trust me, the better it will be for both of us. The next step is getting away from the cabin, leaving with new identities. I’m going to have to get creative with how I can convince her to take the next logical step, especially since I’m playing against time and her memory. I know Grant would have my ass if he knew what stresses I put her under today. He wanted her to stay relaxed and incur the least amount of stress possible while she recovers from her memory loss, but I’m under the gun myself. I don’t have that kind of time to play with.
Even when we leave here, it’s imperative she becomes proficient in everything I’m teaching her, because God forbid if I do become defenseless in a situation and unable to help her, she has to be able to defend herself.
The things Justin said to me just before he passed out have been on my mind like a record player stuck on repeat. I have no doubt Nick has his ways of finding us, but he would be foolish to think I don’t have my defenses up and systems in place, ready to strike back.
Jules lets out a long, loud yawn, and I ask as I affectionately rub her back, “Can I fix you some lunch before you take a nap?” She stretches out her arms, reaching toward the ceiling, and yawns again, shaking her head.
“No, thank you,” she responds sleepily and slumps her body into my broad chest. “Maybe when I wake up I’ll get something to eat, but right now, I just want to lie down.”
“Are you sore or in pain anywhere?” I ask concerned, afraid I pushed her past her threshold.
“No, really, I’m fine, just sleepy,” she reassures me and gives me a small smile.
I nod and lean down to scoop her up into my arms. Not expecting to be quickly swept off her feet, she squeals. “Travis, I can walk, you know.”
I give her a quick peck on her lips and grin. “I know you can walk, but why can’t I spoil my woman, huh?”
She snuggles into my chest and wraps her arms around my neck. “Well, alrighty then. Spoil me.”
As I walk to my bedroom, I growl into her neck, breathing in her strawberry-scented hair and whispering in her ear, “I would love nothing more than to do just that, but I don’t think you’re up for my kind of spoiling right now.” I nip her earlobe and she gasps softly in response. She feels so good in my arms; I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of her.
Once I get her into my bed, tucking her in, I pointedly tell her, “I want you to be a permanent fixture in my bed from now on. I’ll move your clothes in here for you.” I watch as she sheepishly looks away. I cock my head to the side. “What’s the matter? Don’t you want to?”
Coyly, she looks out from under her long lashes at me. “Are you sure? I mean, isn’t this moving too fast, Travis?”
I sit down beside her and tuck a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s not fast enough in my book, sweetheart.” I look into her soft blue eyes with sincerity and give her a grin. “Please, stay here with me. I want you to.”
She nods her head while a small smile forms at the corners of her mouth. “Okay, but if you snore, I’m outta here.”
I pretend to take offense at her comment, placing my hand over my heart. “Me? You’re the one who saws logs. I toss and turn all night you’re so loud.”
“Stop it.” She playfully swats at my chest. “I do not.”
I lean in to kiss her forehead. “Jules, I want to show you something before you go to sleep.” I lean over her, move the decorative pillows aside, and reach into the headboard. “I had this cubbyhole custom-made into the headboard. I keep a gun hidden behind these pillows.”
She shifts, twisting her body onto her side to have a look at what I’m showing her. I pull out the same style Sig she worked with today.
“Oh, my gosh, Travis, how many secret hiding places do you have!” she exclaims.
“Enough to keep us alive; one can never be too careful.”
“No, I guess not, especially after the things you showed me today. I suppose you have a valid point.”
“This is the same type of gun you practiced with earlier, and it stays locked and cocked. All you have to do is take the safety off and pull the trigger.”
She closes her eyes while shaking her head, letting out a long sigh. “I’m not even going to ask.”
I grin ruefully as I lean down to kiss her lips. “Now you’re learning. Get some rest, and I’ll have lunch made for you by the time you wake up.”
She moves her arms out from underneath the covers, stretching out as she yawns again, making her eyes bleary. “Thank you, Travis. I would appreciate that,” she says sleepily.
I stifle my own yawn and shake my head, blinking my eyes several times to avoi
d getting lethargic. “Would you tell me the truth if you weren’t okay otherwise?”
“Yes, I would. Really, don’t worry; I’m fine. I just need a little nap,” she reassures me with a sluggish smile.
“All right, baby, get some rest. I have a few things to get done anyway.”
She nods her head and rolls over to snuggle up under the comforter. I quietly step away and shut her bedroom door behind me. I really hated having to push her like this today, but somehow I feel the clock ticking, and not only do I want to be prepared, but I want her to be as well. After making some lunch, I eat mine and set hers aside, wrapping it up and putting it in the refrigerator to keep until she wakes. Then I take off to the upstairs computer room to begin some work and make a few phone calls.
Jules has been here with me for a little over a week now with no sign of her memory returning. I’m constantly on guard for when Julianna’s memory returns too, either in fragments or in its entirety. I’m not sure how one can diplomatically handle that particular can of worms, when she remembers me as the criminalistics bastard I really am.
As I make my way back from checking the perimeter of the cabin’s property for any signs of intrusion, I pull my 4-wheeler up beside the front porch and shut the engine down. I dismount, putting the ignition keys in my front pocket, and I can’t help but reflect back over the past month. The entire quagmire of quandaries I’ve put us in always seems to place me in a dark mood, not to mention the level of guilt I feel for placing Julianna in one predicament after another, but if it weren’t me, it would be Nick. I keep having to tell myself, I’m the better of the two evils, and I’m not the one who’s mostly responsible for her difficult situation.
I’ve worked hard at keeping consistent with her training. I’ve also taken all of Grant’s suggestions to heart, using hand signals along with being repetitive. I sure as hell hope it pays off. We’ve made a daily trek out to the bunker, so she can get to it almost blindfolded. I’ve even had her practice pulling the gun from the cubby hole behind our bed, pretending there’s an intruder. I need to keep her on her toes so she can constantly keep her guard up and be on the lookout.
I have every reason to believe I have more than one faction of men after me. There’s no way in hell I can let Jules find this out either. It’s bad enough she thinks she has to defend herself against one mob. I’ve already called some of my contacts and reinforcements to help me out. Stryker has even helped me put the wheels in motion, going through certain channels to change our identities and acquire passports.
It’s been great getting to know the real Jules, without her being stressed and aware of her captivity. I pray to God she’s starting to fall in love with me, so at least when her memory comes back she’ll maybe find it in her heart to forgive me for being the deceptive bastard I am. I expect her to hold a grudge for a while, but eventually, when she sees how much I care for her, she’ll have to pardon the past. She’s been very accepting of her circumstances lately. She has even stopped questioning everything, and takes whatever I throw her way with a grain of salt. It’s odd, but when I think back to the first day I showed her the bunker, I’d felt something change within her. I don’t know what she amended in her head that day, but I can tell she decided to put all of her trust in me.
I take in a deep breath, and then let out a heavy sigh, needing a moment to school my features and recompose my thoughts before facing her. I’m so sick of putting on false fronts and having to conceal my expressions of culpability, when all I want to do is just be real with her.
As I climb the few steps of the cabin’s porch, I hear loud music emanating from underneath the cabin’s front door and grin. I can almost see the glass window vibrating in the casing of the door, and when I grab the handle and open it, I’m accosted by a thousand decibels of music.
God, I love a happy and carefree Jules. This entire time at the cabin has been nothing short of experiencing heaven, except for the gluten-free shit. If only it could be this good from this day forward, with no lies, no secrets, and no dark past to complicate our future. I would be so happy if it were just the two of us living harmoniously, without all the interference from the outside world and Nick’s men chasing us down.
Since the music is so loud, I don’t need to be quiet as I sneak down the hallway. I can hear her singing, and I want to catch a glimpse of her unhindered. She has an old eighties song blaring through the speakers, and when I reach the kitchen doorway, I raise my brow as it seems I’ll be getting a full show. I lean on the doorframe as I hang back to spy, taking in the sight before me. Jules has on blue rubber gloves, which are way too big for her little hands, and she’s got a huge mess in the kitchen from baking God-knows-what. She’s singing into a rubber spatula as if she’s the lead singer of Def Leppard.
She’s belting out the lyrics to “Animal” totally off-key as she grabs a second spatula, which serves as a set of drumsticks. She’s working hard at giving Rick Allen a run for his money by pounding away to the drumbeats on the kitchen countertop.
I don’t want to give myself away—this is too priceless—so I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from busting out laughing. When the drum solo stops and the chorus comes back in, she resumes her front stage singing position. With her legs spread wide apart and knees bent, she arches her body backwards while singing up toward the ceiling with her spatula microphone. Her legs move like Elvis Presley’s as she works the melody out of her lungs.
I clutch my stomach, almost dropping to my knees in a fit of silent hysteria as she belts out the chorus line: “An-an-an-an-animal…gonna take your love ’n run…” Then the guitar solo kicks in, which is my favorite part. She keeps pace with the rhythm on her makeshift set of strings, and I can’t contain myself any longer. A much-compressed guffaw blasts out of my diaphragm, and it must be loud enough to be heard over the deafening music, because she twirls around and squeals with wide, horrified eyes when she catches sight of me. Her blue hands fly up in the air as she lets go of the spatulas, slinging batter remnants toward the ceiling.
I think her little heart is beating a mile a minute, because she’s got her hand tightly pressed to her chest as she starts yelling at me over the loud music. “Oh, my God, Travis! You scared the livin’ shit outta me.”
I’m full-on laughing now, and I can’t help it. I’m trying desperately to catch my breath while clutching my stomach from the pains of merriment. Once she shuts off the music, she turns around to fuss at me some more. “It’s totally not funny, Trav! You really scared the crap outta me!”
She’s just so damn cute with her face flushed red from being totally busted, while one of her oversized blue gloves rests on her hip and the other pointing a floppy blue finger at me in chastisement. Now that the initial shock of my presence is over, she must realize just how silly she’s been, because an embarrassed grin starts playing over her lips. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, Travis Jackson! Totally uncool.”
She looks at me shyly through her long eyelashes, like a little kid who got caught red-handed stealing cookies before dinner. She’s still breathing heavily from the emotional high of being startled.
“Aw, Jules, c’mere, baby. You’re just embarrassed you got caught playing rock star.” I hold out my arms for her to come to me, and she slowly begins to walk toward me with trepidation, as she’s still unsettled. I can’t contain my sniggering yet as I tug on her hand and pull her into my arms. I embrace her warmly as she snuggles her face into my chest, hiding her shame.
I begin stroking the back of her hair with one hand while resting my chin on the top of her head. “Actually, you make a very sexy rock star, especially in my oversized sweatpants and t-shirt. I’d come see your show over Def Leppard any day, baby.” I chuckle lightly as I kiss the top of her head, keeping my lips there just so I can breathe her in.
A monumental epiphany suddenly hits me as it slams into my chest like a bird crashing into a window, leaving it knocked for a loop. The carefree interlude we just shared is
gone for me, and I’m thankful she can’t see the now-tortured expression on my face. I try desperately to remain optimistic while keeping my voice and muscles devoid of tension as I ask myself questions. How in the hell does she know the lyrics to these songs, especially given the fact this music is totally past her generation? How much does she remember?
My gut twists in a knot as I prepare myself for the very thing I’ve feared all along—her memory returning. God, please don’t let her remember everything at once, especially not the past month. I’m not ready for the shit to hit the fan just yet.
Tentatively, I ask calmly, “Jules, can you tell me how you know the lyrics to these songs?”
I feel her stiffen in my arms, and I cringe on the inside. She pulls her head out from under my chin, stares directly into my eyes, but nothing but puzzlement seems to be functioning behind those baby blues of hers as she struggles to remember something for the first time. Her forehead wrinkles, and her eyebrows draw together in pure concentration as a piece of her past tries to break through. A few moments pass in silence, and I wait with baited breath as she digests the magnitude of this revelation.
“I…I don’t know, Trav,” she whispers while shaking her head slightly. “I truly don’t know. I was just baking some banana bread and saw an iPod on the portable speakers, and thought I’d like to play some music while I baked. Then when I started scrolling through the music, I didn’t think twice about what I wanted to listen to, especially when I saw my all-time favorite band. Oh…my God, Travis! I knew all those songs!”
The profound understanding has put a glistening of tears in the corners of her eyes as she continues to speak with elation. “I remember…I got really excited once I found you had Def Leppard, and so I stopped looking for other songs after that,” she tilts her head to the side in thought, her eyes narrowing, “but I can’t seem to think of how I came to know those songs.” She shakes her head as a great relief of seismic proportions sweeps through me, and at the same time, guilt consumes me for being glad she isn’t able to remember. I definitely don’t want to pry Pandora’s Box open by asking any more questions.