by Ada Scott
“I love you too, Eric. I want to go home.”
“Where’s that?”
“We can decide on the way.”
Eliana
1 year later
I could see Eric’s hands were shaking on the steering wheel and I rubbed his thigh quietly from the passenger seat. Our unnamed baby kicked in my stomach. He or she had been particularly active all morning. Maybe they could sense my excitement.
A small town like Winsome probably wouldn’t have been able to support a store as niche as Winsome Antique Luggage under normal circumstances, but I knew Eric had found ways to sneak money to the owners over the years. As such, the store his parents owned looked like it belonged here, like it had been around just as long as the café to the right or the post office to the left.
With Eric’s name and face plastered all over the news for my abduction, it had taken a dedicated smear campaign on my father to erase him from the public consciousness. Even so, his parents had been under very close government surveillance ever since.
It was only recently that Dan managed to crack all the nuts that needed to be cracked to reassign Federal agents and resources elsewhere without anybody noticing or new ones taking their places. Today he was ready to make the Winchesters disappear from the official records completely, once Eric gave him the all clear.
Just in case anybody else was watching, maybe somebody who didn’t get the memo or somebody a little less official, we were bringing them a few gifts in disguise. Aside from the news that they were going to be grandparents, we had a little something in the trunk.
On one hand, it was part of our disguise. A plausible reason for visiting an antique luggage sales and repair store. It was an old suitcase in desperate need of repair. And, like the best kind of old luggage, it was a treasure chest.
There was no gold and jewels, but there was money. Enough to get them somewhere warm and the documents that would see them retired there, in pure luxury.
“Let’s make everything right,” I said.
Eric looked at me and nodded, putting on his hat and sunglasses. I did the same, over the top of my brunette wig, feeling like a spy in an old movie.
I waited for him to get the suitcase out of the trunk before holding his spare hand and crossing the road. His palm was sweaty, and I gave him a reassuring squeeze.
After a deep breath, he opened the door. There was no electronic tone in this place, there was a real live bell that jingled.
It was fitting. The walls were filled with shelves upon shelves of luggage of all different sizes and all of them were far older than I was. A speaker connected to an infra-red beam across the doorway would have been completely out of place.
An older woman, sitting behind the counter doing a crossword puzzle looked up and promptly dropped everything she was holding on the ground. It fell with a flutter and plastic-y clatter on the hard floor.
She held her hands to her mouth and gasped. Even after not seeing him in person for so long, his cunning disguise was no match for her motherly senses. He swept his hat and sunglasses off.
“Mom…”
“Robbie,” she called.
“Huh?” came a voice from behind her, through a doorway.
“Robbie, come out here…”
Eric closed the distance and his mom leaned over the counter, wrapping her arms around him like she was never going to give him back to me. I crushed my hand against my mouth, holding in a sob, and wondering if my mother would have hugged me like that if she had a chance.
A man came out of the back room and immediately dropped something that looked like a screwdriver. It clattered down next to the pen and crossword puzzle book, while he came around the side of the counter and hugged his son.
Eric heaved the suitcase on to the counter so he would have enough arms for all of them. With teeth firmly clamped shut, desperate not to disturb the reunion, I took off my hat and sunglasses without dislodging my wig.
“I’m sorry life was like this,” Eric said.
“It’s OK, son,” said his dad. “You’re here now.”
His mother temporarily abandoned her embrace to come around the counter and get a better spot. Eric accepted her back into the hug as soon as she got there.
“I’m sorry for all the times you worried about me and I couldn’t tell you I was OK. I’m sorry you sold your Chevy before I could get the money to you. I’m sorry you had to move away from your home. I’m-”
“Shhhh, son. We’re parents, we signed up for it.”
“For all that?”
“For anything,” said his mom.
Maybe it was the hormones, but I didn’t have the strength in my jaw muscles to hold back a sob. His parents looked at me like I’d beamed in from a spaceship.
“Oh… is this…” started his mom.
“The girl from the news?” finished his dad.
“This is Eliana, this is the love of my life.”
His parents dropped him like he was hot and before I knew it I was sandwiched between them, getting hugs you could write songs about. They were both talking at the same time, and I only caught one of the questions.
“Why did you dye your hair? I thought blonde really suited you,” said his mom.
“I… it’s a wig.”
“Oh good.”
“Eliana, was there something you wanted to say?” prompted Eric.
On the way I’d tried to come up with the best way to break the news to them. I’d settled on pulling up my shirt and complaining that I’d gained some weight recently, but in the heat of the moment I forgot it completely.
“Oh… you’re going to be grandparents,” I said.
His dad beamed with pride at his son while his mother looked at me like I had invented the wheel. She put her hand on my belly and received a good kick for her trouble.
“Oh, you clever girl!” she squealed.
At their beckoning, Eric rejoined the fold and wrapped his arms around all of us. I’d never been in the middle of anything that felt like this. At last, this was family.
“How long can you stay?” his mom asked.
“Not long,” said Eric.
“Stay for the night. Stay for dinner, at least? Please? It’s been so long.”
“No.” His mom’s heart was just about to break when he continued. “Mom, Dad, in that suitcase is everything you need to disappear from this place. Money, passports, new everything. Tickets. The deed to a house. When you’re there, we can visit you any time and nobody in the world can stop us.”
“Oh… wow…” said his dad.
“Does he treat you right?” his mom asked me.
I looked at her, then up at Eric, then back to her. “He’s a good man. But sometimes, he’s still a bad boy.”
The F King
Still a Bad Boy #3
Please note: This ebook is a special limited edition of ‘Stockholm Syndromance’ that includes both the third in the series ‘The F King’ (Still a Bad Boy #3) as well as a bonus short story previously exclusively available to Ada Scott newsletter subscribers (Still a Bad Boy #3.5).
Sarina
The other girls had fake IDs that made them a few years older. Mine made me a few years younger, and was issued by the United States Government itself.
“How old are you?” asked the bouncer.
“Twenty-two,” I said with a winning smile.
It was such a strange feeling, knowing that everything coming out of my mouth was a lie or, at least, in service of a grand all-encompassing lie. That would take some getting used to.
I could see the bouncer counting the years in his head, making sure my answer matched the date on my driver’s license, before glancing at the rest of my hastily-formed posse for the night. He held my ID out to me.
“Not freshmen?”
“No.” I drew the word out with slight indignation.
“Alright, have a good time.”
The bouncer stood aside, and I ushered everybody through, making sure I obstructed hi
s view of Millie, the most baby-faced of the bunch. Getting a group of eighteen and nineteen-year-old girls into a club was only the first little egg I was going to have to break in this undercover omelet, because it would have looked suspicious for me to turn up in a club and wait alone for my target.
Janice opened a door and the higher tones of music and partying joined the steady rhythm of bass that you could hear and feel for a block down the street. As far as any of these girls knew, this was a “Chicks-before-dicks, ice-breaker night,” where a few of us from the dorm could get to know each other and have some fun.
“Wooooooo!” squealed Janice, throwing her hands in the air and starting to dance before she even hit the dancefloor.
“I can’t believe it worked!” said Millie, grabbing my arm and bouncing. “I only just got this ID before I left home.”
“First round on me, what are you having?”
“Um, Tropical Painkiller! You sure, though? I mean... you don’t have to, we just met-”
“Course I’m sure! Believe me, you’re getting the next round,” I laughed. “Tell the others they’re having some Tropical Painkillers and claim a spot so I can tell them where to bring the drinks!”
“OK! Omigod, this year is gonna rock!”
Millie walked, almost skipped, to join Janice and the others on the dancefloor. I had to admit, their enthusiasm was pretty infectious, and my smile was real as I navigated my way to the bar, looking out for the real life version of the man whose picture I had memorized.
Ryan Crewe was known to frequent this club, but there was no telling what nights he was going to be here. I was either going to have to build a reputation for putting my partying ahead of my studies, wait for better intelligence from my Commanding Officer on some other locations, or come up with something else.
No sign of him yet, but there were a lot of dimly lit nooks and crannies to this club that I’d have to casually search between going to the table, the dancefloor, the restroom and any other excuse I could think of. In the field at last.
It was a hell of a first undercover assignment. This was no infiltration of the agriculture students’ special hydroponics experiment. I was the spearhead of an operation to get a handle on F, the new drug that was taking the country by storm, and its variants.
Ryan was one of very few people we knew to be actively selling the drug. Rather than just arrest him and take one more low-level dealer off the streets, we could use him for information and work our way right to the top of the supply chain.
My CO said it was a testament to my reputation and my work ethic that I was given this job. Get the information we needed, and it would be like rocket fuel for my career.
As I arrived at the bar, I tried to stop my heart from leaping at the thought. I was a long way away from the payoff, from reaping the rewards of all that hard work I put in at college instead of going out and partying like this undercover persona.
The bartender worked with some flair, not quite putting on a show but impressive nonetheless, and soon came to me. He pointed at me and held his hand up to his ear as he leaned close.
“Six Tropical Painkillers!” I yelled over the music.
With a quick upward jerk of his head, he lined six glasses up and started doing his thing again. I pushed myself up on the bar and looked back until I saw Millie waving at me from a booth on the other side, where she and the others were dropping handbags and taking off jackets.
I turned back to the bartender and caught his eye. “Can I get these brought to our table?”
“What’s the table number?”
“Huh?”
“What’s the table number?”
“Oh… I’m not sure… uh…” I turned away again for a second. “It’s that booth over there, third from the right?”
“OK. Fifteen. Seventy-two bucks, thanks.”
I handed over my card and slipped a note in the tip jar. After retrieving my card, I was just about to take the long way around to table fifteen when I had an idea. I turned back to the bar, leaning on it and accidentally-on-purpose folding my arms under my breasts to push them together, trying to get the bartender’s attention again.
He was just about to serve somebody else when gravity momentarily dragged his eyes down before he wrestled them up again.
“Something else?” he asked.
“Hey, are there any jobs going here?”
He stepped back, tore a sheet off a pad sitting on top of a display fridge, and handed it to me. “You’ll have to fill out an application and attach your résumé, but there’s a long waiting list.”
“OK, thanks.”
I gave myself a mental pat on the back. If I could get a job here, that would give me a great excuse to be here, whether I could find a group of cover-friends or not.
Taking the long way back to our table let me glance into a few more places I hadn’t checked yet, but I didn’t spot Ryan. I arrived at the booth at the same time as the fruity drinks, and the cheer that went up was almost as loud as the music.
We raised our glasses and clinked them together before taking our first taste. Millie gulped hers like it was water.
“Hooo-boy,” I breathed, surprised at how strong it was.
Sally let out a textbook-Texas “Yeehaw!” and yelled “Dance, bitches!”
Hands were grabbed and I was led to the dancefloor in a chaotic jumble of short skirts and low cut tops. Not that I was dressed any differently, of course. I was here to catch somebody’s eye, after all.
One round of drinks blurred into others as the six of us danced the night away and I did my best to balance my party-girl persona with keeping focused on my responsibilities. The music and the drinks were intoxicating in more ways than one. It felt good to loosen up for once, even if it was all a lie.
Frustratingly often, guys would try to dance against me and I had to move around the group, using the other girls as willing human shields. Good time or not, I had a job to do.
Despite the stated “chicks-before-dicks” intentions of the night, after a few hours Millie and Janice had each latched on to some college guys. I was beginning to silently scold myself for just how far I had allowed myself to jump the gun earlier, thinking about the stepping stone this was for my career before I’d even been in the same room as Ryan. It wasn’t going to be that easy.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the face I’d studied until I saw it in my dreams. I wasn’t the only one who noticed him, either.
As he skirted the dancefloor, girls did double-takes, then tried to look nonchalant as their dance styles went from hip-hop to stripper. Men came out of the woodwork to shake his hand, as if paying some kind of tribute. He glided through the club with some friends in his own little bubble, and drew my eye even more than he should have.
Tall, dark and classically handsome, in my objective and purely professional opinion, he filled his suit in all the right ways and moved with an air of ultimate self-assurance. A hostess cleared away a “Reserved” sign from a table in a booth and Ryan’s group settled in.
My heart was pounding so hard that it was that hectic rhythm rather than the music that snapped me out of my reverie and made me aware that I had basically stopped dancing. I hastily found my groove again and tried to dial back the speed on my whirling mind.
All the training, all the waiting, it was all going to be put to the test tonight after all. Ryan Crewe was here… and I had to get his attention.
Ryan
It wasn’t easy to keep a straight face the first time I heard a rumor about myself, told to me in excited whispers. They called me The F King, a mad scientist type making this “good shit” for the Mafia, or one of the street gangs, they didn’t know which.
Apparently, the criminal underworld hired him to kill people with untraceable poisons, and nobody dared fuck with him. I smiled and nodded, and told them it was all true, I had a source of F, a guy who knew a guy and so on, and he told me the exact same things.
Then I s
old them some F, took their money, and partied my brains out. I wasn’t quite as paranoid about keeping a low profile now as I was in my college days. Back then, I officially studied Engineering, but really used a friend’s ID to get access to the Chemistry labs and materials.
Yet I still wasn’t ready to publically claim my own throne, tempting though it was.
Next year. That’s when the Acardi Crime Family would eat their words, if their jaws were still attached to their heads. Then everybody would know who the fuck The F King was, and realize that there’s really no limit to what I can make in my lab with enough funds. The city of Highston would be mine.
Until then, being the only guy in town who wasn’t in a gang and wasn’t obviously in the local crime family was almost as good. I was approachable in a way those fuckers weren’t.
Everybody who wanted the best shit, but was too scared to buy from a gang, came to me. In a city full of college students, there were a lot of customers like that. A lot.
The guys had money and the girls, oh sweet holy fuck what the girls had. The things they’d do for F, the things they’d do when they saw the respect everybody gave me, just wanting to be near me and bask in the reflected glory.
I’d lost count of all the pussy I’d had. Two or three in one night? Sure. Five at once one time, straight girls went down on each other just because I told them to. Anything for the king.
Money and power, it was an easy lifestyle to get used to. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had to fuck the same girl twice. How could I deny myself the pleasure of hearing my name screamed by a new voice?
Tonight, though, the cards seemed stacked against me. Every chick who came and sat in the booth with my friends and me, I already knew what they looked like with my cock in them. Boring. Bree was throwing herself at me particularly hard.
Things were usually pretty exciting around this time of year, though. A fresh batch of college students bolstered Highston’s population, and once they got past those on-campus orientation parties, plenty of them started hitting the town. That would start happening in a week or two, and I couldn’t fucking wait.