Beautiful Addictions

by Season Vining

  “You can’t make it,” he said, answering her thoughts. “Please, have a seat.”

  Rob pointed to the chair opposite him, but Josie still hadn’t moved. He placed his hand around his gun and lifted it from the table.

  “I said to have a seat.”

  Josie let out a squeak and hurried over, falling into the seat.

  “That’s better.”

  “Who are you?” Josie asked.

  “Who I am is not important. What is important is why I’m here. Do you know why I’m here?”

  Josie nodded her head, her eyes flashing to the gun still in his hand and back to his face.

  “Good, then we don’t have to worry with introductions. Go put some clothes on.”

  “You won’t do it,” Josie said.

  Rob cocked his head and smiled.

  “Do what exactly?” he asked.

  “Kill me. You don’t look like a killer. I don’t think you’ll do it.”

  “Neither did your little friend in the park. Now, go get dressed.”

  “Gavin? You bastard!” she shouted. “What did—”

  “I’m not answering your questions. See this gun?” he asked, waving it between them. “This gun means I’m in charge. Now go!”

  Josie stood and crossed her arms. She glared at him. If she was going to die, she was going to do it on her terms.

  “Fuck you,” Josie spat. “I’m not going to do shit.”

  Rob shot up from his chair, making her flinch. He grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her to the bedroom, throwing her down on the mattress.

  “I don’t like repeating myself,” he said.

  That’s when the nauseating panic and fear took over Josie. Flashbacks of unwanted touches and rough hands sent flashes of terror through her.

  “Please don’t touch me. Just kill me,” she begged while tears soaked her shirt.

  Rob looked away, his jaw clenched in anger and uncertainty. He admonished himself and raised the gun so she’d take him seriously.

  “Shut up,” he growled. “I’m not here to kill you. My orders are to take you back to Moloney.”

  “Anything, just don’t touch me, please.”

  Josie’s broken words sent a jolt of guilt through him. The unfamiliar feeling left him with more fear than he’d ever experienced, fear of failure and perverse compassion.

  “Get up! We’re leaving.”

  She crawled from the mattress and wiped the tears from her face. As she crossed the room to her closet, she could feel his gaze searing her flesh. It felt invasive and so wrong. She managed to throw on some jeans and a T-shirt before heading toward the bathroom.

  “Where are you going?” Rob asked.

  “I’ve got to use the bathroom.”

  He took a step toward her, as if he would follow her into the small space.

  “Are you going to help me change my tampon?” she said quickly.

  Rob frowned and walked down the hall toward the kitchen.

  “I’ll wait in here,” he said. “You have three minutes.”

  Josie slammed the door closed and leaned against it. She ran her hands through her hair, scraping her nails against her scalp. I need a weapon, something, she thought. Dropping to her knees, she searched the cabinet beneath the sink, coming up with only one towel and a can of magenta spray paint.

  “Shit,” she whispered, leaning her forehead on the counter.

  Knowing her time was limited, Josie stood and threw her hair into a ponytail. She opened the medicine cabinet for a hair band and spotted the pencils and paint markers inside.

  Bang. Bang. Bang. Josie jumped as the man beat on the door.

  “Sixty seconds and I’m coming in,” he said.

  “I’m almost done,” she said.

  Her voice sounded weak and unfamiliar. She didn’t like it. She cleared her throat and tried again.

  “Just a second,” she said.

  Josie scribbled across the mirror, for once paying no attention to letter styling or form. She flushed the toilet and emerged from the bathroom.

  “Get your shoes on,” the man demanded.

  Josie sucked in a breath and turned to find him waiting in the hall. Her heart drummed against her chest as she swallowed and answered him.

  “They’re by the front door.”

  Josie walked away quickly, praying that he would follow. He did.

  When they reached the kitchen, Rob slid his gun into his waistband and roughly gripped her shoulder.

  “We’re going to walk out of here and down to my car. If you try to run, you die. If you alert anyone, you both die.”

  Josie wordlessly nodded. After slipping on her shoes, she crossed her arms so he couldn’t see her trembling hands.

  “Let’s move.”

  As they approached the door, a loud knock sounded through the apartment. Both sets of eyes stared at the door and the swinging chain.

  “Who is that?” Rob asked.

  “My neighbor.”

  “Get rid of him. Fast.”

  The loud knocking sounded again.

  “Jo!” Alex’s voice yelled from the hall.

  Josie felt at war. Should she try to get help or should she just comply with her kidnapper? Her mind seesawed, every emotion heightened.

  “I’ll kill him,” Rob warned quietly.

  Josie nodded and leaned her forehead against the wood door.

  “I’m sick,” she said.

  “What’s wrong? Open up so I can check on you,” Alex answered.

  “No. It’s gross in here. I’m pukey and … and I’ve got a fever. You don’t want to come in here. I should be quarantined.”

  She hoped her voice sounded sick and not scared.

  “Ugh, that’s gross. All right, I’ll check on ya later.”

  “Okay,” she answered.

  Josie turned her head and pressed her ear to the door. She listened to Alex’s heavy footsteps fade down the stairs and released the breath she’d been holding.

  19. Apogee

  The farthest point from Earth in the moon’s orbit.

  This had to be the longest day in the history of her career. At one point Monica would have sworn that time had either stopped or was moving backward only to keep her at her desk. The one silver lining was that she would see Josie again today. Two days in a row set a record for them, and she felt empowered by the bond that was beginning to grow. Since waking up this morning, Monica had felt sick with worry for the girl. The danger that hung over Josie was consuming. So she vowed to become a great distraction.

  Armed with chick flicks, microwave popcorn, and ice cream, Monica found herself losing all patience outside Josie’s door. She banged so hard her hand tingled with pain. Yet it remained unanswered. As much as she wanted Josie to be a friend, she was growing tired of the games.

  “I know you’re in there. I have ice cream,” she sang loudly, knocking again. “I told you I would be back. Stop being a brat and open the damn door.”

  She dialed Josie’s number and waited impatiently as it rang. She could hear it ringing inside the apartment, but no one picked up. Through the phone, she listened to the recorded voice mail message.

  “Come on! I’ve got Patrick Swayze! It’s dancing on the log and the lift and nobody puts Baby in a corner,” she spoke through the door again.

  Monica was trying to remain calm, but fear had begun to prickle beneath her skin. What if something was wrong? What if Josie wasn’t just avoiding her?

  * * *

  Alex parked his bike and removed his helmet. He sat for a minute or so, hearing the ticks and creaks of the cooling engine between his legs. People rarely surprised Alex anymore. He found most of the human race quite predictable and self-righteous. However, in the past week, he’d been surprised more than once by a beautiful blonde named Erin.

  They met in the produce section of the grocery store. Right away she seemed familiar, like he knew her already. He was taken with her endless legs and long, flowing hair. Pretending to be i
nterested in the varieties of tomatoes, he kept an eye on her as she shopped. Men circled, like wolves, just to get a closer look. Her most attractive quality was that she was completely unaware of the stir she caused. Married men, single men, young boys, and everything in between, they were all drawn to her.

  Summoning his confidence, he sauntered over and donned his most endearing smile.

  “Hey, don’t I know you?”

  “I doubt it,” she answered, not looking up from her list.

  “No, I think we met before.” No response. “Maybe you could help me. I’m a tomato dummy. I got no clue what these are. Grapes? Cherries? Tomatoes?”

  Erin laughed and soon began a lesson in produce identification. Conversation came easily after that, and she smiled and even joked at his shopping ignorance. Her smile lit up the entire building and her blue eyes could see right through him.

  Feeling confident after their time together, he asked her out. She declined. Stunned by her denial, he quietly helped her load bags into her car. That’s when he spied her Darkroom apron laid across the backseat. That’s where he knew her from. She worked with Tristan.

  Two days later, he found her there, and together they marveled at the coincidence. It had taken twelve days, consisting of two not-so-chance meetings, six large bar tabs, and a pint of cherry tomatoes, for her to agree to go out with him.

  Today, they’d had lunch in Point Loma and spent the afternoon in SeaWorld. As it turned out, Erin had never been. She was refreshing and so much more than a beautiful face. She had big plans and a killer sense of humor.

  As Alex entered his building, he smiled, wondering if he could be so lucky as to find a girl who challenged him, wanted him, and didn’t want to change him. Whatever the feeling between them was, whether lust or friendship or even curiosity, he wanted to embrace it. In all honesty, he wanted to hitch a lasso to it and hang on for dear life.

  Hearing heavy footsteps on the stairs, Monica turned to find Alex making his way to his door. He stopped short when he saw her, arms loaded and a frown pulling down her face.

  “What’s up, short stuff? She giving you a hard time?”

  “I-I don’t know. I can hear her phone in there, but she’s not picking up and she’s not answering the door. I’m worried that—” Monica stopped herself, not wanting to speak those thoughts out loud. “I’m worried. Did you check on her this morning?”

  “Yeah, she told me she was sick.”

  “Well, did she look okay?”

  “She never opened the door.”

  “Alex…” Monica whispered, worse-case scenarios flooding her mind.

  “Shit!”

  Alex attacked Josie’s door. He rammed it with his huge form, over and over, hearing the old wood begin to splinter under his assault. Monica watched in fascination as he pounded against the door. The thunderous sound echoed through the stairwell of the quiet building. Finally, it gave and Alex hurled through, almost falling inside. Monica followed him in and they both began calling Josie’s name and searching the small space.

  “Alex! Come here!”

  Alex ran down the hall and crowded into the bathroom with Monica. They both stared, openmouthed, at their reflections in the mirror. Thick lines of pink paint crossed over their horrified faces, lines that formed the words New Orleans.

  “I’ll call Tristan,” Alex said, his voice defeated.

  Monica nodded and watched as Alex placed the hardest call he’d ever had to make.

  * * *

  Two days of complete silence. That’s what Josie had endured on this road trip from hell. She was trapped in a tin can with a very attractive assassin who, for some reason, had yet to assassinate her. Instead, he was driving her east to her former home. She pressed her forehead to the cool window and counted the streetlights that went by, just for something to do.

  Josie didn’t really know what to make of this bad guy. One minute, he would be unreadable, and the next, his eyes would become tiny slits staring out at the road. She could only assume that he was fighting some kind of internal battle. For the one who had the gun, he sure seemed troubled.

  His phone had been ringing nonstop since yesterday. Every time it happened, he’d look at the number and silence it but would never turn it off. His foul moods seemed to coincide with the phone calls. Josie almost laughed at how observant she had become when there was nothing else to occupy her attention.

  They had stopped for breaks only four times in two days. They’d eaten only once. Josie was starving and thirsty and irritated by the whole hostage situation. She was sure that she was causing irreversible damage to her bladder while her captor feigned ignorance about how women’s bodies work.

  Josie crossed her arms and sulked at all the waiting. She’d rather he just get it over with. She was positive that her mind was imagining a much worse fate than what would transpire. The not-knowing part was the worst. She thought about New York and how maybe it would have been better if she had just died back then. There would have been no amnesia, no horrible foster parents, and no feeling like she didn’t deserve to live. Then again, there would have been no reuniting with Tristan.

  “How much longer?” Josie asked.

  No answer.

  “What are you going to do with me?”

  His eyes stayed forward, his face expressionless.

  “Well, since you don’t want to answer my questions, I’ll just keep talking. So, I know you’re the bad guy, but when did bad guys get so hot? I mean, in that older guy, daddy complex sort of way. I’m fucking hungry. Are you starving me to death? Is that what’s happening here?”

  He sighed and twisted his grip around the steering wheel. Josie almost smiled and wondered if she could annoy him into releasing her.

  “You could let me go, you know. Just drop me off at the Mexican border and never look back. You could let me out here. Tell Moloney you killed me. I’ll disappear and everybody wins.”

  He shook his head slightly.

  “What are the odds of me surviving a jump from the car while going”—she leaned over, looking at the speedometer—“eighty miles an hour? Probably not good.”

  Josie took a deep breath and slammed her head back against the headrest.

  “You are the worst fucking bad guy ever. You’re supposed to be crazy smart and witty. Also, you’re supposed spill the master plan, giving me some satisfaction before I die. Have you never seen a horror movie?”

  She rolled her head toward the window and watched the trees slide by in a blur. For a second, she glimpsed her reflection in the glass and thought about the message she’d left in her bathroom. She hoped someone found it.

  “It’s Mort,” his deep voice made Josie’s head whip around, thinking that he was finally talking to her. Instead, she saw his phone pressed to his ear. “I’m three hours out with the girl. Yes. Yes. Got it.”

  He ended the call and cast a glance in her direction. Josie’s eyes darted away quickly, not wanting to upset him. Three hours. She had three hours to live. What should she be doing with her time? More than she wanted to escape, she wanted to hear Tristan’s voice just one more time.

  Josie closed her eyes and prayed. She was a hypocrite just like those people who become religious only on airplanes. She didn’t pray for a savior or an escape, only for Tristan to know undoubtedly that for the second time in her life, she loved him. It wasn’t until all her time thinking in the confines of this car that she realized she had never said it to him. How could she have never said it to him?

  Rob didn’t speak to the girl unless necessary and kept his eyes on the road. At this point, he was functioning on pure adrenaline and no sleep. If he didn’t have to look into her questioning eyes, he could find the strength to keep driving. For a while, he thought he might kill her just to shut her up. She asked questions, many questions. Rightfully so, she wanted to know where they were going, what he was going to do with her. Rob knew she didn’t really want to know the answer, so he fought to remain silent.

  He
glanced over, finding her eyes closed and hands clasped tightly together. He sighed and refocused his attention on the highway, brooding over the enormous mess. He was still angry that he’d had to take the girl instead of just killing her. It would have been an easy kill. She hadn’t fought back or tried to escape, it was textbook. It had been her terrified, begging voice that had done him in. That and the vision of Monica’s sad face.

  Rob was in too deep, far too connected to Josie Banks and her past. The woman he loved, the woman he craved above anything else, would be crushed by Josie’s death. As he drove through the night, he found himself hoping that Moloney wouldn’t make him be the triggerman on this job. Now that he didn’t have to kill her, he’d be able to sleep next to Monica with a clearer conscience. He’d be able to hold her and soothe her aching guilt. He’d be able to live the rest of his days, however numbered they might be, without remorse.

  * * *

  Dean Moloney sat behind his large oak desk, peering out the perfectly clean plate-glass window. On this cloudless day he could see clear across his property. The blue sky filled the top of this window canvas and spilled down until it was interrupted by green trees. His eyes skimmed over the pond, the water rippling with soft patterns. His stables rose against the backdrop of the security fence marking the perimeter of his land. He loved sitting here, celebrating that all that was his.

  His parents had been poor people. They had been happy with a small house and secondhand furniture. Dean always wanted more. He envied his uncle’s lavish lifestyle. Uncle John Moloney, his father’s brother, had been a part of the organization as long as Dean could remember. Even at a young age, Dean knew that he wanted to follow in the man’s footsteps. His parents fought him on it. They prided themselves on working hard and walking the straight and narrow. When he was a teenager, he started working for his uncle. Before Dean took the job, John warned of the importance of discretion. Dean fell into the lifestyle easily, becoming a sort of apprentice to his uncle. Only nine years later, John was killed by a random mugger. Dean clawed his way over more experienced and seasoned members directly to the top. He learned how to cover his tracks with legit businesses and how to recruit the best men and keep them.