Held

by T K Barber

  Done. No time left to be strong, and no point, really. She put a shaky finger to her lip and sucked in a gasp. Her hands looked foreign, still locked in those cuffs. Her gaze swept the warehouse, taking in the cold, empty walls, completely devoid of any sign of life. Her mind only distantly registered the gulls, their calls punctuating each erratic slam of her heart. Blood left her head, and everything swam in slow motion around her bare mattress.

  Why bother?

  A glance to the left. The mirror lied as it showed her a reflection of a broken woman.

  No. A broken girl. She'd never made it to woman.

  She almost laughed, then she couldn't breathe. She'd never see her big brother again. Never see Thomas again. She'd never get to . . . her shallow breath froze in her lungs. Now all she could see were his eyes. All she could hear was his promise. The promise he’d never be able to keep.

  Tears leaked from her eyes on their own, she wasn't even crying. She didn’t think she could at this point. What was the point to anything? She had made the decision long before now. She glanced around the room again and choked on a single sob, before relaxing her expression.

  If she wouldn’t see Thomas again, she had no reason to stay alive. No reason to breathe. Maybe they’d let Nick live, once they found her.

  She made no attempt to fix her shirt or clean the dripping blood.

  Steady, slow, silent steps brought her to the plastic cooler. It was heavy enough in her arms, and her ever battling brain threw out half-baked escape plans, but she pushed them all aside as she walked slower still to the bathroom. Her reflection stared at her for a moment.

  No. Someone else's reflection. Tears dripping over a bloody mouth. That must have hurt.

  The reflection lifted the cooler and smashed it against the mirror. The sharp crunching sound didn’t make her flinch. An emotionless face reflected on the broken shards and, for a moment, she had shattered too. Then she remembered that wasn't her. She wasn’t there. She was miles away, enjoying life with Thomas.

  One more hit broke several pieces free, and she put the cooler slowly on the counter, then grabbed a palm-sized shard.

  Maybe they’d have gotten an apartment, someplace nice.

  She carried it past the plain door frame, then turned slowly to close it behind herself. The girl in the reflection didn't need to see. It might make her sad.

  Maybe they'd have had a cat, or plants, or something. She bet he would be better at remembering to water them than she was.

  Annalise walked calmly over to the bed and sat just on the edge. The blood was sticky on her skin and cold where it had begun to gather at the top of her jeans. The metallic smell was almost suffocating as she took a deep, stuttering breath. It was about to be over.

  Everything. The past. The present. She had no future anyway, so there was nothing to end as far as that was concerned. She'd be saving the universe the trouble of finding a place to stick her. The gulls screamed, but that didn't even bother her anymore.

  The shard in her hand glinted, drawing her gaze.

  They’d have gotten married, for sure. Maybe some small ceremony in a little courthouse, just family. Nick walking her down the aisle, in a suit she'd have made fun of him about. They'd have had two kids. Yeah. At least. Nick would have been the best uncle on the planet.

  A thin line had opened on her palm which stung, and she frowned. Huh. When had she gripped it so tight? That'd be over soon, too.

  She swapped the shard to her left hand and held it above her right arm. It would be difficult to cut under the cuff and up her forearm, but she'd make it work.

  They’d have made anything work, as long as they were together. She leveled her gaze, took a deep breath, and smiled as she closed her eyes.

  Nick

  “This is it.”

  He nodded toward his own creaky wooden door as he dug in his pocket for the key. The hazy hallway window made the sunlight that seeped through look dirty, and the whole floor was a muted yellow. She smiled and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. He was beginning to realize that was more of a nervous habit than a necessity. He stopped, and his stern expression fell back into place as his key hovered in the air near the tarnished lock.

  Sometimes memories were the worst form of torture.

  He shook his head and put the key in the deadbolt. Her hand slid up to cover his, and he glanced down at her.

  “Are you okay?”

  NO. No, he wasn't okay. Not in any sense of the word. But that wasn't something he could share. That was a burden for him alone. He forced a smile.

  “Yeah. Just thinking.”

  He opened it and took a step back so she could enter first. She chuckled. He liked that sound. Made his brain hurt just a little less.

  “I bet you were trying to remember if you picked your underwear up off the floor.”

  His surprised laugh boomed off the walls of the apartment and made his heart jump.

  “Nah, I keep a clean house. Usually.”

  Her breath caught as she studied the two-bedroom flat. Nick glanced around too. Yeah, it was kind of an odd mix of hard masculine lines and soft girly accents.

  “Oh. Do . . . you have a daughter or something?”

  She bent to pick up a fluffy pink, and black throw pillow and his eyes went wide. Both from the motion and the reason for the motion.

  Oh, Jesus. He didn’t think about what she might assume. He swallowed and cleared his throat.

  “No,” he paused.

  It wasn’t like telling her about Annalise would upset any cosmic balance, right? Hopefully, she wouldn't ask too many questions. He was pretty sick of having to lie and hide things. He rubbed the back of his head before crossing his arms.

  “That stuff belongs to my sister.”

  She grinned and bounced the pillow in her hands before she set it back down. A small, one-sided smile spread on his mouth. He was afraid he was going to get completely sucked into her gravity. Like he wasn't already. That would be both a wonderful and terrible place to be. Terrible for her.

  He blinked and straightened his face. In fact, it would be a terrible idea for this to go any further. It'd be much safer for her in the long run if she wasn't involved with him. Even though he really wanted her to be. God, what the hell was he thinking?!

  “That must be her,” she said, pointing to one of the pictures on his wall. “She's gorgeous, oh my God! Is she a model?”

  He growled. He'd had a hard-enough time keeping the boys away from her at school. God forbid if she was an actual model.

  “No.”

  Scarlet moved to get a closer look. “Well, she should be. She'd be rich. I wish I was that pretty.”

  “You're stunning.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. That wasn't supposed to come out. When he reopened them, she was grinning and rubbing her cheek, eyes still trained on the picture. At least she hadn't noticed his expression.

  “That's sweet of you.”

  “It's true, though.”

  Damn it! This was exactly not how you kept distance from someone. He cleared his throat, and she smiled and bit her lip before turning back to face him. And he was absolutely not ready to broach any subject regarding Annalise. So, he'd just have to avoid any more mention of her. Easy.

  “Well, she must come to visit a lot if she leaves all this stuff here. That's really sweet. You guys must be really close,” she said as she walked back toward the front door.

  His fantastic plan for not talking about Annalise was apparently to not talk at all. He watched her hips sway as she crossed the room.

  “So, do you box, or does she?” She asked, walking over to his hanging bag.

  She stepped up in front of it and copped the single worst stance he'd ever seen. Did she even watch movies? Who stood like that? He raised his eyebrows.

  “I've never boxed or anything like that. Always wanted too.” She threw a slow-motion punch and stopped ri
ght before hitting the bag, then dropped both arms and shrugged. “My mom always told me it was too dangerous. She didn't even let me watch action movies when I was growing up. She and dad fought like cats and dogs over it. He said she was 'setting me up for trouble.'"

  Oh. He smirked. That explained the lack of basic knowledge. It was his civic duty to at least show her how to stand.

  He walked over and stepped up beside her. This was purely academic, and there was no reason for his heart to be running away from him. His brain wasn’t buying it.

  He gestured with his head for her take a step back, and his eyes fell into their trained position, gauging distance and angle.

  “Like this.”

  He got into position and threw a hard punch, making the bag rocket backward, then he returned to position. He glanced at her and the band of muscles in his lower abdomen clenched. She had her eyebrows raised and a smart-ass smirk plastered to her plump, pouty lips. He mentally slapped himself and cleared his throat.

  “Protect your face with this one, punch with the other one.”

  “Okay 'teach' I'll try to remember that.” She said, rolling her eyes and grinning.

  He laughed and dropped his arms. “It's 'coach.' And you never know, it might be useful someday. Especially now.”

  Her expression flattened, and she swallowed. Oh damnit. He hadn't meant to make her worry.

  “True,” she said. “Show me again.”

  She stepped up in front of the bag. And directly in front of him. His eyes widened. Far, far closer than was safe. Her elbow brushed his chest as she turned her back to him, and he closed his eyes.

  Dear God, she had to know exactly what she was doing to him.

  He sucked in a breath to clear his mind but was attacked by her vanilla scent instead.

  Damn. It. This was a bad idea. He cracked his neck. She threw a quick glance over her left shoulder to him, with her eyebrows up again. “Show me.”

  His stomach tied itself into a knot, and he could think of no less than fifty things he wanted to show her. Such a bad idea.

  “Okay,” he squeaked and cleared his throat. “So. Right-handed, yeah?”

  He put his hands on her shoulders, and she nodded while he tried his best not to breathe.

  “So. Make a fist. No, keep your thumb on the outside, inside it could break. Yeah, and this hand goes up . . . here”

  He held her left one and bent her elbow, positioning that hand in front of her face. She shot him a sideways glance and then refocused on the bag.

  “Got it. Now what?”

  He fully intended to pick his arm up completely and move to the other side, but instead, he leaned around, keeping his left hand on her wrist, brushing against her.

  “K, so do the same thing with this hand but—thumb on the out—yeah. Now, when you throw the punch, rotate your arm a little, so you’re hitting with your fist level to the ground.”

  He dropped his arms and put his hands on his hips, appraising her position.

  “You need to stand with one foot a little in front of the other, too. Since you're right-handed, your left foot goes in front.”

  She fixed her feet and readjusted her stance.

  “Good.” He smiled, and she returned it. “Okay. Throw it, but don't try to hit the bag yet. Just punch the air.”

  She snapped her hand out level to the ground and pulled it back quickly. He blew out a laugh.

  “That was good! You’re a natural. Here.” He stepped in front of her, held up his right hand, and gestured with his head. “Hit my hand this time. Try to hurt me.”

  She frowned and dropped the stance. “I don't want to hurt you. Move, I'll just hit the bag.”

  Nick raised his eyebrows and laughed. “You won't actually hurt me. I'm tougher than that.”

  She smirked and shrugged as she lifted her hands again. “Your funeral.”

  He chuckled as she focused on his hand. She shot out another quick punch, moving his hand back several inches from the force. Surprise washed over his features, and he grinned widely at her.

  “Outstanding! You have a hell of a punch there!” He dropped his arm, and she rubbed her cheek. “That's exactly the way. Alright, another pointer. Here . . .”

  He needed to get in a better position, so he moved behind her again. He stepped up flush against her and covered her arms with his, moving them back into place. He moved her body with his, taking her arm through the punching motion slowly, but leaning against her right hip, moving it forward as well.

  “So, you wanna try and punch with your whole side, not j—”

  He glanced down at her upturned face, which was about one inch from his, and swallowed. When did that happen? Her eyes were unreal. He leaned back and dropped his arms. Damn it. This couldn’t happen. She was in trouble, and he was trouble. Getting closer to her really wouldn’t be helpful right then. Or ever.

  “Well.” He paused as he struggled to calm his—everything—down. “You're good. A few more lessons and you could take on Rocky.”

  She laughed and dropped her arms, then turned around and plopped her hands on her hips.

  “Is that from a movie?”

  He blinked and blew out a laugh. Too cute. He nodded, and she grinned.

  “Well then, you must be one hell of a teacher. How much do you charge?”

  She winked and crossed her arms. He raised his eyebrows and tried not to smile as he held his chin and pretended to consider it.

  “I'm not a coach. But for you? Fifty bucks an hour.”

  She laughed and shoved his arm before she turned around to continue snooping. She was stronger than she realized. And too cute. He smiled and shook his head. Too. Frustratingly. Cute. He threw a final punch, then stilled the bag and followed her.

  “So, that's your hobby then?” she said, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder before looking back at the bookcase. “Hitting that bag?”

  He bit his tongue. Oh, if she only knew. Actually, that was a terrible thought.

  “Yeah, you could say that. I've done a lot of combat arts over the years. I did judo, jiu-jitsu, karate, wrestled a bit in high school, but nothing serious, and of course, boxing.”

  She grinned and tossed him a look. “So, hitting things.”

  He laughed and shrugged. Not really, but— "Sure. What about you? You have any hobbies?"

  Good, brain. Distraction was good.

  She tilted her head side to side, shrugging as she poked at things sitting on his bookcases.

  "I watch TV. Love Zombie Preppers 2.0."

  "Yeah, that's a good one." Nick smiled, watching her lean her head sideways to read the spines of books. "Great show to learn—"

  "What not to do. Exactly." She grinned back over her shoulder and his heart jumped hurdles. How could she have possibly guessed that?

  "I always say," she cleared her throat, "it's not a question of 'if'—"

  "It's a question of 'when'," he finished.

  They stared at each other, a charge in the air between them, before she blinked, breaking the spell, and continued.

  "Um. I read a little. Cook a little. Work a lot."

  Nick grunted in understanding, mentally stomping on all his butterflies. "Same."

  He continued to follow her meandering steps, drawn like a magnet, until she finally spotted his used targets.

  “Ah, so that's how you practice! Where do you shoot?”

  She bent over to rifle through the stack, and he blinked. This was a terrible idea. Why did she have to be so damn hot? He took an involuntary step closer right as she whirled around with a zombie target and that smirk again. Every expression she made was beautiful. He rubbed the back of his head and raised his eyebrows.

  “So, you're prepping, huh? I'm on your team then, these shots are insane! They're all in the chest! Well, except for these right in the middle of its head. You're good!”

  He leaned over his elbows on the back of his burlap side chair d
raped with a pink shag blanket. He scanned her face as she gazed at the large paper like it was a treasure map. He'd have been flattered if he wasn't using those skills in a horrible way.

  “At the range, over off Masey Street. And sure. You can be on my team.”

  They shared a smile, and she sat the target back down on the stack. Then she shot up and cupped her hands together under her chin, grinning at him with her eyes wide. He stood back up quickly and smiled as he raised his eyebrows.

  “What?” He laughed. “What on earth has you that excited?”

  “Will you teach me how to shoot, someday? I would really love it.” She stepped right up in front of him and batted her eyelashes playfully. It was so fast it looked like she was having a seizure, and he laughed harder as he put his hands on her shoulders.

  “Yeah, I'd like that. Stop doing that before you pass out, though.”

  She laughed and clapped once before tucking an invisible piece of hair behind her ear. He blew out an amused breath and shook his head. Such a bad idea. A very good . . . bad idea. She took a small step backward and frowned at the floor.

  “Thank you, Nick. For, you know, all of it.” She flicked her gaze back at him in the way that stopped his heart. “For everything.”

  And there was that look again. The one that made him hate himself and wish he was anyone else. Made him want her and what they could never have. He chewed on the inside of his mouth, before forcing a smile past his heartache.

  “You're welcome.”

  Thomas

  Man, he was sick as hell of cleaning up the books. These yokels acted like they ain't ever seen the inside of a math book or a calculator. Maybe they were going out of their way to make his life miserable. Sounded about right. All he'd wanted to do this morning was check on Anna. Nope. “Matches do this. Matches do that.”

  He timed the flick of his lighter cap to the rhythm of his steps as he slipped through the already open warehouse door but stalled.

  Something was off.

  A swift scan of the area showed nothing visibly screwy, other than Ace and Butch in the office chatting. Thomas crept up to the wall nearest the door and strained his ears to catch their quiet conversation.