by M. N. Forgy
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I whisper, the words sticking in my throat. Zeek just took them at gunpoint and I did nothing to stop it, I could have done a lot more than I did in saving this couple from the wrath of Zeek, but I didn’t.
“She’s nice to everyone.” Donald answers for her.
Looking over her shoulder she sneers at him. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen a sour look cross her face.
“I was a teacher. I have a knack for finding troubled kids, and you, my dear,” She looks at Zeek, and then sorrowfully at me, her hairy eyebrows pulled together, “Look like you’re troubled.” She pats my hand. “Oh, I got just the thing.” Turning quickly she shuffles her feet toward the window, and Zeek aims his gun at her. Mildred pulls up a bag, one that people who don’t want to use plastic bags at the market use.
“What are you doing?” Zeek asks warily.
Smiling a big toothy smile she brings an apple to my bed.
“When I was a teacher my kids would bring me apples, oh so many bright red apples. I’d have so many they’d just line the counter behind my desk. So when a kid was feeling down, or blue, usually after getting into some trouble, I’d grab one and give it to them saying, ‘An apple a day chases the blue monsters away.’” She nods proudly.
“Umm,” I begin to tell her I don’t think that’s the way the saying goes, but I catch Donald shaking his head over Mildred’s shoulder. Obviously the fight is pointless.
“Ooh, how clever.” I smile, trying to sound convincing.
“So, where are you kids from?” Mildred prods.
“Nowhere,” Zeek answers unfriendly, sitting at the foot of the bed, his gun settled right next to him. Placing the box of food on his lap he grabs the remote from the dresser and flips the TV on. He’s acting as if he’s visiting old friends, not taking two random people at gunpoint. Meanwhile I’m over here with cold sweats and counting every law we’ve broken in the last ten minutes. I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.
Looking over his shoulder at me, he scowls. “Eat. You need to eat.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” I frown, trying to kick him. I’m so sick of him being fucking bossy.
I’m angry and don’t want to eat. But I’m hungry, and the smell of whatever is coming from this box is not helping my rebellion against Zeek’s controlling demand.
“Who knows when we will eat again. Eat.” Taking my eyes from the box I find him looking right back at me. His dark eyes softer than before, showing me that glimpse of the man I came to know when we were locked away in my house.
Using the one hand that is not cuffed, I flip the lid open, finding half a steak sandwich and fries.
My stomach growls, clinching to the point I feel sick.
“This just in, authorities are asking for your help in finding two suspects on the run this evening that may be in our area.” My head snaps to the TV. “Deputy Jillian McAdams is responsible for shooting a Lieutenant who was in the line of duty at the time of his demise, we’ve been informed that Zevin Deluca, the notorious president of the Sin City Outlaws was last seen with Deputy McAdams. They are armed and reported to be very dangerous. If sought, please call Crime We Stop. We will update you as we get more information.”
My body slumps against the headboard, my free hand covering my mouth. They even have a reward for any information about us in black bold lettering underneath our pictures.
“That’ll be enough television.” Zeek sighs, turning it off.
Closing my eyes, I shake my head. I can’t believe this. Before I thought maybe they got some intel wrong, it’s happened before. Witnesses get confused, but this…there is no doubt that my department is fucking filthy, and turning on me. It said I killed my father. My eyes drift to Zeek’s, expecting his face to convey an ‘I told you so’ look. It doesn’t though, his face is sincere, his brows narrowed with concern.
If he was right about my department, then he may be right about my dad. A pain slams in my chest, my head refusing to believe it, but my heart knowing it’s probably true.
“Seems you two got yourself into some kind of trouble,” Donald pipes up.
“It’s not true. I didn’t do that!” The words come out harsher than I intended, my head shaking back and forth like a mad woman as tears pour from my eyes so hard I can barely see straight. Donald doesn’t respond. Eyes that are dull with age, focus on me, his mouth pulled into a tight line. He doesn’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me either, not after Zeek just took them at gunpoint. After we took them at gunpoint.
“I believe you.” Mildred grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze. “My Leslie says the news likes to fabricate things, that drama is their selling point.” I swallow and give a reassuring nod. Mildred’s blue eyes that look as vibrant as a child’s smiling back at me.
Zeek puts his food down and gets up from the bed. He steps behind Mildred, ushering her out of the way and sits on my side of the bed. His face is tight, and his hand rubbing the stubble on his chin. It’s grown since we’ve been on the run. It’s dark, and rough. My hands want to touch it; palm it. Pathetically, I want to curl up in his lap and cry my eyes out. There is something about having those hard tattooed arms wrapped around me that drown out the rest of the world.
“I’m going to fix this, Jillian.” He doesn’t look at me as he stares at the floor. “I know this is my fault, and I don’t blame you for hating me.” Looking up at me his eyes are laced with sadness. “I took everything away that ever mattered to you, especially when I took you.” I close my eyes, willing myself to go deaf. His words are smooth, his face holding regret. “I don’t regret taking you though.” His face softens, his eyes remaining serious. “I’d take everything you ever cared about away all over again if it meant you got to breathe another day on this fucked up Earth next to my side.”
“You call this breathing?” I mutter, my eyes fluttering with unshed tears. “You think I’m living right now?” My hand pulls on the cuff to emphasize my point.
“Your heart is still beating, isn’t it?”
I scoff, and fall back against the headboard.
“Maybe, but it’s severely broken.”
“If I didn’t take you, Jillian, Frank would have his claws deep inside your head right now. Deciding on whether or not he can use you.”
I close my eyes, wishing he’d stop. I can’t take the truth anymore, my world is spinning and falling at my feet faster than I can pick the pieces up to salvage them.
“How about a nice shower? Hmm?” Mildred claps her hands together, cutting the tension between us. Pulling my eyes from Zeek, I glance at her, she’s smiling again. Seriously, what is wrong with this woman?
Zeek reaches over and grabs his gun, aiming it at them.
“You two get on the bed.” He gestures to the other queen size bed, his tone back to criminal mastermind.
“Excuse me?” Donald asks, looking at the bed.
“Your wife offered a shower, I’m accepting. However, I can’t just go get in the shower and expect you and Mildred here not to run off and call the cops. So, get on the bed so I can cuff you,” Zeek explains.
“That won’t be necessary. We aren’t going anywhere. You know, our Leslie got in some trouble some time back, and we had to come up with an alib—”
“Mildred, just get on the bed, dear.” Donald interrupts his wife’s rambling.
I watch as Mildred climbs on the bed, Donald right behind her. Once in place, he grabs her hand and squeezes it quickly before releasing it. They look picture perfect. Like the kind of love you’d hope for when you got older.
Zeek undoes my cuffs, and my hand falls like a dead weight. I rub at my wrist, where a little red circle is indented into my skin. It’s going to bruise.
“You know, Donald, this is like our anniversary back in nineteen seventy-three. Do you remember that?” She raises her shoulders, a shy smile blushing across her face. God, why can’t I find that kind of love?
Donald chuckles. “I do.” Zee
k handcuffs them putting both of their small wrists in one cuff, and the other to the bed. They seem oblivious to what is going on, lost in their own little circle.
“You.” Zeek points at me. “Up.” He grabs me by the wrist and I wince. His eyes widen, and he eases his grip on the tender flesh.
Looking over his shoulder he looks at the couple.
“If you so much as make a peep, I’ll come out here and shoot you both.”
“Zeek!” I shout, my mouth wide open.
“We don’t want no trouble. We’ll keep quiet.” Donald gives a reassuring smile.
“You two go get some alone time. You could use it.” Mildred smiles, and Donald rolls his eyes.
Zeek opens the bathroom door, and guides me in. It’s small. It’s lined with off-white, cracked tiles on the floor and walls. The ceiling chipped and yellow.
The tub is anything but welcoming, I have no idea what that black crap is near the drain. There’s a bubble bath bottle sitting on the edge, and it takes me back to mine and Zeek’s first bath together. The smell of candy, the way he paid such attention to me. I miss that day so much I wish I could go back in time.
Shutting the door behind us Zeek stares at me with a look of concern, his eyes focusing on my hand.
“Let me see your wrist.” I tuck my hand into my chest, and frown.
“Why?”
Fisting my forearm, he tears it from my chest, and looks it over.
“I’m fine.” I mumble, trying to pull from his grip.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I had them so tight.” His thumb rubs small circles along the bruising line, the act contradicting his behavior over the last few hours.
It’s soft and gentle, sparking little butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I hate this, the way he acts like a fucking animal, then turns around and acts like a human being who cares. This is all a game to him, one I can’t comprehend.
I pull my hand from him successfully.
“I can’t, I don’t trust you.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have killed a Lieutenant then, because now we can’t trust anyone!” I raise a brow, my words sharp. His nostrils flare, and he slams his hands into the tile on either side of my head, making me jump as he boxes me in. His arms bulge with tanned muscle, the smell of manliness coming from him making my body flush with desire.
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t the first one!” He roars out of anger. My mouth pops open, and before I can think thoroughly, my hand slaps him across the face. I yelp after realizing what I just did, and cover my mouth with my hand. I hit him before, punched him before, but that was out of anger, this slap was personal.
He pulls away from me. Lifting his chin, he pushes the sleeves of his shirt up as if he’s frustratingly hot, revealing his hard biceps in the process. He turns, resting his hands on the back of his neck, inhaling an audible breath.
We’re both angry, both exhausted and confused. I’ve never been on this side of the law before, it’s raw and pure evil.
My chest constricts, the small room closing in on me. Zeek and I lived in a world of pretend for so long, we never thought about what would happen when everyone found out about us. And now, my life has been ripped right out from under me. Zeek’s way of life, gone. We gambled it all to be together, and lost it all.
Now we have nothing but each other, and we can’t even stand to be in the same room as each other.
I slide down the wall, my knees coming up to my chest. “You might have been right about my department, and maybe my father wasn’t the best Lieutenant, but he was a good man,” I mutter, my hands tangling in my hair. Memories of him giving money to homeless veterans, or helping me study for my police academy test spin in my head.
“I didn’t mean to say that. You’re just being really fucking complicated.” He looks down at me, his voice sincere. “But you don’t know your father as well as you think you do.”
My head snaps up. “Why don’t you enlighten me then?”
He shakes his head, looking away from me.
“Doesn’t matter now. Just know that I am doing everything I can to keep your ass alive, and it’d be nice if you’d stop fighting me so hard.”
“No, tell me. What is it you think you know about my dad that I don’t?” Ignoring me, he turns the shower on. “Why won’t you just tell me!?”
“Because you can’t handle the truth!”
My stomach falls, and I blink rapidly.
If my father was involved with the Outlaws then Zeek’s right, I’m not sure I can handle the truth.
Would I end up dead because of my father’s actions and decisions?
“Be honest with me about something, is your uncle going to catch us?”
He squats in front of me, a finger turning my chin to where I’m eye to eye with him.
“If anyone can save your stubborn ass, it’s me, Jillian.” The look on his face takes me aback. Digging things from a place unknown deep inside of me. His eyes hold a committed look of love and adoration, but they’re also darkened with a promise of obsession and the fuel to cut someone’s throat if they so much as glance at me wrong. It’s obsessive, like he might lose me tomorrow, and it’s hard to resist.
Something clatters to the floor from my pocket, catching mine and Zeek’s attention.
“What the hell is that?” I look to where Zeek is pointing next to my hip, and see the cross that I found in my hand after Zeek pulled me off my father.
“It’s yours.” Zeek bends down and picks it up, his hand running across his neck as if he just realized it was missing. I forgot I put it in my pocket. “I didn’t mean to break it,” I mutter, wiping the tears from my eyes. He palms it, his thumb rubbing it. It means something to him, I can tell with the way his forehead wrinkles, and his eyebrows pinch together.
“Just—Just get in the shower,” he mutters, pulling back the shower curtain.
“Why are you doing all this?”
A pensive look crosses his face. “All of what?”
“This!” I wave my hands around. “Holding that nice old couple at gunpoint, in here with me. All of it?”
His eyes rake over me, and he shrugs. “So you could shower.”
“So you kidnapped a little old couple so I could shower?”
“Yep!”
It’s wrong, so wrong. Yet, I feel my chest tighten with longing and adoration. I like it. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? I can’t help my attraction to him. His stare is cold, his calloused hands rough, but his draw is soft and alluring.
“You going to get in?” He flicks a brow at me.
“Not with you,” I respond defensively.
“I’m not leaving you by yourself.” His tone tells me he’s not to be messed with.
“I need some time, Zeek.” I hang my head, wringing my hands tightly. “To process everything. I just—I’m not getting in that shower with you.” My heart beats passionately, it hurts me to hurt him. Which is stupid considering everything that’s happened.
His shoulders tense, his jaw ticking.
“Fine.”
He opens the door, and slams it shut.
Zeek
STEPPING OUT OF THE BATHROOM, I rub the back of my neck. Regret and shame spreading uncontrollably through my chest to the point I can’t breathe. I am losing my mind, my temper, my fucking handle on everything. My arms strain wanting to rip something to shreds. My arm smarts, the pain becoming almost unbearable. I really need to get a clean rag on it or something.
Leaning over the vanity just outside the bathroom, I undo the material I found from the truck, and blood begins to trickle out of the wound.
Clenching my teeth I hiss, and grab a clean rag, wetting it I dab at the blood around the wound.
I need to get that bullet out now.
Glancing around the room I don’t see anything that I could sterilize and stick far enough in there to get it out.
Best I can do is keep it closed, and clean for the time being. Snatching a folded towel off the counter I rip it long ways,
and wrap it around my bicep a couple times. It hurts to the bone, causing my forehead to sweat from the amount of pain rippling up my shoulder. My skin at two extremes because it feels like a knife of ice cold on one side, and searing hot on the other slicing through my arm until it hits bone.
I need some fresh air, and some alone time.
Marching through the small hotel room, I check on the old man, and the bat shit crazy lady. They haven’t moved.
“Is everything okay?” The lady questions, her eyes worried.
“Yeah, everything is fine.” I rub at the back of my neck. The man’s face uneasy as I fist my gun. “I just wanted a place to stop and let her clean up, maybe get some sleep and we’ll be out of your hair.” Why am I comforting them? What the fuck is wrong with me? Jillian is in my fucking head!
His face lessons with worry as I explain, his wife cupping her face like I just told her an amazing fairytale.
“It’s like you’re Bonnie and Clyde,” she coos annoyingly.
“Oh, Jesus, Mildred.” Donald huffs, shaking his head while he pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Uh, don’t they die in the end?” I raise a brow. She throws a hand at me as if it’s ridiculous. “Look, I’m just gonna step out for a few minutes. Don’t try anything stupid, and if she needs anything−” I start to say, but am cut off by Mildred.
“We’ll call for you right away,” she states cheerfully. This chick ain’t right.
Stepping outside I lean against the hotel door, slipping the cross to the missing rosary beads in my pocket. Jillian hates me. Every time I look at her, her gorgeous eyes are filled with tears of pure hatred, or maybe it’s fear.
Stretching my arm a little too much I hiss with pain.
Closing my eyes, I see Jillian’s face, her naked body underneath me and her beautiful smile beaming up at me. It’s a memory from one of the days we locked ourselves in her house. The day I realized I wasn’t just starting to care for Jillian, but fucking loved her. Her blonde hair splayed out from underneath her like a goddamn halo or some shit. I’d do anything to hide away with her in that little house again, where reality and judgment conjured outside the walls of my crazed obsession for her.