Captive

by R. J. Lewis

  I suddenly realized what was wrong.

  He was watching me leave and it was going against his instincts. He could hardly handle it. The distance grew slowly between us. I looked around, eyeing the streets, looking up at the storefront buildings in search of any cameras.

  He was being twitchy for a reason. Like he didn’t have the surveillance he did in the hotel.

  If I ran from him now, he could chase me down. But if I slowly distanced myself enough to run and have that head start, he might have a harder time finding me.

  I wasn’t saying he wouldn’t ultimately find me. Just that it would be harder for him to, especially as the night crept in.

  No, getting away from Nixon needed more planning. More work. I needed to have a network – kinda like the underground railroad – and that just wasn’t possible.

  But I would take this. The fresh air in my lungs would never be taken for granted again. This was the most pleasing change in my routine.

  I kept walking, and after several minutes of being cautious, I finally relaxed and stopped looking back. I didn’t need to. I knew Nixon was watching. I could practically feel the heat of his stare. I wondered how fast his heart was beating. If it killed him to see me grow smaller before his eyes.

  I took another deep breath and kept going.

  The island was so touristy and pretty. I felt like I was walking down a street in Amsterdam than one in the harsh Gulf Islands. I’d heard Nixon on the phone many times, talking through renovations of local stores. I could see where he spent his money. The place was in extraordinary shape. I passed a few restaurants filled to the brim with diners. I even walked through a throng of guys leaving a café. They’d stopped to stare at me, one whistling lightly under his breath.

  It made me smile.

  I hadn’t felt this normal in so long.

  I followed the scent of dough all the way to the bakery. It was the very last store at the end of the street, a tiny little place with a cute green awning and the golden lettered name “Doughy Delights” on the front. The streetlights ended just above the store, and beyond it bordered an endless dark forest.

  I rubbed my arms from the chill in the air as I approached the entrance door. It was just before closing when I entered. I scanned the empty tables before my eyes connected to the front counter where a chair was filled with…

  I paused. “Flynn?”

  He had a plate on the counter before him, and he was talking to an older lady from across the counter with that suave smile on his face. When he heard his name, he turned his head to me and instantly straightened up. “Vixen,” he said breathlessly.

  I approached the counter where he sat. “Hi again.”

  His smile was hesitant. He looked kind of out of his depth. “I thought you were at dinner.”

  “I needed some fresh air.” Yeah, I made that sound casual. Because I always went out for fresh air, clearly.

  “Me too. I got out and followed the smell here. You ever try Robin’s blueberry scones?”

  I slowly shook my head as I looked across the counter at who I assumed was Robin. The second my eyes landed on her, she looked away from me and disappeared into the backroom.

  She knew who I was.

  What local didn’t?

  Nixon owned this shop, and all the others on the street. He’d bought them all out from the owners, rescued some of them from huge debt, while others were more of a…forced sell.

  I wondered what group Robin was bunched up in.

  “Come have a try,” Flynn said, bringing my attention back to him. He slid the plate between us and pulled the next chair out for me to sit down in. I slid in, glancing briefly at the glass display of baked breads and savouries.

  “I’ve never been here,” I admitted quietly, more to myself.

  “Take a bite,” he urged.

  There was an assortment of savouries on the plate. I found the small round scone with a blueberry in the centre and picked it up. I could feel Flynn’s eyes on me, the way they lingered on my new pink nails before settling on my face. From my peripheral, I noticed him let out a long breath as he watched me. When I took a small bite and looked at him, he spread his lips in a soft, reserved smile.

  “Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”

  I hated scones. Robin’s scones were no better, but I lit up and lied. “It’s great.”

  “You gotta try her Nanaimo bars.” His excitement was infectious. He called out Robin’s name and she returned, fixing her gaze to him. He pointed to the Nanaimo bars in the glass window and she pulled one out for me to try.

  Robin settled it on a new plate and slid it to me, and then she disappeared again. She seriously wanted nothing to do with me. I might as well have been an extension of Nixon.

  Now I could guess what group she was bunched in.

  Before I reached for the bar, Flynn took it between his long fingers – I noticed how smooth his skin was, no bruises or callouses. He raised it to my face instead, surprising me. My eyes were wide as he pressed the square treat to my lips. He watched my mouth, fascinated.

  I wasn’t sure this was appropriate.

  If Nixon caught a man feeding me, he’d shoot his kneecaps out.

  “Have a try,” Flynn whispered.

  I wanted to tell him it wasn’t that simple. This action would never be taken as innocent in Nixon’s eyes.

  And the way I saw Flynn stare at me, his gaze trapped to me like I was some form of savoury he wanted to try, I didn’t think he was being innocent either.

  But I parted my lips and took a bite anyway, opting not to overthink it. The moment was fleeting and wouldn’t matter after it was over.

  The explosion of chocolatey/custardy goodness made me close my eyes. I groaned, nodding, this time for real. “Okay, that’s really good.”

  He chuckled, a soft sound, nothing like Nixon’s throaty rumble. “I like this place. It reminds me of being a kid again. My mom owned a bakery once.”

  “Better than here?” I wondered.

  He nodded. “Oh, yeah, only because I’m so nostalgic about it.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “San Diego.”

  My brows shot up. “Long way from home, Dorothy.”

  He laughed. “It was never home.”

  “Where is home then?”

  His eyes turned soft. “I don’t know yet. I don’t stay in one spot too long. I get itchy feet.”

  “Yeah, well, when you’re being a criminal, the world’s your oyster.”

  “I’m just the driver.”

  I looked at him dubiously. “You get your hands dirty, too.”

  “Not on the job.”

  “I’m not oblivious, Flynn, to what goes on.”

  He nodded, agreeing. “I know. Hobbs didn’t care you were in the room when we talked business. I have a feeling he’s not usually so inviting.”

  “Hobbs is a softie.”

  Flynn quickly looked me over, softly muttering, “I can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t be soft on you.”

  My cheeks heated, but I played it off. “Except Doll. She called me a chihuahua.”

  “She did?”

  “You were there.”

  “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Well, she did. She called me a chihuahua.”

  He shrugged, dismissively. “Doll’s intimidated by you.”

  I scoffed in disbelief. “No way. You’ve seen her.”

  “Yeah, she’s beautiful, but she tries too hard. You…You’re kind of effortless.”

  Okay, this guy was good. Truly, he suckered me in good. He was easy to talk to, he was sweet, and he looked at me like he was trying to figure me out. It was an interesting change of pace.

  As I smiled down at the counter, I lightly shook my head. “This isn’t me, Flynn.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “What you see, it’s…just a pampered, spoiled girl. I wasn’t always this way.”

  His smile was lopsided now as he regarded me dee
ply. “You think I’m looking at your dress and your pink nails, Vix?” When I didn’t answer, he leaned closer to me. “I see you.”

  My heart beat faster, but again, I played it off. “You’re smooth, Flynn.”

  “Not trying to be.”

  “I’m not complaining about it. It’s a nice change. The men that come here are usually over forty, have hit a mid-life crisis, and want a place to dump their cash.”

  “Can you blame them? This place looks incredible. I heard what Nixon did, turning it around, bringing in the tourists. You must be proud of him.” When he said that final line, he stared hard at me, gauging my reaction closely.

  I didn’t respond straight away. I just looked around, afraid to admit I wouldn’t know what the hell Nixon did because I’d been cooped up in that hotel the entire time.

  “You are proud, aren’t you, Vixen?” he prodded.

  I pressed my lips together in a frown. “Don’t do that, please.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Be the type that plays with my head. Whatever you’re getting at, just get to it, Flynn.”

  He blinked a couple times and then turned his body to me. His knee touched mine, he was so close. I looked down at it, aware it was yet another boundary crossed.

  “I’ve asked around about you,” he admitted furtively. “And everyone I talk to look away the second I mention you. It’s like you’re completely off-limits, like…like you don’t exist, even.” I didn’t know what he was getting at. Truth be told, I’d stopped breathing because I was nervous at the direction he’d taken abruptly. “I kept thinking, why doesn’t anyone talk about Nixon’s girl? Then something occurred to me.”

  I felt anxious. “What?”

  He looked at me squarely. “Are you trapped here?”

  Oh, God.

  I scanned the bakery for cameras. My head turned to the entrance window, but there was no one there. Paranoia felt like a hot itch at the back of my neck. I brought my hand up to scratch it.

  “Because I can help you, Vix,” he added.

  I looked back at him, but he was kind of blurry. Was I crying? I swallowed hard and quickly slid off the chair. This was a trap, I realized. Nixon had sent me here. He wanted to test my trust.

  Flynn grabbed my arm, stopping me from leaving. He pulled me to him quickly, until my front pressed against his. He lowered his head, so his eyes were at my level. With a sincere look, he said, “Let me help you.”

  My chest was moving fast. Fear of being locked back up weighed on my mind. I couldn’t do that again. I couldn’t handle another room – another cabin – not anymore. I liked the fresh air and Nixon was trusting me all of a sudden. I couldn’t blow it ten minutes in.

  “Let me go,” I pleaded, trying to take back my arm, but he was gripping me tightly. “Please, Flynn, before he sees us like this.”

  “Like what? We’re just talking.”

  “You’re touching me.”

  “And you’re terrified of that.”

  “Let me go,” I pleaded.

  But he didn’t fucking let go. He held me tighter still, gritting out, “What’s he going to do to you, Vixen? Hurt you? You’re so beautiful, it hurts. You know Tyrone says you’re Nixon’s property, right? You like being that?”

  “Let go, Flynn.”

  “You say the word and I’ll take you from here.”

  I let out a harsh laugh. “Impossible.”

  “No.”

  “Nixon would find me, and then he’d kill you.”

  Flynn’s eyes darkened. “Not if I killed him first.”

  I went still at the sudden change in him. The charming man from before now looked like he was capable of something far more sinister than harmless flirting.

  See, I knew it. These guys…they were all fucked up.

  They all hid behind a mask.

  “You shouldn’t say those things,” I warned, terrified. Nixon had not sent him. He would never have made Flynn say these things to me. “You don’t know how far his power extends to. Nixon’s not to be fucked with.”

  “He’s only powerful because everyone’s so fucking scared of crossing him.”

  “Because he will kill them.” I wasn’t just saying that. I was speaking truth. Flynn had to understand this. “He is a force of nature. I saw what he’s capable of.”

  Now Flynn looked curious. “When?”

  I felt suddenly frozen. Memories of snow and blood clouded my mind. Trepidation flooded through me. I spent so much of my time burying our beginning. I couldn’t have it resurface now.

  My voice weakened. “You can’t understand, and if you did, it’d only be because he’s killing you.”

  Flynn didn’t look alarmed in the slightest. “Vixen, I’m offering you an escape.”

  “I don’t want to leave Nixon,” I told him, firmly. “Now, if you don’t let me go, I’ll scream for him. He’s close-by, Flynn.”

  That seemed to shake him out of whatever this was happening between us.

  “You would scream?” Flynn asked, astonished. “After what I did for you last night?”

  His look of disappointment was hard to see, for sure, but it still held little weight to the disappointed look Nixon would give me if he saw us right now.

  “I appreciate what you did last night,” I told him quickly. “If you hadn’t –”

  “If I hadn’t, he would have killed Nixon,” he cut in, his mouth flattening. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done a damn thing.”

  With that, Flynn let me go. I’d been pulling back so hard, I stumbled back. Flynn was too much of a gentleman and already had his arm around me to steady me. But then he dropped his arm and let out a long miserable sigh.

  “We’ve got that job to do very soon,” he said flatly, turning his back to me. “If you don’t come to me before then, I’m not coming back here after the job’s done. This is the only chance you’ll get, Vixen.”

  But I was already rushing out of the bakery, shaking like a leaf. I didn’t look back once. I ducked into the clear alleyway between the stores and rested my back against the cool brick wall. I sucked in the fresh air, trying to get my heart to calm down.

  How come I felt like I’d just betrayed Nixon?

  Was this that Stockholm Syndrome shit again?

  I rubbed at my chest. “Calm down, Victoria.”

  I couldn’t look like a frightened mess when I got back. Nixon would know something was up and he would not rest until he figured out what.

  Blood and snow and the feeling of being cold swamped me again. I shook, my teeth chattering with adrenaline. I worked so hard to push those memories away. Dear God, I didn’t need to remember what Nixon was capable of.

  “Please, don’t kill me.” I pleaded.

  “Why?” he asked, detached. “What do you have to live for?”

  I brushed the tears from my eyes and waited for my heart to slow down. I buried the memories by focusing on my senses. I breathed in the scent of dough, stared up at the blindingly bright streetlight and skimmed my fingertips along the coarse brick wall behind me. Soon, the memories dispersed from my mind, scattering in random directions.

  Then I stepped out of the alleyway and made my way back to the hotel. The breeze picked up. I could hear the leaves of trees rustling around me. I stared up at the sky, mesmerized by the stars.

  Two years ago, I was a broke twenty-one-year-old student who didn’t give a shit about the stars. I used to think I was trapped then. Oh, how strange the world was.

  I was slowly becoming detached from my past. I was scared that, as more time went on, I would forget myself entirely.

  I shut my eyes briefly, fighting to reclaim my old self.

  I’m Victoria Adams.

  I’m now twenty-three years old.

  I like pie crusts and pizza pockets.

  I grew up in Surrey.

  My best friend’s name is Kimberly Jones.

  I want to be a teacher because Mom was a teacher and she loved kids.

  I like goin
g to the movies.

  I hate going home.

  Tom Hardy is my celebrity crush.

  I cut myself to feel.

  By the time I got back, I felt composed.

  I found Nixon straightaway. I expected him to be pacing and twitching, but I was wrong. He was completely still. His back was to me, his hands were in his pockets again, and he was staring up at the sky too, unmoving.

  I wondered what he thought of when he looked up at the heavens.

  I thought of the fleeting sadness on his face in the restaurant, thought of him asking for my help, and my heart squeezed before I could stop it.

  My body heated as I slowly approached. I felt this urge to run my hands up his back and kiss the back of his neck, but I resisted.

  My heels were loud, and he heard me nearing. He slowly turned around and found me. His expression was clear, but I noticed the way his shoulders relaxed at the sight of me. He let out a long breath, and his chest dipped, like he’d been holding it in for a while.

  He didn’t ask me how it was. We didn’t speak at all. He offered me his hand instead and I took it. His grip was tight – possessive – as he tugged me back to the hotel doors. He didn’t relax until we were in the elevators, and even then, I noticed the regret in his eyes as he looked me over in the mirror.

  He’d made a mistake.

  He shouldn’t have done that.

  And he looked at me like I was his.

  Only his.

  And how dare he thrust me into the cold world he loathed so much.

  18.

  Vixen…

  We stepped into the apartment, and I was bending over to remove my heels when he tossed over his shoulder, “Leave them on.”

  I watched him disappear into the bedroom, aware he would be waiting for me. I stood up straight and gripped the kitchen counter, trying to regain my balance. My conversation with Flynn was still raw. I hated that talking about Nixon took me back there again, to that horrible day.

  I tried to remember how terrified I had been of him, but I couldn’t feel it anymore. Because Nixon wasn’t punishing. He never wanted me to suffer. He’d never fuelled my terror. He’d watered down the flames until I was this rebellious little bitch.