Captive

by R. J. Lewis

  This, being out here under the warmth of the sun, felt good.

  When I finally opened my eyes, Flynn was staring at me, his eyes soft. I frowned at him, bitter from what he’d just done. “Why did you do that?”

  He didn’t take his eyes off me. “Because I wanted to give you this moment.”

  “You’re going to get hurt.”

  He shrugged, uncaring. “Then I’ll get hurt. At least you got to let the sun kiss you.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat, attempting to understand him. I was at a loss. I didn’t need to tell him he fucked up, because I knew he wouldn’t think so. I didn’t know what Nixon would do, if the progress we’d made with each other would come undone, and what that would mean for me.

  I studied Flynn now, confused by his behaviour and wondering… “What’s your agenda, Flynn?” I asked on a shrug. “What do you think you’ve accomplished by doing this?”

  Flynn didn’t skip a beat. “I got to defy him, let him realize he isn’t so godly after all, not even on his island.”

  The passionate way he said that surprised me. Nixon had never met Flynn before he’d come to the island, but the burning rage that emanated from Flynn felt like it’d been simmering for a while.

  How was that possible?

  “You could have defied him by not dragging me into your hate,” I said, trying to figure him out. “I’m not a prop to be used. This is my life you’re messing with.”

  “You’re not a prop,” he replied, gently.

  “That’s not how I feel.”

  “Everyone orbits that man, afraid to cross him, and you’re this ethereal creature he possesses like a trophy. You’re so beautiful, but you’re dead inside because he’s ruining you. Who gets to stick up for you, Vixen?”

  It was harder to breathe now. His words felt like a noose around my throat. I couldn’t even swallow. My eyes hurt, they were so raw. I sniffed and turned away from him.

  “I don’t think I need saving, Flynn,” I forced out. “My relationship with Nixon is…complicated.”

  “What’s so complicated about it?” he pressed, impatiently. “He’s caged you in this place.”

  “It’s not that black and white.”

  “Would you rather be here then?”

  “There isn’t a straightforward answer to that.”

  “But there should be,” he argued, letting out a long breath. “I told you I could take you off this island, and he would never find you.”

  I looked at him, smiling cruelly because he really didn’t understand, and it was finally time for me to admit what I already knew all along. “You don’t get it, Flynn. Nixon would spend every second of every minute of every hour of every day looking for me. He would burn every inch of this earth, kill all who stood in his path, until he found me. There is no escaping him. He will always find a way. I am…crucial to his existence.”

  Flynn absorbed my words, shaking his head slightly. “That’s a fucked-up way to love, don’t you think?”

  The doors opened just then, and Nixon’s men walked out, one after the other. My lips turned down as I shot Flynn a look of warning. “You won’t win,” I told him, sternly. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing to hurt or defy him, stop. It is suicide.”

  Flynn stood tall, looking positively feral as the men formed a circle around us. He spun around, looking from face to face, like he was ready to challenge them. His act of rebellion was over. Nixon had sent for me, just like I figured he would.

  “You going to hurt me?” Flynn barked at them, clenching his fists.

  “We’re not here for you,” one of them said, tilting his head in my direction. “Time to come back in, Vixen.”

  The moment was over.

  I sucked in another breath of air, staring up momentarily at the sky once again. I didn’t know what awaited me when I returned. For the first time in so long, I actually felt afraid.

  “It’s going to come to an end,” Flynn whispered to me. I looked back at him now. He was searching my eyes, smiling softly. “It will be okay, Vixen.”

  I didn’t respond to him.

  I turned and made my way back to the doors, willingly stepping back into my cage.

  It hurt to leave the sun behind.

  23.

  Vixen…

  I was told to go back to my room, and I didn’t pause to do so. On my way to the elevators, I walked past Doll. She grabbed me by the arm, her grip tight, and forced me close to her. Her face was so close to mine, her big brown eyes were wide and filled with warning. “You better not hurt that man, Vix. He killed for you, went through hell to keep you. If you ever think about leaving, understand you’ll never find that kind of devotion from a man again.”

  Then she let me go and watched me enter the elevator. I swallowed the dizziness I felt. My stomach churned anxiously as I pressed the button, pleading for the doors to close. And when they did, my eyes jumped to the camera in the corner, watching me. It took everything not to fall apart.

  When I reached the top floor, I walked on shaky legs to the apartment. I wasn’t sure if Nixon was going to be there, but I held my breath, anticipating it.

  The apartment was quiet when I stepped in. I looked around the kitchen and then the living room, searching for any sign of him. I took another step in and almost tripped. I looked down, and my chest tightened at the sight of his black Derby shoes.

  He was here.

  Just as I saw them, I heard his movements and looked up. He was at the bedroom door, staring at me, wearing that same cold expression. The sleeves of his black sweater were rolled up, his hair looked unruly, like he’d run his fingers through it the way he did when he was pissed.

  “Into the bedroom, baby,” he said, simply.

  I began to shake my head, my worst fear coming true. “Please, Nixon. Don’t lock me back in.”

  He just stared at me. “Into the room,” he repeated, his tone cold – so cold.

  My body shook as I obeyed. I went to him, staring down at my feet the whole way. He was going to lock me back in, I just knew it.

  I felt flat as I brushed past him and stepped into the bedroom.

  “Nothing happened,” I explained quietly, aware he was standing closely behind me. “I don’t know why Flynn would react the way he did.”

  He didn’t respond. Oh, my God, this was so unlike him. I turned around, eyes brimming with tears as I looked at him. He stood still, watching me closely with a dead expression. He looked so ominous. He was so big, and I was so small, and God, I’d never seen him turn his monstrous gaze to me before, but it was worse than I ever imagined it would be.

  “Nixon,” I began to plead, “this isn’t you –”

  “On the bed, Vix,” he ordered, his voice dangerously tight.

  Breathing quick, I approached the bed on shaky legs just as he shut the door and locked it. It wasn’t to keep anyone out, I knew. It was to keep me from having a quick escape.

  I took a seat on the edge of the bed and placed my hands in my lap. I kept my focus on the carpet. He stepped to me and let out a shocked breath. “Suddenly quiet, Vix?”

  “What do you want me to say?” I whispered, deflated.

  “Something catty,” he retorted. “Something mean.”

  “I’m really not feeling it right now…”

  “Why?” he demanded.

  “Because you’re scaring me.”

  The laugh that escaped his lips was fake. He moved to me and I tensed. Stopping in front of me, he ran his fingers down my hair, and then he began to ball it at the top of my head, gripping it tightly, forcing my face up to look at him. His eyes were dark and endless.

  “Isn’t fear what you begged for?” he asked, edgily. “You spend so much time telling me you’re not scared of me anymore.” He gripped my hair tighter, making me wince. “Maybe it’s time I remind you what I’m capable of.”

  My eyes misted over. “I know what you’re capable of.”

  “Oh, so you remember?”

  “
No, but I know. Images come to me, Nixon, reminding me…reminding me why I HATE YOU!” I screamed suddenly as an image of blood and snow ran through me again. “You’re a monster.”

  “I am,” he agreed, eyes alive. “Have I ever tried to convince you otherwise?”

  “No,” I admitted, “but I forget it when you touch me softly, when you kiss me tenderly, when you say sweet things in my ear and make me feel like you care for me –”

  “You want me to stop that?”

  “Yeah, maybe I do.”

  “Because you don’t like when I’m sweet to you?”

  “I hate it,” I seethed. “I wish you’d just fuck me like a brute.”

  His face tightened. “You act like you don’t remember, but you say shit like that. You’re in denial, baby –”

  “I’m not your baby!”

  He pushed me down. I twisted my body straight away and hurried away from him, but he climbed the bed and grabbed me again, turning me over like I was weightless. I screamed obscenities at him as he forced my arms over my head and moved over me, covering every inch of my body with his. His face dropped to mine, but he didn’t kiss me. He just watched with steely eyes as I unleashed my insults.

  I hate you.

  You’re a brute.

  You’re a monster.

  You like me defenceless.

  You never cared.

  I want to go home.

  People are looking for me.

  They are, Nixon.

  Don’t shake your head like that.

  They’re looking for me.

  I mattered out there.

  I did.

  I really did.

  His face twisted. He looked enraged as he seethed in response, “No, baby, no one cared about you. There’s no one looking for you.”

  “LIAR!”

  “It’s true. You left and no one stopped to ask about you.”

  “I had family!”

  “Your aunt didn’t give a shit. She hated you. You were too beautiful. Her sick boyfriend mourned not seeing the hot college girl that lived poorly under his roof.”

  “Kim would have said something –”

  “You erased your life right before you were taken.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “But you did. No one’s looking for you.”

  “Stop saying that!”

  “No one’s looking for you.”

  Tears streamed down my face. I sobbed under him, knowing he was right, knowing it all along.

  He let go of me, allowing me to curl up in a ball and sob until my head and eyes ached. I felt raw, like my spirit was finally breaking, and I didn’t know how to mend myself. I’d never learned the skills to self-analyse. I just buried it all away, and I’d done so well for so long, but it wasn’t working anymore.

  Nixon had slid off the bed at some point and was pacing around the room with clenched fists. He kept darting looks my way. At times he’d stop and take a step in my direction, and then he’d stop and go back to pacing, like he had talked himself out of comforting me.

  “I can’t hear this anymore,” he muttered under his breath. “I can’t bear it when you cry, Vixen. Stop fucking crying!”

  But I cried harder, wailing into the pillow, feeling the veins in my neck protrude. He started wigging out. He dragged his hands over his face, whispering, “Leona cried, she cried all the fucking time…”

  What a fucked-up day.

  I said that many times.

  “This is so fucked up, Nixon. What a fucked-up day.”

  “Yeah,” he panted. “It’s a fucked-up day.”

  “You let Flynn get to you.”

  “I did.”

  “You shouldn’t have.”

  “I shouldn’t have.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But you shouldn’t have let him feed you.”

  “It was so fucking meaningless.”

  “I don’t care. You shouldn’t have, Vixen.”

  “I shouldn’t have.”

  “That’s right.”

  Eventually, my cries petered off and he stopped pacing. We looked at each other from across the room. We were such sad souls, fused together. His chest was moving fast, and mine was moving fast, too. I saw desire in his face, and I let him see the desire in mine.

  Was it fucked up I wanted him to fuck away the pain? Was it wrong I wanted to deny him so he could force the pleasure out of me? Did I long for it so much because it made me feel like for once someone was fighting for me?

  Finally, he took a step closer to me. “On your knees, baby.”

  I went on my hands and knees as he approached me from behind. He flipped my dress up and caressed my ass and thighs. His voice was hoarse when he said, “I’m not going to take it easy.”

  I nodded, knowing. “You’re going to fuck me like a brute.”

  “Yes, baby.”

  “What am I going to do?”

  “You’re going to fight me, like you always do.”

  I shut my eyes, accepting this, us. “Okay, Nixon.”

  Nixon…

  Nixon had ordered his men to back down when Flynn was caught dragging Vixen out of the hotel. He’d felt oddly calm doing it, though his skin had prickled with the intense urge to chase after her, to haul her back to him, to cut that kid’s hands off for daring to feed her.

  But…it was that very reason he remained seated, feeling his brain blaze with thoughts. Scattered pieces began to come together, but the overall picture was still fuzzy. He felt like he was getting close to some kind of revelation.

  “What the fuck just happened?” Hobbs had hissed soon after Flynn had taken her out of the room.

  “His defiance,” Nixon replied, thoughtfully.

  “What about it?”

  “He just gave himself away.”

  Hobbs had frowned, confused. “What does that mean?”

  “He’s refined,” Nixon explained. “He has no fear. He is used to control. He’s…like me.”

  Hobbs approached Nixon, shaking his head madly as he tossed his thumb in the direction of the door. “Him? No, Nixon, he was a street kid his whole life. He stole a car, did burnouts for attention, sent the police on a chase across the city, made them look like pansies. It’s how Toby found him. He steered me to him.”

  Nixon didn’t answer. Hobbs didn’t see it, but that was because he didn’t know what to look for, but Nixon did. He saw Flynn for the first time, saw the same possessiveness over Vixen, but it wasn’t in the same manner Nixon felt.

  No, this was different.

  “I don’t think you dug hard enough into that guy’s life,” he said. “There’s something about him that’s all wrong.”

  “I don’t see it, personally.”

  “His defiance comes with too much ease, Hobbs.”

  “That’s because he’s arrogant.”

  “That is not arrogance. That is learned behaviour.”

  Hobbs crossed his arms, shrugging. “So, what do you want to do about this?”

  “I want to look into him.”

  “Go for it, you won’t find much. He lost his mom really young, was a foster kid for some time, ran away a bunch of times, just another statistic from a fucked-up system that gave no shits about teenage kids.”

  Nixon didn’t respond straight away. He’d stared at his watch, counting down the minutes. He’d given his men ten minutes to haul his vixen back to him. That was ten minutes of unsupervised interaction. Ten minutes of who the fuck knows, and God, it felt like eating razor blades.

  When those ten minutes were up, Nixon stormed to the apartment and waited for her. He needed to mark her. He needed to possess her.

  He needed to remind her who she fucking belonged to.

  And he did.

  *

  That evening, Flynn was eating alone at the Bistro on the ground level of the hotel. Nixon had explicitly instructed everyone to leave him the fuck alone.

  He would be sorting the cunt out.

  As soon as Nixon entered the
restaurant, he had to stand down the hostess. “Not now, Becky,” he snipped.

  “Beth,” she quietly corrected.

  “I’m looking for Flynn.”

  Her eyes lit up. She knew exactly who Flynn was because her cheeks went pink and her demeanour changed. This guy was good with the girls. Made their knees all wobbly and shit.

  So. Fucking. Refined.

  Nixon used to be that kind of refined, too, until he met Vixen and stopped giving a fuck about the pussy. After all, how could he give anymore fucks about pussy when the only pussy he gave a fuck about was hers?

  But anyway.

  “He’s in the backroom,” she said, leading Nixon to him. “I’ve only just served him a drink. He hasn’t ordered yet.”

  Nixon paused mid-step when he found him sitting in the booth he and Vixen usually sat in. He felt his heart beat faster, felt his fingers twitch with incredulity. It was too fucking serendipitous for this boy to be sitting there.

  Composing himself, Nixon’s jaw went tight as he approached him. Flynn didn’t look up once, didn’t seem the slightest bit phased when Nixon slid into the booth across from him. Instead, Flynn smirked up at Becky, in that skilled way. “I think I’ll have the lobster, Beth.”

  She went tomato red. “Got it.” Then she swung her gaze to Nixon and straightened. “Anything for you, sir?”

  “Ten minutes of peace,” Nixon snapped, and she fled not a moment later.

  “Is it fun doing that?” Flynn asked, levelling Nixon with a hard look. “You like making people flee from you?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Nixon replied with ease. “It’s really fucking fun. You should try it.”

  “It doesn’t win loyalty.”

  “Fuck winning shit,” he retorted. “You can buy loyalty these days, Flynn boy. People care more about their bank accounts.”

  “Then all I gotta do is wave a little more money in their faces and turn them against you.”

  “I don’t think your pockets are deep enough.”