Captive

by R. J. Lewis

  Nixon just stared at him. Roz stood up and shot a look of warning in Tucker’s direction. “Don’t talk to him like that, man.”

  “Why?” Tucker retorted. “Because I’m talking to him like I ain’t fucking scared?”

  “He’s killed people for lesser reasons, Tucker.”

  Tucker looked at Nixon, trying to get a reading on him, but Nixon just stared back at him, his expression straight. Obviously feeling the heat, Tucker played it off with a shrug. “I just don’t see the bags, is all.”

  “I know where they are,” Nixon said. “On the trail still.”

  “They’ll be buried in snow. We should have them here, man…” Tucker shrugged again, playing it off. “Right?”

  Walking past Tucker, Nixon stuck his head out of the door and stared out. The weather was only going to get worse. The snowfall was growing thicker, and visibility was lessening. They had maybe another hour of daylight, and even still, it was dim already.

  He tried to remember where he dumped the bags. He knew the spot, but he couldn’t be all that certain. The last thing he needed was for them to be buried in feet of snow and have to dig around for them, especially if at some point the snow began to harden.

  Fuck.

  He stepped out to see how much colder it’d gotten. He heard Roz and Tucker following. All of them stood under the snowfall, staring around.

  “The bags can be found,” he heard Roz tell Tucker in a hushed tone. “He got the girl because what else will we have to do over the next week?”

  Nixon glanced at Tucker, noticing his temper had weaned now in response to Roz.

  “Sorry, Nixon,” Tucker said quietly. “I didn’t realize.”

  Roz crossed his arms. “What’s the plan then? You going to get the bags tomorrow morning, or what?”

  Nixon shook his head slowly. “This storm’s going to get worse. I need to go now.”

  It felt wrong to go, but he couldn’t keep idling around, worrying about the girl. Only…his chest constricted at the thought of her being left alone with these guys. And Tucker was reacting erratically. He had no self-control.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  He clenched his teeth, trying to figure out what to do.

  “I’ll go back for the bags,” he found himself saying. “Tucker will come with me.”

  Tucker seemed confused. “Me? And carry two bags? Roz is bigger than me.”

  “I gotta split the wood,” Roz inserted, shrugging. “That’s just the way it is, man.” Then he smirked at Tucker, and Nixon caught it – he caught the message behind it; he was going to be left with the girl, to do as he pleased.

  No, no, no.

  A sharp knifelike feeling stabbed into Nixon’s side, the anger so acute it was punishing. But he bit his tongue and stormed into the cabin. He didn’t need to grab anything. He didn’t need to do anything but leave, but he found himself pacing quickly, casting a quick glance in the girl’s direction.

  So fucking little.

  She looked back at him, her eyes following him as he turned his back to her and clenched the edge of the kitchen counter, digging his fingernails into the fucking wood.

  So fucking tempting.

  He didn’t understand what was happening to him. Why was he so fucking twisted up about this shit? He couldn’t bear to look at the girl again.

  He didn’t know her fucking name.

  He didn’t know a single thing about her.

  She was ordinary and helpless.

  She meant nothing to him.

  Yet…something just didn’t sit right with him to leave her in the hands of Roz to do as he liked. Maybe it was the way she looked at him on that fucking bus: those fucking brown eyes, that fucking innocent look, that fucking shy smile – this was so fucked.

  Maybe it was the way she’d unexpectedly said “please, Nixon” when he’d wrapped that blindfold around her eyes – it went straight to a spot in his chest he hadn’t felt stir in so long – that gave him the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  Whatever it was, whatever the reason, his emotions were fucked. A simple job had turned into an emotionally draining situation he hadn’t anticipated.

  And, to think, he’d taken the job to run away from his emotions.

  Now, he couldn’t have a moment’s thought without her in it, and when he thought of her, he felt a heavy pull in his gut. He was aching for something he did not even understand. But the intensity of it robbed him of his senses. From the second he’d seen her being pushed out of the speeding car, he felt panic.

  And the panic hadn’t lessened since.

  In such a short amount of time somehow, she’d claimed him.

  But this was not possible.

  He wasn’t that kind of guy.

  Without glancing back at her, he strode out of the cabin before he could stop himself from leaving. The guys were smoking when he’d pointed in the other direction and told Tucker, “Get moving. Let’s get this done with.”

  Tucker began to walk as Nixon turned to Roz. He couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Leave the girl untouched. I got dibs on her first.”

  Roz took a slow puff of his cigarette, studying Nixon’s face slowly. “That’s right. You’re not fond of sloppy seconds.”

  “I’m not fond of fucking a girl covered in bruises, either,” he retorted, edgily, staring straight at Roz. He knew what Roz liked to do with women because he’d been open about it one too many times. “Don’t touch her, Roz.”

  Don’t make me kill you.

  Roz smiled with ease, though Nixon saw straight through it. “You have my word. I’ll be too busy splitting wood, anyway.”

  Nixon was gone before Roz finished his sentence.

  Victoria…

  Roz returned alone. I kept staring at the door, waiting for Nixon, but then Roz shut the door and started opening the kitchenette cabinets in search of something.

  My heart started to pound with unease. Nixon’s presence had provided me with a kind of comfort – false, perhaps, but the way my body responded right now, I knew I was having a hard time not being in a room with him.

  “Just you and me for a while,” Roz said just then, pulling out a few flashlights from the drawer. He checked to see if they were all working one by one, and then he grabbed two and came to me. My body tensed as he approached. I watched him warily as he stopped and tossed a flashlight on the bed next to me. “It’s going to get dark soon.”

  Then he left me and strode to the corner of the room. I watched as he stooped down and began scattering the firewood in all directions. He made a triumphant sound and leaned over, flicking the tarp away to grab at an axe. “Fucking score,” he murmured to himself, using the axe to chop through the wood.

  I knew it was in my best interest to make conversation. That documentary still sat in the forefront of my mind. Talk to your kidnapper. Make him realize you’re not a thing. You’re human. Let his guard down.

  But…Jesus, it was totally different in real life.

  I wanted to talk, but I was too scared to. I was scared he’d turn his attention to me and remember I was there and then off my clothes went. There would be no Nixon to come saving me this time, I knew, as I glanced at the closed door.

  “Some wild day you’re having, huh?”

  I turned my head in his direction and found him staring back at me, a soft smile on his lips. He was sitting down on the hard floor now, one leg splayed in front of him, the other tucked in. A piece of wood sat on his lap as he chopped away at it slowly, splitting it down the middle.

  “You weren’t part of the plan,” he told me, softly. “Honest to God, I had no fucking clue I’d be riding through a week in this dilapidated cabin sharing my company with someone as fucking gorgeous as you.”

  I didn’t respond. I just looked back at him, listening.

  “I never would have wished this on anyone,” he continued with a troubled expression. “But rest assured, we’re not complete monsters, alright?”

  A
tear fell from my eye as I managed a nod. He smiled pleasantly at that, pausing in the middle of his cutting to give me a long look. “God, you are…stunning. What’s your name?”

  My voice was gone. I opened my mouth but nothing was coming out. My pulse was still in my ears, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh.

  “You don’t have to say anything, sweetheart. I know you’re scared.”

  My shoulders sagged in response. I watched him continue to cut the wood, noticing how slow he was going. It wasn’t a methodical kind of slowness, either. He was hardly putting any effort in. He ran a hand down his face often, shaking his head.

  Finally, he seemed to have had enough and threw the axe down completely.

  “Too tired,” he mumbled. “Long day for me.”

  He stood up and went to the window beside the bed. The sky had begun to really darken now, and with it the cold was getting worse. “I can’t even see much of anything out there.” Then he glanced over his shoulder at me and his body went still. “You’re shaking.”

  I was.

  I hadn’t stopped, actually.

  The cold was in my veins now. I would die of it, I knew.

  Roz came to me, purposely moving slow, like he didn’t want to startle me. He stopped before me, his eyes going over my upper body. I thought, God, here we go, he’s going to touch me. But instead, he took off his black sweater and handed it to me. I gaped at him, not understanding. My brain was fuzzy. I was delirious with tiredness. He came closer and knelt down to my level. His blue eyes looked wrought with sympathy. He whispered, “Sweetheart, you’re going to freeze like that. Take your sweater off, wear mine, and then get under the covers.”

  I immediately did as I was told. I wanted nothing more than to be under the blanket and warm. The sweater was hard to take off. My fingers were numb and I wasn’t myself. My movements were slow and awkward, and he caught on quick because he helped me take it off. I felt his gaze on my chest, but it didn’t linger there long. With gentle touches, he helped me put on his sweater, and then he pushed me back so I was lying on the bed and threw the blanket over me.

  “Try to get warm,” he told me. “I’ll get another blanket for you.”

  I brought the blanket up to my chin and pressed my knees to my chest. I wrapped my arms around my legs and took deep breaths, shutting my eyes, searching for warmth. I heard Roz come up from behind me, and I saw another blanket fall all around me, adding another layer against the cold.

  “Breathe under the covers,” he instructed. “Tell me if it doesn’t get better in ten minutes.”

  He left me huddled under the blankets.

  My soul was bursting with gratitude. I cried softly; my emotions were all over the place. I kept thinking maybe he was on my side. Maybe he was being sweet and he genuinely hadn’t intended for this to happen.

  But at the same time, my guard was up. It seemed too good to be true. Not even Nixon had been nice to me like that. I would have preferred the silence and the straight face because then I wouldn’t be filled with this kind of hope that I’d make it out of here unscathed.

  “You feel warmer, sweetheart?” he asked, approaching me again.

  I was still shaking like an earthquake. I felt so weak and desperate for warmth. Maybe he’d spare me another blanket.

  Unable to hold back, I shook my head, crying. “I’m so cold.”

  I felt him come closer. I was aware he was bending over me, staring at what little he could see of my face. I saw the worry lines around his eyes. “Let me into bed with you,” he said. “I’ll only touch you to keep you warm, I promise.”

  I resisted at first. It seemed like a trap.

  But I tried to reason with myself…if he’d wanted to have his way with me, he would have by now.

  I tried moving over on the bed. When he saw that, he immediately kicked his boots off, slid under the covers and helped shuffle me over. He had to lay on his side with his back against the wall because he was so broad, and the bed was only little.

  He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me into his chest, and the first thing I noticed when he did that was how warm his hand was. I felt like ice being thawed by his touch. I shut my eyes in relief and buried my head into his chest covered only by a thin undershirt.

  “How’s that?” he asked me, his tone low.

  I nodded, breathing out, “Thank you.”

  He didn’t stroke my back or let his hand wander. He did exactly as he promised. “Try to get some rest,” he murmured to me. “You need it.”

  It startled me how quickly my body relaxed, and my mind switched off.

  I fell asleep feeling warm for the first time today.

  *

  It was dark when I heard the door of the cabin open and felt a sharp gust of wind blast into the room. I opened my eyes and slowly turned my body around. Roz’s arm was still wrapped around me, and he was dead asleep, not even stirring at my movement.

  I saw one large figure enter the dark room, followed by a smaller one. Both were carrying giant duffle bags.

  Nixon and Tucker.

  “Shut the door,” Nixon ordered quietly.

  The door shut and Tucker stumbled ahead of Nixon, looking around the room. “I can’t see shit.”

  Somewhere on the bed was the flashlight Roz had given me. My hand immediately swept around me. I’d vaguely felt it against my back as I’d slept. As I searched, I was aware Nixon had taken a few steps in my direction. I could feel his eyes on me just as I’d found the flashlight and turned it on. I aimed it in his direction, making sure the light didn’t hit his eyes.

  “Here,” I said quietly.

  He came to me then, stopping just before the bed, his giant frame looming over me. His face was red and wet. His hair was everywhere, drenched. He looked miserable from the cold.

  He took the flashlight from my hand and aimed it at me, no shits given. I winced as the light flashed in my eyes and then down my body and then at the body behind me. The light shook just then, like maybe he was shivering… or maybe it was something else.

  “He touch you?” he asked in a whisper, his tone indecipherable.

  “Only to keep me warm,” I answered, gathering myself under the blankets again.

  The bottom half of his face was more visible than the upper. I saw his jaw clench, like he was angry about this.

  “Can I crash on the bed?” Tucker asked, shuffling around behind him. “I’m wrecked, man.”

  Nixon’s eyes were still on me as he said, “I’m going to try and get a fire going.”

  Tucker collapsed into the bed and Nixon stomped away. I heard him at the pile of firewood and looked down my feet in his direction. As he dropped to his knees, he placed the flashlight beside him. I could see him better now. He looked concentrated as he pulled his knife back out and cut at the wood.

  “There’s an axe,” I whispered to him.

  He looked up, meeting my gaze. He had a way of making me feel like he could see straight into me. My heart skipped a beat as he mumbled, “Don’t need it.”

  I was wrecked, could have slept the second I shut my eyes, but something about his presence had my focus directly on him. I raised myself up on my elbow to watch him.

  Tucker was snoring within minutes, and Roz’s arm reached out for me, pulling me back to him. I resisted, though, and his arm stopped around my hip as he fell back asleep.

  “You warm?” Nixon asked me, his eyes never straying from the wood he was cutting. He knew I was watching him.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “I’ll have the fire on within the hour.”

  “You don’t need to do that. You should sleep.” Although, to be fair, where the fuck was he going to sleep?

  “I want the fire on,” he murmured instead, determined. “No one will need to warm you up if it’s on.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered with gratitude.

  His eyes found mine again. He stopped what he was doing to stare at me for a few tense moments. I didn’t miss the way his chest slowed
– mine slowed too.

  Then he turned away.

  He was so shattered, his cuts were sloppy, and some came a little too close for comfort to his body, but he didn’t stop until he’d shredded every single wood piece in the pile, sorting through the dry bits and putting them in a separate pile. He would occasionally look up and meet my gaze, his eyes cutting into my own, but he would say nothing.

  I was half-asleep, swaying from my elbow position when he finally got up with the dry bits gathered in his hands. He moved to the woodfire stove and opened the firebox. In the dark, he shuffled around, tearing at pieces of the cardboard box he’d opened earlier. I watched him gather a pile of it. Then he was back at the firebox, filling it with the wood and kindling he’d made.

  Unable to keep my eyes open, I blacked out and then jolted myself awake, watching through bleary eyes as a light fire began to glow. His movements were slow and tired, but he stood there, for so long, getting it going.

  I passed out hard somewhere along the way.

  Sometime in the night, I thought I felt a featherlight caress on my cheek.

  But there was nothing but darkness when I opened my eyes.

  33.

  Nixon…

  After he’d managed starting the fire up, he’d hovered over the bed, staring at the girl in Roz’s black sweater, Roz’s arm wrapped lazily around her as they both slept. Nixon felt like he’d swallowed fire. He felt his fingers twitch something awful, the urge to remove her out of that fucking sweater and out of that bed so great, he wanted to punch his head to stop it.

  Stop it. He chastised himself.

  It wasn’t like him to feel this way.

  Maybe being in mourning had softened him up a bit.

  It didn’t help the area around the girl’s eye was swelling profusely and she looked extra miserable.

  That Beckett fuck deserved the bullet he ate.

  He loomed over her at some point, unable to resist himself. He traced his finger around the bruise before brushing his hand along her cheek. His pulse jumped at how soft her skin felt.

  If God existed, He was punishing Nixon with this girl.