Captive

by R. J. Lewis

  “I’ll know,” Nixon assured him, stepping out, still bare-chested like this weather did fucking nothing to him. Fucking mutant.

  “Where will you go with her?” Hobbs asked, wrapping his scarf around his face.

  Nixon thought for several moments, but Hobbs sensed he already knew; he’d thought about it already. “I want a seaplane ready.”

  He eyed him, understanding dawning. “You’re going back to the island.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Smart.”

  “The hotel I’m in…it’s up for sale.”

  Hobbs blinked a couple times. “You…you want to buy the hotel?”

  “I want to buy the island.”

  More blinks. “You want to sink all that you’ve made – all that you’ve worked for – on this island?”

  Nixon smiled at the aghast look on Hobbs’ face. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “I’m not going to try to. I think I’ve had enough surprises for one day.”

  “I need you to lend me some of your men.”

  “What the fuck for?”

  “For protection, in case shit goes wrong.”

  “You want to make sure the girl doesn’t run, is what you mean.”

  “That too.”

  “Fucking hell, fine, but you get your own men when you’re on your fucking island, alright?”

  Nixon chuckled as Hobbs began wading in the snow, cursing under his breath. This was a guy that never did outdoorsy shit. It was too fucking funny to stop watching.

  “Think you should hit up a ski resort, Hobbs,” Nixon called out to him.

  “I’d rather die,” Hobbs retorted over his shoulder. “I’m going to Mexico, Nixon. I’m going to burn in the sun. Fuck this shit.”

  Nixon didn’t feel the same way.

  He loved this cold.

  He loved the way it made him feel alive.

  He didn’t return inside until Hobbs had disappeared from view.

  And when he did, he found Victoria on the floor, completely nude. She had her knees pressed to her chest; her wild hair was all around her. She was staring at the floor with a numb look on her face.

  Nixon stopped before her, staring down at her with concern. “You alright, baby?”

  She didn’t respond for some time. He felt her throat moving. She was swallowing back emotion. Her lips trembled as she finally looked up at him, her eyes glassy. With a soft voice, she whispered her despair. “You’re not going to let me go, are you?”

  His chest expanded with his own emotion. “Is that what you want?” he asked flatly.

  “I’d like to go back to my life, Nixon.”

  His lips thinned. “What life is that, Victoria?”

  “My life.”

  “You would leave me?” He couldn’t hide the note of betrayal in his tone. Was she really so keen to go?

  “It isn’t that…” she began to say.

  “You would forget about me?” he continued, talking over her. “You would put us behind you?”

  Why was he so surprised?

  He was offering her…him.

  Of course, it wouldn’t be good enough.

  What the fuck did a man capable of violence and bloodshed have to give to a woman like her? A woman who deserved warmth and security and love.

  “Nixon –”

  “I killed for you,” he cut in, unable to restrain himself now. “I saved you from an evil fate. Don’t I get to keep you?”

  Tears fell from her eyes as she stared at him in disbelief. “You’re better than that, Nixon.”

  He gave her a sad smile. “I’m really not, Victoria.”

  She stood up and began pacing, eyeing him cautiously as he spun around to face her. She wrung her hands together, thoughts blazing. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her face cracked with fear, then anger. With a tearful expression, she demanded, “How long are you going to keep me here?”

  Nixon watched her intently. “We’re getting out tomorrow.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’ve got an island.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks, looking at him horrified. “You’re taking me to an island.”

  “Yes.”

  “For how long?” she pressed again, breathing harder.

  “I don’t know.” He hadn’t thought it through. He wasn’t going to lie. “You’ll be safe. I’ll take care of you.”

  She shook her head, letting out a soft cry. “I have a life, Nixon,” she repeated, her voice rising. “I have a fucking life!”

  Nixon stood resolute, unflinching as she began to pace, trembling. “You had a shit life,” he corrected, coolly. “You told me about it extensively.”

  She slapped her chest. “It’s still my life.”

  “Well, I want you, Victoria.”

  “You want me,” she said, tone filled with incredulity.

  “I want you badly,” he admitted fiercely.

  “What happens when you take me to this island, lock me up and fuck me until you stop wanting me?” she asked, voice trembling now as she eyed him warily.

  “That won’t happen.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  But he did. He knew it deep in his bones. If this was a challenge, he was gladly going to take it. “Allow me to prove you wrong.”

  “You’ll kill me, won’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Yes, you will. I’m just a warm hole you slip into. I’m shiny and new –”

  “That’s not true,” he said, hardly above a whisper.

  She muttered under her breath as she resumed her pacing. She looked desolate. This wasn’t going to be a smooth transition. Nixon knew that already. She wasn’t going to fall into him as easily as he had fallen into her. As she sobbed in ruin, he felt his heart thud harder in his chest. She was so beautiful, so gentle and fierce all at once. For a brief moment, he thought of letting her go, and an unbearable agony wreaked havoc within him.

  She was his.

  She really was.

  He looked at her and knew it, goddammit, even now as she paced, as she fought to come to terms with the revelation that she was not going back.

  There was no going back.

  The second Beckett dragged her into the van, her fate had been sealed.

  Nixon hadn’t wanted this for her. From the start, he tried to let her go, but it didn’t happen, and here she was, and at the end of the day, Nixon was a victim to fate and the emotions fate – that cunt – inflicted on him.

  It wasn’t his fault.

  It really wasn’t.

  He had no say in this. Didn’t she know that? This was pure instinct. To let her go would be like fighting against nature, and in the end, nature always won.

  “Let the past go,” he told her. “Who you were, it’s gone. Don’t you feel it? You’re not the same person. You told me so. You said, ‘how am I supposed to live in this world knowing what we did?’ Simple. You live in this world with me. Have me, little vixen.”

  But she wasn’t listening.

  She was lost in her grief.

  She pled to be let go, and he refused.

  She said the word please, and he said no.

  When the tears dried, and the begging didn’t work, she collapsed into bed and turned her back to him. Wrapped in a blanket, she numbly stared at the wall and said nothing for hours.

  He paced around her, eyeing her, feeling lost. He tried to feed her, she ignored. He tried to sleep next to her, she went stiff.

  He felt her loathing, and it tore at him.

  But that’s what she was, anyway.

  A tear in his being.

  She was sweet venom.

  And there wasn’t an inch of his soul her sweet venom didn’t claim.

  He was not going to let her go. Her pouting would end. Her numbness would fade. She would bend to him eventually.

  It just took time.

  A year from now – maybe two – she’d understand.

  As he lay next to her, he ran his f
ingers through her hair, whispering delicately, “Allow me to touch you.”

  “No,” she rasped, her voice dead.

  “I think you want my touch, vixen.”

  “I don’t.”

  He ran his hand down her body, feeling her smooth flesh, already lost to the feel of her. “I think you’ll be screaming my name before the sun comes up,” he whispered, pressing kisses on her shoulder blade. “How many times do you think you’ll be moaning it in my ear, baby?”

  “Zero times,” she bitterly retorted.

  “This brooding isn’t you,” he murmured.

  “I assure you it is.”

  He brought his hand between her legs, and she tensed beneath his touch, closing her legs tightly to keep him out. But it didn’t work. He parted her thighs in less than a second and ran his fingers along her slit, smiling devilishly. She was slick and yearning. A soft whimper escaped her lips as he worked her clit. “There she is,” he whispered, feeling his heart spike at the breathless sounds she was making.

  He worked her slowly until she was arching her back, her legs falling open for him. He moved down the bed, yearning to taste her, to take her while her fingers dug into his scalp.

  As he predicted, she bucked from his touch and pulled at his hair. She cried out his name, while also crying out other words. Words he caught between heavy pants.

  You won’t have my soul.

  My soul belongs to me.

  *

  The One Percent had descended into chaos, turning on themselves as Toby abandoned them in light of Roz’s death.

  As far as Toby was concerned, he had no idea who wiped them out.

  And that…destroyed the unity of the bikers as they began to fight amongst themselves.

  Keeping Victoria out of that nest was the wisest decision. Hobbs went from scolding Nixon for taking her to commending him for keeping her out of the fire. At that point, Hobbs didn’t know if she’d talk. Her freedom might have her scrambling to the police – and among them, corrupted officers would have passed the knowledge along to the bikers.

  Hobbs would have been found out. Both he and Nixon would have been hunted down.

  If the girl was alive, she needed to be hidden.

  If a threat emerged, she needed to be isolated, her freedom stricken even more than was granted until the threat was purged.

  Hobbs wondered if death was better for the girl.

  Her name was erased. She was known as Vixen now, the pet name Nixon loved to purr at her.

  Over time, Hobbs would find her in the conference rooms and delight in her presence. She was sunshine. He’d catch the hidden smiles – the ones she’d only shoot when Nixon had his back to her. She wouldn’t let him know she liked his touches, his stolen glances, his forced kisses.

  At the same time, the war in her emerged.

  One side, clutched to Nixon’s side, dependant on his touches.

  The other, longing for freedom.

  In the end, Hobbs didn’t know which of the two would prevail.

  Part Three: The End

  42.

  Vixen…

  I remembered everything.

  It hurt so badly to open up a scabby wound I’d chosen to bury and forget. Now I was bleeding everywhere. I felt the pain in every part of my body. The wound had never healed properly, but it’d been forgotten. I’d done so well looking ahead; now, looking back, it was like being transported to the past and being forced to re-live the trauma.

  Surprisingly, though, I ended up sobbing for different reasons than I’d expected.

  I’d demonized Nixon.

  I’d made him into a villain, all because I felt so betrayed he’d chosen to abduct me when the time in the cabin came to an end.

  But, back then, I hadn’t paid close attention to his words. I hadn’t stopped to really analyse his expressions and intentions.

  He’d fallen in love with me up on that mountain.

  He genuinely believed I was meant to be his.

  There was such a horrible pain to that realization. I felt like I understood him on a deeper level. I might always have.

  The game we had played had become our reality. I pushed him away, watching him fight to re-claim me. I constantly left him feeling short. It was like having eleven holes overflowing with water and watching him close every one of them with his fingers and always being left one short.

  He never felt like he was winning.

  No matter what he did, I never broke character. I lived playing my part, defiant and cold – and God, he needed my warmth this whole time.

  As the tears ran endlessly down my face, the car came to a slow stop. The door opened and the driver stepped out, slamming it shut behind him. I held my breath, straining to hear.

  “She’s in the car,” the man said. “She’s not in a good place, been muttering words this whole time.”

  The backdoor opened just then. The cool air hit my flushed skin. I was sweating everywhere. I felt a hand gently run along the side of my face. Breaths hit my skin and a voice said, “I’m getting you out of here.”

  I went completely still from shock. “Flynn?”

  The blindfold disappeared from my head. I blinked rapidly, looking up in the darkness, my gaze catching his. Flynn was in the car, looking down at me with a soft expression. “Come on, Vixen, let’s get you out of this car.”

  His arms wrapped around me, and he slid me out of the backseat. He set me down on my feet and began untying the rope around my arms. “I had to make this look real,” he explained to me. “That way, no one would think you left voluntarily.”

  I looked around us quickly. We were stopped on a dirt road in the middle of the bush. I recognized these sorts of trails. Off the road type you find in construction zones or national reserves. I wouldn’t know my way back, but Nixon would probe every inch of the island to find me.

  Nixon.

  He had left for the job. The job Flynn was meant to be present for. But he was here instead, wreaking havoc.

  Why?

  When the rope fell away from my arms, he bent down and did the same to my ankles. I watched him, my body trembling as the rope loosened. “What have you done, Flynn?” I scolded.

  He stood up, towering over me. His face was hard, his eyes narrowed on me. “You wouldn’t understand. This was personal, Vixen. Believe me, he deserves it.”

  “We need to leave,” the other man said. “We’re running late.”

  “You go ahead, Jay,” Flynn told him. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Jay disappeared into the woods, leaving Flynn alone with me. I watched him as he went into the car and opened the glovebox compartment. I took a hesitant step back as he pulled out a gun. He caught the movement and gave me a reassuring look, sliding the gun into the waistband of his pants. “Why would I hurt you?” he asked, smiling softly. “I’m saving you, Vix.”

  “I don’t need to be saved,” I whispered.

  He shut the door, and the lights in the car went dark. He came to me then, cradling my face in the palm of his hand. “I’ve got a seaplane coming in for us. In a matter of hours, you’re going to have your life back.”

  Too stunned to respond, he took me by the arm and guided me off the trail and into the woods. My heels sank into the wet sloppy ground. Every step took effort removing my heels from the mud. Within minutes, I was panting, unused to walking in these conditions, and Flynn was just blazing by, practically dragging me.

  “Slow down,” I hissed, trying to pull back my arm. “I’m not cut out for this sort of walk, Flynn.”

  He slowed down, looking at my feet. “Sorry.”

  “You’re in a hurry.”

  “I can’t afford any delays.”

  “Then leave me.”

  Even in the dark, I saw the way his face twisted. “No, I can’t leave you. I made myself a promise when I saw you that I would get you out of his clutches.”

  I shook my head, not understanding any of this. “You saw me days ago, Flynn. Whatever you came
here to do, it wouldn’t have included me.”

  His hand tightened. “I saw you a lot longer than that.”

  What did he mean?

  My head ached. I whimpered as a sharp branch whacked into my bare leg, scratching me. He was still going faster than I could keep up, and as I looked around, the darkness in all directions, I didn’t know how far from the car we’d made it, or how far we had yet to go.

  “I can’t come with you,” I cried to him, feeling like my throat was closing up. “I’m not leaving him, Flynn.”

  “Like hell you aren’t,” he hissed. “You’ve been brainwashed.”

  “I really haven’t.”

  “This is Stockholm Syndrome.”

  “It really isn’t.”

  “Goddammit, Vixen, can you even see yourself outside of this island anymore? He’s kept you locked up here for a year straight.”

  What was he talking about? It wasn’t a year – it was almost two – but I didn’t correct him straightaway because my brain was still mushy, trying to understand.

  All I could think about was Nixon returning to find his island in flames.

  The devastation when he realized I wouldn’t be in the hotel – the hotel would be ashes. He would panic, scrambling to find me, terrified of what had become of me.

  I dug my heels into the mud, purposely this time. “You’ve ruined him,” I said, brokenly. “You’re burning his island down.”

  “Good,” Flynn retorted.

  “People live here. They…They count on him.”

  “They’ll endure. We all endure, Vixen.”

  I shook my head, unable to continue. “Let me go!”

  Flynn stopped in his tracks and turned to me, panting. “We aren’t far.”

  “I don’t want to go, goddammit.”

  “Vixen –”

  “What has he done to you?”

  Flynn dropped his head down to my level, gritting out, “He’s stolen from me.”

  “Stolen…” My mind blazed with thoughts. “What has he stolen from you? Money?”

  “No, not money.”

  “Gold?”

  “No, Vix –”

  “What then?” I yelled up at him, frustrated.