Protagonized

by Shannon Myers

  I grabbed a cocktail napkin and dabbed at my face. “I think I’d like to take a shower.”

  He continued staring at my face. “That’s probably a good idea.” My stomach protested against the tightness of my denim jeans as Jake pulled me toward the bathroom like a convict.

  “Um, Jake? I’m not comfortable showering with you in the room.”

  He didn’t respond as he yanked the shower curtain back, and it took me a minute before I realized that he was searching my bathroom for contraband. Just like a real cop. I wasn’t sure why he bothered. Even if I found a weapon, the bathroom was windowless. I had nowhere to go.

  After checking behind the toilet tank, he crouched down and began going through the small cabinet beneath the bathroom sink, forcing me up against his body with every movement of his arm.

  I held my breath as he knocked a box of tampons aside, thanking the gods above he didn’t rifle through it in his quest to find something illegal.

  “Jake?”

  I was bent in half, with my face pressed up against his shoulder as he meticulously went through everything I owned. I made the mistake of inhaling. He didn’t smell like cigarettes, which was what I’d been expecting. It was something else…

  Campfire.

  Like the ones I sat around, roasting marshmallows, when we went to the lake house in the summer. But, it wasn’t just campfire. There were definite hints of spice too. He was smoky spice and woodsy cologne all rolled into one.

  Like a campfire made of spicy cologne. And marshmallows.

  No.

  I was not going to think about that.

  He came up empty-handed, and I had to fight the victorious smile threatening to take over my face at the metallic click of the handcuff being removed. I stretched like I’d been imprisoned for years and not just the better part of a day. One of Jake’s massive hands closed around my left wrist. My pulse picked up as his thumb traced the red line of irritation left by the metal.

  I felt like a robot that had been thrown into a swimming pool; his touch had my entire body short-circuiting. I could do nothing but watch as his fingers delicately stroked the inside of my wrist. The bastard had rendered me speechless.

  His hand dwarfed mine, making me feel much smaller than I already was.

  Big hands meant a big—

  “It’s clear.” Jake released my hand, and I gazed up at him stupidly, pushing the dirty thoughts I’d been having back into the recesses of my mind.

  Clear?

  “Your, uh, bathroom—all clear. I’ll just be,. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and pointed toward my bedroom.

  I closed and locked the door before leaning over the sink with a gasp. What the hell had just happened?

  I caught my reflection in the mirror and winced. Several strands of hair had freed themselves from my bun during my escape attempt and were now defying gravity above my head, giving me the appearance of someone who’d had a balloon rubbed on their hair. I also still had orange wing sauce around my mouth and, inexplicably, on the bridge of my nose. Yesterday’s mascara had transferred onto my eyelids and the skin beneath my eyes.

  I looked like an electrified raccoon.

  With a sigh, I added a healthy amount of bubble bath to the tub and began filling it before scrubbing my face until it was spotless. Suddenly overcome by the events of the day, I sank down to my knees on the cold tile and retrieved the box of tampons that had surreptitiously escaped Jake’s notice. So, I had a few secrets of my own. Everyone did.

  • Confession: I was a stoner. Well, sort of stoner. I hated smoking but loved edibles. Luckily, I lived in a state where marijuana was legal. Unluckily, I had two of the most conservative parents known to man and had been forced to resort to hiding it just in case they ever dropped by, unannounced.

  I dumped the tampons into my lap before retrieving the small cylindrical container from the bottom. I popped the citrus gummy into my mouth and eased into the bubble-filled tub with a contented sigh.

  I hadn’t ever understood my family’s opposition to weed. My mother had had a prescription for Xanax for years, one she refilled like clockwork. I’d simply chosen a more natural approach to treating my anxiety.

  Not that I’d ever admit to it. Aaris was the only one who knew, and she’d been sworn to secrecy years ago. I simply nodded and smiled as they lectured me on the dangers of drugs and the importance of always being alert—because dealers were waiting on every street corner, just itching to shove weed down unsuspecting people’s throats.

  I snickered at the thought and leaned back, massaging my sore wrist. The water lapped at my raw skin as I moved my thumb back and forth over the affected area, completely lost in thoughts of Jake.

  Twelve hours ago, he was just a figment of my imagination and now, he was here, in the flesh. In my mind, he’d always been this abstract object. It was a bit like standing next to a painting. Up close, things were blurred. I’d known his personality and mannerisms, but his physical appearance had always remained elusive. He was like something from a dream with features that were never clear. Now that he was in my apartment, it was like taking a step back and seeing the entire painting for the first time.

  And it was a fucking magnificent thing to behold.

  I closed my eyes and let the weed spirit my worries away. I knew I needed to come up with a rational answer as to how Jake was here, but I was distracted by muscles and sheer masculinity. Being pinned against the kitchen floor was the most action I’d gotten in quite some time. I clenched my thighs together as I pictured Jake above me. The hand that was aching only moments before, drifted down my body to relieve another sort of ache altogether.

  My hand froze as the small part of my brain that was still very much rooted in reality chose that moment to helpfully remind me of the gun against my head and the fact that the douche bag had cost me a publishing deal.

  I sat up with a low groan, sloshing water and bubbles over the side of the tub. “This is just a dry spell,” I whispered. “You are not attracted to your kidnapper. That would be crazy and irrational. You are not crazy and irrational.”

  However, I was talking to myself, so perhaps, the jury was still out on that one.

  I waited until the skin on my fingers shriveled up like prunes before reluctantly pulling the drain. Instead of spending my free time coming up with a plan of action, I’d fantasized about my captor.

  And I still didn’t know what I was going to do.

  I wasn’t willing to change the ending to One in the Chamber even if it would mean my freedom. I’d committed to that ending and, for lack of a better term, had pulled the trigger. It was too late.

  I snagged a gray cotton cami and black lounge pants from the hook on the back of the door and then took my time pulling my damp hair back up into a bun.

  At least I wasn’t going to have to face him naked.

  I inhaled deeply and took one last look in the mirror. My face couldn’t hide my emotions. I was scared shitless to face him without a solid idea of what I was going to do.

  “You are calm. You are safe. You are Zen,” I whispered before unlocking the bathroom door.

  I almost stumbled over Jake as I opened the door. He was leaning against the door frame with Bootsy curled up asleep in his lap. His massive arms were cradled around her body protectively.

  Jealousy sucker punched me in the gut while lust dealt the death blow to my ovaries.

  He gently placed Bootsy on the carpet before standing and stretching. She gave him an irritated look before curling into the fetal position and resuming her nap.

  His position put me right at eye level with his stomach. His t-shirt rode up and my eyes were drawn to the covering of light blond hair that trailed down his abdomen before disappearing into his jeans.

  My heart beat out a steady message—touch… touch… touch. My brain sent one of its own—dry spell… dry spell… dry spell.

  I forced my eyes up, hovering much longer than necessary on his broad chest.

&n
bsp; Touch.

  Then, they moved up to his strong jawline dotted with stubble. He watched me with pursed lips, and I had a feeling he was not fighting the same emotional tug-of-war I was.

  His eyes were heavy-lidded, with each slow blink giving me the impression I’d woken him unexpectedly. He had a nose that slightly turned up at the tip. I’d long associated snub-noses with condescending bitches, thanks to some unfortunate run-ins in high school, but Jake made it work to his advantage. Eyes that I’d often described as a dull flat brown were more of a deep amber, flecked with gold and green. Like an olive.

  How had I missed so much?

  The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as he reached out for my hand. “Is your wrist okay?”

  Touch…

  I stared at my wrist dumbly before returning my gaze up to his face. His thumb traced around the red groove left by the handcuffs as he waited for an answer.

  Say something…

  I nodded slowly, absolutely certain I would sound like a porn star in heat if I used my voice.

  He moved and began walking me back toward the bed and my brain, which had protested almost everything, remained silent.

  “You sure?” he murmured.

  I nodded again. In fact, I wasn’t sure that I’d ever stopped nodding. I was like one of those bobble-head dogs that sat on the dashboard, constantly in motion. His legs brushed up against mine, sending me scurrying up onto the mattress.

  Click, click. One cuff bit into my wrist at the same moment the other closed around my wrought-iron headboard.

  “Good.” He leaned in and whispered against my ear before slipping out of the bedroom with Bootsy right on his heels.

  Dry spell…

  Six

  I was approaching hour thirty-three of my imprisonment.

  Number of text messages received: 0

  Number of voicemails received: 0

  Number of violent thoughts: twelveteen million.

  The past day and a half had been nothing short of a nightmare. Jake had refused to listen to reason and kept me chained to the bed all night. And by reason, I mean me, screaming about all the ways in which he could fuck himself.

  And I don’t mean chained to the bed in a sexy, bodice-rippery sort of way, but more in a ‘it puts the lotion on its skin’ way.

  He escorted me to the bathroom when I needed to go and waited outside the door like my warden. Had there been a window, I was certain he would’ve made me pee in front of him. I might’ve been touched by his kindness in allowing me to go the bathroom at all; you know, had he not immediately chained me to my desk chair and insisted I write afterward.

  Sick bastard.

  “‘This series had me glued to my chair—keyword, had. Detective Hopkins always ended up in the middle of chaos, which made for a quick fun read, if you put zero effort into reality. Addison was a little too dumb and naïve. And the author never explained how Jake would automatically suspect the cartel for her death. No police procedure was followed. I’m out. The next book sounds good, but without Jake, what’s the point?’” Jake read from the couch.

  I took a deep breath to center myself and returned to my novel. So far, I’d managed to read four Ranker articles and discovered that people experienced some strange shit out in the forest, reinforcing my decision to never visit any heavily wooded areas. Jake, on the other hand, had discovered Goodbooks.

  “Jake,” I said, much louder than was necessary while punching at the keys on my laptop. “Who was very much still dead, lay at the bottom of the building in pieces. The detectives were going to have a hell of a time piecing him back together!”

  Jake lay across the couch with his cell phone in his hands, giving no indication that hearing me narrate his death was upsetting him. Bootsy, the two-timing pussy, was curled up at his feet.

  When I paused, he lowered it and peered at me. “You used pieces and piecing in the same paragraph.” He retrieved the newspaper from the coffee table and began reading.

  “And?”

  With a sigh, he brought it down again. “And, it’s lazy storytelling. You have a thesaurus literally within inches of you, yet you’re going to stick with variations of the word ‘pieces.’ You would never consider that there might be words like portions, bits, segments, or parts that could be used. It says a lot about how you value your craft. Really. Keep up the good work.”

  The paper went back up, and I resisted the urge to launch my coffee cup at it. Mainly because it was still three-quarters of the way full and I knew I was going to need all the caffeine I could get to survive the rest of the day with Jake. The warden had allowed me one cup; I doubted I’d get another if I tossed it at him.

  I turned back to my computer with a sigh, taking care to rattle the chain around my ankle as loudly as I could manage. Jake quickly learned that handcuffing my arm very much prevented me from reaching my laptop. So, instead of heeding my advice to just remove the cuffs completely, he chained my legs to the metal spider legs of the chair base.

  In spite of the hour, Laura could see that there was a crowd quickly gathering on the street below. She slipped on a pair of snow boots and took the elevator down to join them.

  The police had arrived by the time she made it outside and fat flakes of snow were just beginning to drift down lazily from the sky. Unfortunately, they hadn’t quite managed to cover the poor man… or what remained of him. There appeared to be body parts scattered across a one block radius, leaving his identity a complete mystery.

  “That’s better. It leaves the book open to me coming back,” Jake noted from the couch.

  My eyes rolled back so far that I managed to catch a glimpse of my brain.

  “But,” Jake cut in. “And I mean this with all due respect, if the victim is scattered on the street, how would she know whether it was male or female?”

  I ground my molars together, a habit my dental hygienist was constantly urging me to quit, and tapped at the keys. Ignoring his input and continuing was in my best interest.

  It was also in his best interest.

  She huddled next to a younger couple that lived in the condo next door. She’d never spoken with them personally but had seen them on the elevator and in her small café on the ground floor of the building. They still had the spark of new love radiating about them…

  “And, it sucks again,” he groaned from the couch. “Get to the good part.”

  “I already did,” I answered sweetly, turning to him. “When you took the express elevator down from Tiffany’s condo.”

  It filled me with endless pleasure to see the edges of the newspaper crumple beneath his tightly clenched fists. Satisfied that I’d shut him up for a while, I turned back to my laptop.

  Laura had never seen a dead body up close. She’d always imagined that if she did, it would evoke a visceral reaction in her. And it had. It wasn’t one of outrage and worry that she could be next; although both weighed on her mind. No, as she watched the police secure their crime scene, she’d focused on the crowd gathered around her.

  Any one of them could’ve been the killer.

  The thought consumed her until she was searching faces for signs of guilt. Was the young couple next to her clinging to each other due to the frigid temperatures or out of culpability? What about the young woman being questioned by the police? After all, it was her apartment he’d been in.

  “Is this what a cozy mystery is? Some nobody, searching crime scenes for perps because she received a criminal justice degree from the ‘internets?’ The police wouldn’t release which apartment the victim was in, so again, how would this ‘sleuth’ be privy to it? Jesus, Hayden. With me, you half-assed it, but at least you were trying. Just admit it—you’re phoning it in.”

  Damn. And here I’d thought that my last comment would keep him sulking for at least half an hour.

  Phoning it in?

  This dickhead didn’t know me.

  I brushed off my irritation and pulled up my horoscope, needing the distraction.
Today had been an absolute wash, but tomorrow had to be better. I’d reached rock bottom, it could only go up from here.

  A message or phone call from someone dear who lives far away could arrive today. You’ve been thinking about this person for a while, Libra, so don’t be surprised if you hear from him or her. You’re especially attuned to the thoughts and feelings of others right now. In fact, you may feel especially inspired to work on projects of your own, as ideas are likely to fill your head. Have fun!

  Oh, I had ideas filling my head, alright. Unfortunately, none of them were going to help me finish this novel on time. And, unless there was some great distance between mine and Aaris’s balconies, I didn’t know anyone who lived far away. What a load of generic garbage.

  I needed a horoscope that actually fit my situation, like:

  You’re being held captive in your apartment, dear Libra. Not to fear, a close friend will make her appearance known and free you. Grab your trusty smudge stick and send this fictional demon back to hell.

  I smiled. That one was much better.

  “Here’s a good one—” I glanced over to see that Jake was once again glued to his phone. “My cell service was shit back home. It’s nice to not have to wait for websites to load. Where was I? Oh, here it is—‘I was a huge fan of Hayden’s, but I’m afraid I’ve lost my faith in him as a writer. I can no longer trust him to deliver a solid book. His romantic suspense series, Blood Letters, had me pulled into the story from page one. Since then, his books have become nothing more than meandering drivel. There’s no cohesive plot—and what is the purpose of mentioning Jake’s wandering eye every other page? We know, the guy gets around. He’s a damn good writer, that’s a fact, but it’s like he’s writing for someone else in this series. Certainly not the readers who have been with him since book one.’”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and focused on my breathing. I was balanced. I was centered. Inside, I was… well, I was seething.