His Hostage

It always comes as a shock, and there should be extreme justification for doing so. Well, I think it’s pretty obvious why I’m acting the way I am.

I can’t get enough of this woman. If I could have my way, I’d keep her forever.

That’s why I’m listening to this crazy plan of hers. This woman who has been sheltered her entire life in Pennsylvania is actually planning a “prison break” against two outlaw bikers from the border.

She’s crazy, but I’m the one who’s thinking to himself, “Maybe I can help her in some way.”

That’s crazy.

“The lighter idea is not my favorite,” I tell her. “The bottle, however, could work. I just worry about you hurting yourself.”

I kiss her thighs about a million times. They’re thick, juicy, and downright perfect. I can’t help myself. I’m not stopping any time soon.

“I can hold my own,” she says.

I can’t help but laugh. I know it’s rude, but I take one look at her in the garter belt, and I can’t picture her swinging a broken bottle against Jeffco, let alone tearing the brute’s jugular.

“I can do it,” she says. “I know I can.”

“Darling, I don’t want you to do it. Once you kill a man, you can’t come back from that,” I say.

No, there’s another way. She’ll need my help.

“Then what do you suggest? I don’t want to spend another day down here, Rowan. You don’t know what it’s like without sunlight,” she says.

I understand her loud and clear. The whole situation is fucked up. “I’ve been to prison before,” I mutter. “I understand more than you know. Which is why I’m going to help you.”

“Okay,” she says, setting down the bottle of Jack.

“But you’re going to

have to spend another day or two down here. I know how hard that is,” I say, “but I’ll come more often. I’ll spend the time with you.”

“Fuck,” she whispers, looking away from me.

“I know you probably hate me now for saying all this. I’d hate me, too. But I know how cruel this world can be. Unfortunately, we’re the kind of guys that keep it going in that direction. If Jeffco, saw you escaping, he’d—”

She whispers, “He’d kill me?”

“No. He wouldn’t kill you, actually,” I say, about to lay some more truth on her. “He’d take a razor blade and put it between your lips. He’d swipe from left to right, until your smile extends the length of your face. Then, he’d brand your flesh and throw you back down here.”

“What the fuck,” she whispers.

“You don’t know what we’re risking right now by doing this,” I say. “But I do. This is my life. These are the people I’ve given my trust to.”

“Why?” she asks. “Why do that to yourself?”

“Because I’ve had to survive as best I could,” I tell her. I leave out the bits of my pa beating me, or laying on my bedroom floor, passed out on drugs. “Things weren’t easy for me. Not in the least bit.”

She gulps down and nods, as if she understands. Of course, I don’t think she does. I don’t know anything about her situation, other than she’s a divorced woman looking for some answers. Well, she’s got her answers.

The world is a hard place. Not many people have your back, but if you find someone who does, you sure as hell stick by them.

I guess I’m that person for her.

“What’s the plan?” she asks, lighting a cigarette.

The roof is open, and the night-light of the stars is shining down on us. For the first time in a very long time, I feel close to someone. It catches me off guard and makes me feel funny.