A Wifey for the Bad Boy(3)

He urged her inside first, and she couldn't help but feel like a pig  being packed up and led off to the slaughter house. Scooting all the way  down, she leaned as close to the other door as she could, her eyes on  her lap as Abel's long legs stepped inside after her. She subtly tried  the handle, but it was locked.

Pulling the other door closed behind him, Abel seemed to sag into the  leather seat and breathed out a sigh. "All right, Ben. Take us home."

"You got it," a scratchy voice sounded from the front. Samantha glanced  up, catching a pierced eyebrow in the rearview mirror. Another biker  from the gang, she guessed.

"So," Abel said, turning his head to pin her under his stare. "Do you want to keep your last name?"       

   





Samantha wanted to ask him if he was crazy, but instead she just licked her lips and said, "Do you want me to?"

"I'd prefer it if you took mine," he admitted with a shrug. Turning  away, he sighed, and said, "Either way, the child will be a Wood."

"Uh," Samantha said. "Child?"

"Yours and mine," he repeated with a smile, and she felt a shiver run down her spine.

She got the feeling that she was really going to grow to despise those three words.



Samantha didn't know what sort of dwelling she had expecting a biker  boss to live in, but she certainly hadn't thought it'd be a penthouse  suite, even for a well-dressed one.

"Make yourself comfortable," Abel said, dropping his jacket over the  back of a cream couch. The décor in his apartment was mostly light  colors, with the odd pop of electric blue or bubblegum pink framed in  graffiti art on the high walls.

"Uh, thanks," Samantha said, moving to sit on the edge of a white ottoman.

"Come closer," Abel beckoned, falling onto a couch as he spread out his  arms and let his head drop onto the backrest with a huff. "So you can  reach the coffee table."

His ‘coffee table' was a large plate of glass balanced on what looked  like four chrome handlebars that'd been welded together. She moved  towards it cautiously, taking a seat on the opposite couch.

"Good," Abel smiled. "Now, if you would be so kind … " he said, turning to  the end table on his right to pick up a giant red book. He set it on  the coffee table with a small tap, considering what the thing must've  weighed, and proceeded to open up the cover and reveal that it wasn't  really a book at all.

"It's a box?" Samantha asked, watching as Abel scooped a handful of papers out of the hollowed middle.

"More of a safe," Abel shrugged, snapping it closed again. "Here," he  said, dropping the stack onto the table in front of her. "Need a pen?"

"Uh," Samantha picked up the first page, glancing at the empty lines and  square boxes. "What is-" But then she saw it. There, clear at the top  of the page, were the words ‘Marriage License Application.'

"What am I saying?" Abel sat up, reaching into his shirt pocket. "Of course you need a pen."

"This," Samantha swallowed, dropping the paper back onto the stack. "This is-"

"Just what we need to get married? Oh yes," he nodded, placing a silver fountain pen next to the papers.

She looked up at him. "You had it prepared."

He shrugged. "I'm always prepared. But let's talk about you  –  are you  always this inquisitive? Or are you just having second thoughts?" When  Samantha didn't answer, he sighed and said, "It's just as well. I've got  two people tailing your brother, so if you've changed your mind-"

"No!" Samantha shook her head, and she grabbed the pen, quickly jotting in her name.

"Perfect," Abel smiled. He bent over the papers with her, pointing and  flipping through the paperwork until she'd signed it all. Her hand felt  numb, in the end, cramped and tired as she handed the pen back to him.

"What now?" Samantha asked.

"Now?" Abel frowned. Then, suddenly, he gasped, "Ah, you mean now that  we're legally married. Well, once I rush these off to the courthouse  Monday morning, I suppose." Standing, he moved to her couch, and sat  down next to her. "What? Did you have something in mind?"

His face was impossibly close to hers, their lips almost touching.  Samantha opened her mouth to say something, to dissuade him, but then he  pulled back of his own accord.

"Don't worry," he said, patting her hand. "You're my wife, and it's you that I'll treasure the most."

Samantha didn't know what to say to that.



They slept on separate beds that night, something that Samantha hoped  would set a precedent for her future time in the penthouse. Abel hadn't  made a move toward her, either, not beyond the occasional teasing, and  she planned to keep it that way. Luckily, she wasn't disappointed, and  after a day of doing nothing but dining in and watching weird shows on  his HD television, they said goodnight and returned to their different  rooms.

Now it was Monday, and she'd been due at work three hours ago. Her  coworkers were bound to notice her unusual absence, meaning that the  police would be looking for her before too long.

"Morning!" Abel greeted her, suddenly popping his head into her room. If  Samantha hadn't already been awake for the last few hours, lying in bed  as she contemplated her life, then she was sure that she would've woken  up screaming.       

   





"Good morning," she replied calmly, sitting up. She wondered how long it'd take before someone tried to contact her.

"So, I'm headed off to work," he said, adjusting his cufflinks. "Be good, and don't try to leave the building."

Samantha blinked. When had this become her life? "Okay," she answered dully.

"Wonderful," he said, flashing a smile. "I'm off to turn in those  marriage license forms  –  when I get home, we should be a real married  couple. We'll go out to eat, alright? To celebrate."

"Sure," she replied, her thoughts far away on images of policemen wearing Kevlar vests carrying battering rams. "See you."

"Bye," he called, waving as he walked away. She waited until she heard  the sound of the elevator going down before she pushed herself out of  bed and onto the cold floor.

She was finally alone.

"Phone, phone," she chanted to herself, stepping out of the room. She  hadn't seen one earlier, but then, she hadn't exactly been looking, not  while she was under Abel's keen eye. Sneaking into the kitchen, she kept  an eye out for the odd biker lounging against a wall as she scanned the  counters.

Bam!

Samantha screamed as the front door suddenly bust open, bouncing off the  wall as men ran into the room. She dropped to the floor, hiding behind  the island in the kitchen as her heart threatened to beat out of her  chest. Gathering her strength, she glanced around the corner, her hands  already raised as she imagined armored men bearing tall "POLICE"  shields.

But it wasn't the daring rescue that she'd been hoping for. These men  were clad in leather and silver spikes, with black ski masks pulled over  their faces. She jerked back behind her short barricade as one of them  looked her in the eye.

"There!" he shouted, and she curled in on herself as they stampeded  toward her. One of them grabbed her arm, dragging her up from where  she'd fallen to her knees on the floor.

"Let go!" she demanded. "Let-"

She froze as the cold press of something round hit her neck, and the  click of a trigger sounded right after it. "Move!" the man standing  behind her yelled.

But then the one gripping her arm scowled, and said, "Dude, put that away."

It was a voice that Samantha knew all too well.

"James?!" she cried, looking the man in his familiar brown eyes. He  seemed to pause, and then sighed, his shoulders sagging. No doubt about  it, this was her brother. "James," she said again, a desperate call of  his name, and she threw her arms around him. "I knew it wasn't true!"  she laughed, a little hysterically. "I knew you wouldn't do that to me!"

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, and I'm here to rescue you, so let's get the hell out of here, huh?"

Samantha stood on numb legs and let him maneuver her towards the  elevator. They must've known as well as she did that it was the only way  in, or out. "Come on!" another man hissed.

"Not that way," the other man shook his head. "His men will be up here in that any second."

Thinking fast, they dragged her near the elevator and then right on past  it, taking her instead to the large window acting as a half wall in the  living room. Samantha frowned as they took her to it, and the tiny part  of her brain not panicking had to wonder why they were wasting time  with a view. Walking right up to the glass, each of the men stood at a  different position, forming a sort of triangle.

"Uh, James?" Samantha asked, glancing at his comrades.