Ain't Your Bitch (Interracial Urban Erotica)(179)

"What are your intentions with my brother?"

The question didn't make any more sense the second time. Jamelia tried  to figure out what answer he wanted, but she couldn't answer a question  she didn't understand.

"Who is your brother? I don't underst-"

The second hit was somehow harder than the first, and sent her sprawling  down onto the bed, folded in half like a barbie doll. It took her a  second to figure out which way 'up' was before she managed to get  herself back into a seated position.

"You goddamn bitches are all the same. You don't know the first thing about relationships, do you?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You don't know one God damned thing about decency or respect for other people. Nothing about morality."

"What?"

Part of her knew that she should be trying to placate him. Every thing  she was saying was just making him angrier, and it was only a matter of  time before things started going very bad. She needed to figure out what  he wanted to hear. Morality? Decency and respect? Intentions?

He sounded like he was straight out of the fifties, with this 'what are  your intentions with my daughter' crap. But with my brother? She hadn't  ever heard anyone even suggest it.

He raised his hand again. "Wait! Wait, okay, please. One second. I just woke up."

"Talk fast, girly."

"Give me a second, please. I just need a minute."

"You have ten seconds."

She used them to rub her eyes clear. The guy wore his hair very short.  It might have been to hide the fact that he was thinning on top. She was  confident that she'd recognize him if she saw the guy again, and she  was doubly confident that she had never seen the man before in her life.  If she knew his brother, then there wasn't an incredible amount of  family resemblance.

"I'm sorry. Intentions, you said. Intentions. I mean-I don't know, do I? I've only been seeing him a couple of days."

"Don't you bull-shit me, bitch."

So much for decency and respect, Jamelia thought glumly.

"I'm not! I only met him a week ago or so. It's not exactly time to start talking about marriage, right? We're still … "

She trailed off when she saw exactly how little effect this argument was  having on the man in front of her. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled  her up out of bed. When he saw the clothes she was-or wasn't-wearing,  he looked her up and down with increasing disgust.

"Get dressed."

He sat down in one of the hotel-room chairs watched her dress. Jamelia  could feel his eyes on her every instant, as if he might see if she even  thought about reaching for something. He didn't have to pay such close  attention; she didn't have anything to reach for.

Jamelia dressed quickly and tried to do her best not to put anything on  display for him. Something about the way that he looked at her, like she  was human filth, told her that he wouldn't have gotten much enjoyment  out of it if she'd put on a proper show. That didn't change how she felt  about it.

"Let's go," he said. He tapped the blade of a knife against a chair. "And don't try anything, or you'll find out what happens."

Jamelia didn't put up a fight. She couldn't afford to show any sort of  resistance, not when he was holding that knife. And she knew better than  to assume that he was going to put it down.

They made their way side-by-side toward the elevator. Someone had to  check on her, right? If the F.B.I. hadn't caught Craig by now, then  things should have settled down enough to at least send someone by to  make sure she was settled in alright. If they had, then Roy would come  by any minute now. Roy, with his pistol.

She took a deep breath and tried not to think about it. She could only  jinx her chances, if she gave it too much hope. Just look for an  opportunity to make a break for it. The guy has a knife, that limits his  range pretty badly. Jamelia took a breath.

The elevator doors opened on a cleaning lady who smiled at them in the  way that service employees smile at someone who they won't remember the  face of in ten minutes. There went another hope for getting out of here.  She got into the elevator next to the guy because he told her to.

The trip down was in silence. She was too afraid to break it, and he  didn't seem that interested in talking. She didn't know where they were  going, but she knew she wasn't going to like it.

"We'll take your car," he said softly.

"My keys-I mean, I didn't bring them. You didn't tell me to-"

"Don't lie to me."

She zipped her lips. She could feel her keys, suddenly heavier in her  pocket, as if the weight of his knowing about them had just been added.

"I'm sorry," she said. Soft, de-escalating. Demure, even. It was a  struggle, with this asshole. On her home turf, in her city, and she was  playing the mewling kitten with a guy who would normally have her pumps  ankle-deep in his ass for treating her like this.

Jamelia took a breath and started out across the lot. She looked around  for a government car, looked for a motorcycle, looked for anything that  was going to help her get out of this god damned situation unscathed.  She couldn't take a good look without being conspicuous, but she didn't  see anything.

She slipped into the driver's seat of the Jeep, he slipped into the  passenger side. He took the knife back out of his pocket, pressed the  blade edge against her.

"Drive real careful, now." He dug it a little into the thin fabric of  her shirt, enough to let her feel the razor-edge burr on the blade. "And  don't forget to wear your seatbelt."





Thirty-Seven



The thug beside her noticed the tail a few seconds after Jamelia did.  She had tried not to notice, but that didn't change anything when he  muttered, "We got someone following us. God damnit. Turn left here."

She turned left, still unsure where in the hell they were going, except  that she didn't want to go there with this guy no matter where it was.         

     



 

"Step on it."

She put the power down in the car after her momentary hesitation led to  another sharp poke in the belly that reminded her exactly what was at  stake here. It was all fun and games, all playful pokes, until that  knife slipped hilt-deep into her stomach. Because at that point, if she  didn't make a hospital in a matter of minutes, the game would be over.  It would be a slow death, but even the first stab would do it, if he  gave it a good effort.

The Jeep made the sort of unhappy roar that cars with their mufflers  only-half-attached made, and sped off. She lifted when they hit the  speed limit. He jabbed her again, and she broke it.

The car behind them-that is, the truck behind them-sped up to match.  Whoever was responsible for this tail, if they knew how to hide, they  also knew when they were made. They came up hard and fast, but didn't  try to overtake. Instead, they just slotted in behind her and waited.

Why couldn't they get their god damned acts together and figure out what  was happening here? Couldn't someone deal with this psychopath?

She took a breath in that pressed her belly against the blade again, and  her breath hitched in her lungs, not wanting to go in and not wanting  to breathe out.

She forced the air out of her lungs. With that knife there, she couldn't  afford to take any risks with the car, not even if she wanted to. Not  this far from a hospital. Not if she couldn't be absolutely certain that  the guy was going to eat it.

The truck was close enough now that when she looked into it she could  see. Roy was sitting in the driver's seat, his expression almost bored.  Someone was behind him in the extended cab, but she couldn't make him  out besides that he was big. She had her guesses, though.

"Faster," the man with the knife growled, pushing hard enough to draw blood and stain her white shirt.

"I can't go any faster. I'm already going as fast as it goes."

He cursed and pulled the knife back a moment. Jamelia looked in the  mirror at Roy, hoping that he would somehow pick up on her body  language.

"A right here." She jerked the wheel right. She could feel the car  threatening to tip and roll over on its lid. This driving was a hundred  times too aggressive for the already-ruined suspension on this Jeep, but  if she really wanted to, she could have made damn sure it flipped. The  truck blew past at seventy miles an hour.

Jamelia's eyes dropped to the big man's waist, and she held back a  curse. Wearing his seatbelt? What kind of psycho did that? She had been  hoping that she could flip it and send him head-first into the concrete.  But that wasn't going to happen now.

Jamelia slowed the car, and noted that the guy didn't tell her to speed up.

"Pull over here."

She did what she was told. Not much else choice, after all. They weren't  in the slums like her sister had been, or the other women. By itself,  that helped, but somehow Jamelia didn't get the feeling that it mattered  all that much to this guy.

"Let's go."

She slid out of the car. An industrial district, though. Nowhere to run,  and nobody to run to. She could hope that she could outrun the guy, of  course. She'd always been fit. But looking the guy up and down one more  time told her that she would do well not to rely on his being in poor  fitness.