And I can't believe I'm still fucking thinking about him like that. I'm still sitting here thinking about that stupid fucking kiss, or the way his hands just grabbed me and tossed me over his powerful shoulder like a caveman.
I'm still thinking about how wet that gruff, dangerous, coldly calculating man made me.
This must be what Stockholm syndrome is.
"So, what happened with your friend?"
I blink, startled from the filthy and entirely wrong thoughts of my fucking kidnapper.
"Um, nothing, she- she had to go someplace."
"And she left you out here, dressed like that?"
"No, she left and then I went out to grab a soda, and the keys … "
I trail off. Somehow, Jayson seems to let it go.
"Well, I'm glad you called."
"Me too."
I'm not going to think about whatever bullshit about people looking for me Connor was trying to feed me when I made my escape because I know that was just his last-ditch attempt to keep me in that place. For now, all I need is a ride, and maybe a couch to sleep on, and tomorrow I'll take the train to my parent's house in Shelter Harbor and figure out what the hell I'm going to do.
"Thanks."
I take the beer from Jayson as I sit on his couch.
"Look, if this is weird, I can call a friend."
Right.
I've told Jayson that I've left my apartment keys in "my friend's" place. I'm not mentioning that the man who kidnapped me has my driver's license and knows where I live.
"Or like, get a hotel or something."
"Sierra, it's cool, really. You can grab my bed, and I'll stay out here on the-"
"The couch is fine, thanks."
He nods.
"Hey, can I … " He looks down. "Look, can I play you something?"
I raise a brow, a smile peeking at my lips. "Play me something?"
"A song. I've-" he sighs. "Look, I've been doing a lot of thinking since the other night, and I know I fucked up. I just know you're too good for me is all, and I was just waiting for you to realize that and walk away."
He's really laying it on thick, and while I am glad he answered the phone and came to get me tonight, that doesn't mean I don't still think he's a slime-ball for cheating on me.
"Look, can we talk about us," I wag a finger between us. "Can we talk about that later?"
"Yeah, totally." Jayson smiles. "Can I still play you this thing?"
"Sure."
He beams, reaching for the acoustic guitar leaning against the television and throwing the strap over his neck. He strums, and the chords tumble out as he starts to sing.
And I'm so tired.
Jayson's still singing, and I can tell it's about me because I keep hearing my name in the lyrics, but I'm having a hard time focusing on anything else as the exhaustion of the night starts to hit me. I take another few sips of the beer in my hand, and my eyelids start to get heavier and heavier.
Fuck, why am I so tired?
The room suddenly starts to get fuzzy and spin a little, and suddenly, a horrible feeling starts to claw up inside of my chest.
No, not tired.
Something's wrong.
The room spins a little more, the walls pulsing as if they have a heartbeat.
It's hot in here, and suddenly my mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton.
I'm aware of the song stopping, and Jayson putting the guitar down.
"Jayson?"
He walks toward where I'm starting to slump over on the couch, my pulse beating faster and faster even as my body becomes less and less responsive.
The beer falls from my hand.
"Something's wrong, Jayson."
He chuckles, and suddenly, my heart lurches.
"Why are you taking your shirt off?" I mumble.
He shushes me.
Oh my God.
I'm aware of his hands dropping to his belt and loosening it, but I'm powerless to move at all.
And then there's another voice in the room.
"You fuckin' bitch."
Max - Jayson's terrible friend and bandmate Max, who's stepping into the room behind Jayson and grinning wickedly at me. He starts to pull his t-shirt off too.
"Please," I whisper, the room starting to fade at the edges and my body going completely numb. "Please, don't do this."
I'm falling, my head hitting the couch.
"Torch our fuckin' practice space, huh?" Max laughs. "This is gonna teach you, you bitch."
I can't breathe, and I can't move, and I can't even scream as it all goes black.
Chapter Thirteen
Connor
The pounding of my fist on the front door sends lightning through my head.
Tasers fucking suck, for the record.
My head's still roaring, but my blood is on fire, the scowl that's been etched on my face ever since I woke up on the floor of my loft with blood crusted over one eye only making the pain worse. But I swallow it down.
I pound again, and I hear a lock click open. The door opens a crack and this skinny hipster fucker peeks out.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Sierra. I know she's here."
Well, I know her phone's here, at least. Call it insurance, or at least proof that I'm not fucking everything up these days, but I stuck a tracker in the back of her phone case the first night I took her to my place.
It's coming in handy right now.
"She ain't here, bro."
"Really," I growl.
The kid swallows, nodding, but there's a hint of something on his face I don't like.
Smugness, that's what it is.
"You sure about that?"
I notice he's shirtless, his pasty, toneless body inked up with these fucking terrible tattoos like the "don't tread on me" snake inked across his heart.
I sincerely doubt this kid was in the Marines.
I look past him and see another face peep out from a dark room down the hall.
Something's not right here.
"Why don't we check and make sure, yeah?"
The kid frowns. "Hey, what the fuck do you-"
I shove the door open and push right past pasty-face as I step into the apartment. I feel his weak hand grab my arm as I push past him.
"Listen, bro."
I whirl and shove him back hard against the wall, making him whimper.
"Don't touch me again," I say evenly, my hand tightening for a second on his neck.
I turn, my eyes narrowing. "Sierra?"
I stick my head into a grimy kitchen and scowl. This place is an absolute hole - guitars hanging from hooks on the walls, shit everywhere, and a kitchen full of old take-out containers.
It's got college flop-house written all over it.
"Sier-"
"Fuck you, man!!"
I grunt as something slams across my back, my head clanging like bells all over again.
Yeah, I am done getting whacked with shit tonight.
I whirl with an animalistic snarl on my lips, yanking the fucking baseball bat out of the kid's hand and hurling it into the kitchen, shattering everything. I sweep his legs as I shove him back with one hand, dropping him onto his ass.
"What the fuck are you doing in my-"
I reach into my coat and yank out my gun, and the kid's eyes go wide in fear.
"Oh fuck! Please-!"
"No more fucking games," I snarl. "Where is she?"
He shuffled back as I advance, skimming back on the floor into the dimly lit living room. I follow, when suddenly, my blood turns to ice.
She's out cold, slumped on the couch and breathing shallowly with her jacket off, her shirt pushed up over her bra, and her skirt bunched around her waist.
There's a sinking feeling.
A chilling sensation.
And then there's just rage. All-consuming, fucking rage.
I roar as I yank the second kid out of the chair he's huddled on, haul back, and smash my fist into his face, hard. He screams, blood pouring down from his shattered nose as I toss him like a sack of shit across the room.
The first kid, still on the floor, starts to scramble for the door. But I stride over and stomp down on his ankle, I'm sure breaking it as he screams in agony, I haul him up by the neck and send him crashing into the flat screen TV before I whirl, my fists raised and my shoulders heaving as the need to destroy these two consumes me.
I yank the second kid up off the floor, ignoring his blubbering screaming as I sink my fist into his gut twice and then smash my forearm against his face before letting him slump to the ground. I kick him hard in the balls, relishing the way he just deflates.
"We didn't touch her!" he screams, crying as he holds his balls, the blood pouring from his nose and lips.
"I swear, man! We didn't-"
"She decided to take her own shirt off then?"
He pauses.
Wrong fuckin' answer.
I haul him up again before I start to rain my fists down on him. I punch him until he stops even screaming - until he's barely even moaning even more as my fists slam into his bloodied body.
I stop eventually, checking to make sure he's breathing before I turn to the guy I threw into the TV.
"What's your name."
He shrinks away from me, his face a mask of terror.
I reach for my gun again and he shudders and throws his hands up. "Max! My name is Max!"
"And him?"
"Jayson."
My eyes narrow.
"So who's Jayson."
"My boyf-" she shakes her head. "My ex-boyfriend."
"Look, man, it was his idea, I swear!"
I drop Max to the ground and storm over to Jayson. He mumbles something as I yank him up by the neck and slam him against the living room wall.
"Drop your pants."
He blinks through the tears and the blood, looking confused. "Wh-what?"
"I said drop your fucking pants," I growl menacingly.