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“I’m not in danger!” he snaps as he puts a gun in the back of the waistband of his jeans. “They are.”
“I’m going to buy new prepaid sim cards for our phones, so I can call Joshua. You’re staying here,” he tells me.
“No, I’m coming.” I grab my bag, suddenly petrified that something may happen to him.
“No, you’re not.”
I grab his arms. “Ben, please,” I beg. “You’re frightening me.”
His face softens and he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “I’m going to be twenty minutes, babe. Take a shower, order us some room service breakfast, and I’ll be back before it gets here.”
I watch him with scared eyes.
He kisses me softly. “You’re safer here. Please, just listen to me. If you never listen to me again for the rest of our lives, I don’t care, but right now, for the next little bit, I need you to trust me. It’s going to be all right, but you need to be out of sight. I need you safe.” His eyes hold mine. “Do you trust me, Bridget?”
I nod nervously and he kisses me again. He goes to the table, picks up the gun he bought me, and passes it to me. “You remember how I taught you to use it?”
I nod nervously as I stare at it in my hand.
“I’m just going to find a phone shop and get our sim cards, so I can make some phone calls, okay? I’ll call it in to HQ as soon as I get back.”
I continue to stare at the gun in my hand.
“Babe?” he asks softly. “Don’t you go falling apart on me now, okay?”
I look up at him through unshed tears. “It’s our honeymoon, Ben,” I whisper.
His face falls. “This is a…” He frowns as he thinks. “It’s a temporary setback.” His lips take mine and his tongue gently sweeps past my lips. “Lock the door behind me and take a shower. We’re safe for the meantime.”
I nod nervously.
“Don’t answer the phone and don’t call anyone. Now, if someone comes to the door, don’t answer it. Look out through the peephole, and if it’s anyone suspicious, go into the adjoining room and lock the door between the rooms.” He goes to the door between the two rooms and opens it to show me.
I nod.
“Bridget.” His eyes hold mine for a moment. “If anyone comes into this room, you shoot to kill. No fucking around.”
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“Angel?”
I nod. “Just go so you can get back quicker, please,” I whisper.
He brushes my hair back from my forehead and looks down at me lovingly. “I won’t be long.”
I nod as I try to hold back my tears. “I love you,” I whisper.
He kisses me. “I love you, too. Lock the door behind me.” He walks over to the door, looks out the peephole, and then opens it. “See you soon.” He disappears and I turn the two locks on the door.
My stomach rolls and I feel sick. I look around at the swanky room, and I shake my head as I try to pull myself together.
Take a shower. Yes, take a shower. I walk into the bathroom, completely on autopilot, and I turn on the water.
What a hectic twenty-four hours.
I glance at the clock, just like I have done every minute for the last thirty minutes.
Where is he?
It’s been ninety minutes and Ben’s still not back.
I walk over to the window and look out onto the street below.
Has something gone wrong?
Shall I call the police? He said not to use the phone, though. Fuck, this is such a mess.
My stomach is churning.
I shouldn’t have let him go; I should have made him stay here with me.
It’s 10:43. At what time do I panic? I walk into the bathroom and dry-retch into the toilet. My stomach lurches as it tries to rid itself of the excess stomach acid. I scrunch up my face.
The door chain bangs and my eyes widen. Someone is trying to get in.
I hold my breath as I peer out the bathroom door, and I see the door open a few inches, the safety chain blocking it from opening completely.
“It’s me,” Ben calls.
“Fuck,” I cry as I run to let him in. “Are you okay? I’ve been frantic,” I whisper.
He kisses me quickly on the lips. “I’m fine, babe.” He has three large bags and he throws them on the bed. He looks me up and down and puts his hands on his hips. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m vomiting.”
He frowns. “Vomiting?”
“From stress, Ben. You are stressing me the fuck out!”
His eyes dance with mischief. “Do I need to pat you off to sleep?”
“No. Why would you?” I snap.
“You’re getting snarky.”
I look at him, deadpan. “No, Ben. I’m getting stabby. Get it right.”
He chuckles as he tips the contents of the three shopping bags onto the bed. He pulls out two sim cards for our phones, as well as a scanner. “Can you set up the scanner while I get the phones working, please?”
