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“This is fucking kidnapping!” I screamed as Law shoved me inside. As I tried to open the door, Law sat inside and locked them.
“Look, Nami, I’m not trying to kidnap you.” Law’s tenor was smooth and low, like he was explaining why our dinner plans had changed and not why he was fucking kidnapping me. “I just want to talk.”
“So talk,” I exclaimed. “Don’t kidnap me.”
Law started the car and said, “I know that tattoo on your body isn’t just art.”
“You don’t know anything.” Absently I looked at the tattoo that snaked across my arm. It was one of many I’d had done during the media circus after my rape. I had birds on my collarbone and a tree on my abdomen, but the one on my arm was by far the most significant. It was a snake shedding its skin because the scales had caught fire. I was inspired by a phoenix. With phoenixes, no matter how many times they burst into ashes, they are always reborn more beautiful. I chose a snake instead of a phoenix because it felt apropos. You know, because of the reptile in a suit currently hijacking my life.
I needed to feel some kind of control. Inking my purpose gave me that control. Law was right, it wasn’t just art. It was my coat of arms, my purpose, and my drive. It reminded me every day what I had to do.
Law pulled out of the restaurant, still cool as a cucumber. I eyed my car and a brief thought entered my mind that it was the second time Law had driven me away from my car.
“You’re going to drive me back here,” I mumbled.
“What?”
“You’re driving me back here,” I repeated, louder. “I’m not taking a bus all the way back to fucking West Valley.” The last time he’d driven me home I’d had to bus it back to my car, but at least I’d been in the same city. This ti
me it would take at least two hours to bus it back—assuming Law’s plans for me didn’t include murder.
“Fair enough,” Law replied. Feeling a little bit better about the situation, I unfolded my arms and regarded Law.
“You could have just asked me to come with you instead of, you know, dragging me across the lot and throwing me inside like a sack of potatoes.”
Law eyed me from his peripheral. “You would have come if I’d asked nicely?”
“Yes,” I lied. Of course I wouldn’t have come. I would have laughed in his face and driven away. Still, I didn’t appreciate being thrown in cars like cargo.
“You’re such a liar,” Law laughed.
“Where are we going?” I growled.
“I told you. My place.”
“No, no, no.” I shook my head, feeling cold all over. Beads of sweat started to form on my forehead and palms and my breathing sped up. I knew what was happening: I was afraid. I hadn’t been to a stranger’s house, let alone a male stranger’s house, since being raped.
“Nami?” Law glanced at me sideways. I felt completely vulnerable. Law had taken my gun, he’d shoved me in his car, and now he was taking me to his house. For a moment I had felt…well, not safe with him, but not completely on edge, and that naivety made me want to punch myself.
“Nami? What’s going on inside your head?” I shot him a vicious glare. The minute he pulled the car over I was getting out and running. As if he knew what I was thinking, Law pulled the car over. On the freeway. In the middle of traffic.
“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled, glancing around at the various cars honking and flipping us off.
“What are you thinking?” Law pressed. “You went from hot to cold.”
“I was never hot,” I spat.
“Fine,” Law conceded. “You went from lukewarm to icy.”
“I don’t trust you,” I stated, biting out each word. “So don’t think you can get one over on me.” Law undid his seatbelt and leaned forward. I pressed my back against the window, refusing to give up an inch of my space. He smelled good again, like that rich, spicy scent mixed with campfire.
“Nami listen to me.” Even though I was trying not to look at him, Law’s voice held a low, rich quality like melted chocolate and alcohol. If I wasn’t careful, it would get me drunk. I pressed myself farther against the window, hoping the bitter cold seeping through would keep me sane.
“It’s hard to listen when you’re threatening me,” I snarled. “When you’re violating my personal space and dragging me off to places I did not consent to go.”
Abruptly Law returned to his seat. He banged the steering wheel so hard there was a honk and cursed, “Dammit!” There was no time to comment on his outburst, because Law started the engine and whipped back into traffic.
I watched, entranced, as he maneuvered the Range Rover. He illegally crossed lanes until reaching the exit and then turned off the freeway. More honks followed. Once clear of the freeway, Law flipped the car around and drove in the direction of the restaurant.
