Page 14 of His Hostage

“What?” he asks, cocking his head back. “You want to yell at me some more?”

“I’m sorry,” I find myself saying. “You saved me. I should be thanking you.”

“Whatever. It’s fine,” he says.

“No, dammit. Just listen. I want to make it up to you,” I say.

He slowly turns back around and crosses his arms. “Oh yeah?” he asks. “Like how?”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” I say. “Coffee at noon. Does that sound good?”

“Sure,” he smiles bigger than usual. “Why not?” He turns around and walks back into his garage. I can hear him grab some tools and sigh heavily. He goes on to cranking at some kind of bolt, or something, and I actually sort of feel lonely for the guy. It’s as if he’s been hiding out in that cave of his, turning bolts until the right person takes him away.

I hope this is a good idea.

It’s not a date, or anything like that. I have to make sure it doesn’t come off like that. I hope we can be friends. But a part of me has to wonder if I just allowed the snake to slither inside my room.

Maybe I want him to.

7

Rowan

I don’t have shit to do out here. It’s just me and my bike. Oh, and of course, that woman next door.

Caroline. Caroline with the peach of an ass. God damn. To think, she really got close to my cock last night.

I chuckle and go back to fixing my bike. There are two things in this life that matter the most to me: my bike, and a hard ride.

I’m not getting any work done without the right parts. I keep thinking I can fix the damn thing, but it’s beyond repair.

Caroline wants me. She just doesn’t know it yet. She has mistaken her energy for hatred and anger. Once she realizes she’s fallen for me, it’ll be game over for her. She won’t know how to get in bed without coiling her legs around my waist.

It was a stupid joke I played this morning with the snakebite. Hell, I didn’t think anyone still believed you could suck the poison out.

I guess those east coast women operate a bit differently. They’re used to snow, poison ivy, and the occasional, harmless garden snake. Out here, it’s no man’s land. Black widows, rattlers, and guys like me prey upon the weak. It’s just the lay of the land.

That’s why I’ve never understood types like her. They see one painting of the Grand Canyon, and they think they can live out here with the vultures. It just ain’t true.

This land is tough. It’s barren and it’s hot. There are snakes waiting behind every bush. This morning was my fifth bite. It doesn’t even phase me at this point.

When I open my garage, she’s standing near her porch of her adobe castle, peering out at the acres of land we both live on.

She’s dressed better than normal. She’s a little less desert and a lot more east coast. She’s got an expensive dress that cuts right above at the edges of her thighs. It’s just enough skin to leave me scrambling.

“You look like crap,” she tells me.

The sun is shining directly on me now, like a spotlight that’s 100 degrees. Today is hotter than normal, but it’s nothing I’m not used to.

“Thanks,” I say, laughing. “Let me just wash up a little.”

“I don’t have all day,” she says.

“I’m guessing that’s a joke,” I reply. “Pretty sure you’ve got all the time in the world. Isn’t that why you came out here?”

From my garage, I walk inside.

She doesn’t say anything, but I hear her walk toward my bike. “So, this is what you’ve been fixing up this whole time,” she says.

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