His Hostage: A Dark Romance Page 3

  This woman, Caroline, is as feisty as a hot pepper. I’ve met women like her before, but they’re usually loaded to the brim with ammunition. The only ammunition this woman has is in those hips of hers.

  All it takes is one daydream.

  One explosive orgasm, and I’m obsessed.

  My garage is my sanctuary. Those who ride understand. Those who don’t, well, I couldn’t care less about what their opinion is.

  I’ve put up all the necessary posters. I’ve got my Sports Illustrated women blessing the room. This is my palace.

  Only problem is, my baby is dead. My bike, that is. After my scuffle with the feds, my engine blew. The entire thing just stopped running.

  It gives me some work to do, while I contemplate how the hell I’m going to get back to my boys. Or when.

  I start and stop the bike loudly. The rumbling echoes throughout the garage, but it ceases after a few seconds.

  I need parts, but I can’t move forward until I find a real mechanic around the area that wants to deal with a felon.

  There’s a loud knock on my garage, so I open it. I’m shirtless because it’s hot as hell inside this room. It’s not like I plan this shit out.

  It’s her. Sweet Caroline. “I thought I told you to keep it down,” she says.

  She’s wearing a cute dress, which of course causes my heart to race. “Can you put on some clothes for once?” she asks.

  I wipe the sweat off my forehead with a handkerchief and sigh loudly. “I’m fixing my bike. It’s hot in here. I didn’t ask you to come over.”

  She takes one look at the man-cave I’ve set up for myself and scoffs.

  To be honest, I’m getting a little tired of this game.

  “Well, try to keep it down,” she says. “I’m trying to read.”

  I sit back against the wall. “Sure thing.”

  I tighten a loose bolt and grimace when I think about how long this job is going to take. I expect her to up and leave, but she’s not moving.

  Instead, she’s just standing there, burning a hole into the back of my head. I can’t tell if she’s angry or if this is her way of giving me an invitation to reach up that dress of hers.

  “You know,” I begin speaking. “If you keep coming over, I’m going to think you want a little something extra from me.”

  “Pig,” she murmurs under her breath and walks back to her place.

  I own the title. “Damn straight,” I say.

  Another day. Another dollar. I’ll win her over soon enough.

  6

  Caroline

  His hands slide through the covers, underneath my satin sheets, making his way down the desert of my body, until he reaches the center of everything, the center of my very being.

  I feel his fingers part my lips and slide inside me. He finds my g-spot, and I let out a shrill cry, enough for the snakes outside to hear.

  He swivels inside and out, and I feel his wet palm come across my mouth.

  “Shh,” he whispers. “We don’t want anyone to hear. Do we?”

  I look down at him. He’s wearing that tattered pair of denim jeans. His boots are knocked over at the edge of the windowsill he came in from. He keeps whispering, like the snakes outside, telling me what I want to hear.

  I grip around his rigid cock, and I swear I can feel his blood pulse against the flesh. He doesn’t leave me any time to think about what he’s about to do.

  He crawls over me and thrusts his hips forward. He’s slow and methodical, slithering his tongue around my own.

  I can taste the sin in him. I can taste the anger. Something happened to this man and now he’s taking it all out on me.

  He’s my best-kept secret, the man next door. Ron was bad, but this guy is so much worse.

  I know he’s going to ruin me.

  One kiss, and I feel him shoot inside of me. Hot come in hard spurts. He fills me up and kisses even harder as I attempt to stop him.

  Of course, I want him. But he’s a snake. And one bite from a snake can take you out forever.

  I wake up sweating profusely, and I notice my sliding glass door is open. “Shit, not again,” I mutter, wiping my forehead with my pillow.

  Outside, the moon still shines, but morning is creeping its little head through the horizon.

  I feel down, in between my legs. I’m soaking wet. It’s as if he actually came in last night.

  I’ve never been this excited before from a dream, but last night was incredible. The way he took control and stared into my eyes, coming in through my bedroom window, fuck! I have to admit, it’s a fantasy of mine, even if the guy is bad news.

  I walk over to the sliding glass door, nightgown sticking to my thighs. Oh, man, if someone could see me now, they’d raise their eyebrows and wonder what kind of a deviant I really am.

  That isn’t public information. As far as anyone is concerned, I’m just a divorcee trying to find a little inspiration in life.

  I nearly close the door, but when I look down and see the thing I dread the most out here, I flinch.

  A rattlesnake is inside my room, and it’s shaking its tail wildly.

  Holy shit.

  Of course, I scream. I cry like a helpless little girl. “Oh, my God!” I repeat over and over again.

  I’m paralyzed with fear. I don’t know what to do, how to react, or anything. Do I play dead? Is that what they told me to do in Girl Scouts?

  I look into its eyes, and I see it register my fear.

  Everything seems to slow down. Its body slithers toward me, and I nearly faint with disgust and terror.

  It lunges, practically jumps off the fucking ground, and its fangs extend. I’m going to get bit. I know it. I close my eyes and brace for the shocking pain of the bite.

  But it doesn’t come.

  I hear a large crashing sound. My eyes open, and I see… him? My neighbor Rowan has pounced on the snake.

  “Rowan,” I scream and look at my body for any bite markings. He throws the snake outside and dusts himself off.

  “Are you all right?” he asks, out of breath.

  “Kill it!” I scream.

  “I don’t kill innocent animals,” he says.

  For a split second, his eyes look exactly the same as the snake’s. He glances down at his legs and sighs loudly. “But the bastard did get me. How ‘bout you? Are you okay?”

  “You’re bit?”

  I can’t deal with this. I look all over my body and, though I’m shocked, I’m actually okay. I hate to admit it, but he saved me just now.

  “The bastard got me right in the thigh,” he says, lifting up his jeans.

  I know he’s hurt, but his body is offensive. The denim curls up over his muscular thighs, and I can’t help but move my eyes more towards the bulge at the center of his jeans. It’s not fair.

  “You have to go to a hospital. Like right now,” I say, in a hurry. “Um, shit!”

  I grab my desert handbook, a present a friend got me before I left home. I’m way too flustered to read a word and there’s nothing about snakebites anywhere inside of it.

  “You have to suck the poison out,” he says.

  I stop and glance up at him, eyebrows raised with curiosity. “That’s a myth,” I tell him.

  “Woman, it is not a myth,” he mutters. “Does it look like I’m happy about this? I just saved your life, and you can’t suck out a little venom from my thigh?”

  “Look, there’s a hospital a mile away. All we have to do is get in my car and I’ll drive you—”

  “I can’t go to the hospital,” he says.

  For the first time since I met him, he looks kind of embarrassed.

  “Why not?” I ask him, wondering what it is that scares him so much about going.

  “I just can’t, okay?” He falls to the floor, breathing heavy, hands across his face. “Shit,” he sighs.

  “No, you’re not,” I mutter. “I’ll do it.”

  He lifts his thigh up, and I bend down slowly. The position is awkward to
say the least.

  “There you go,” he whispers, tilting his head back. “Thank the lord.”

  I place my lips around the bite area and begin sucking the poison out, spitting the bitter taste onto the floor. I have no idea what I’m doing, let alone if this even works. I’m so flustered I go along with it.

  When I feel his hand fall lightly across the back of my head, I glance up at him and stop. I spit the rest of it out onto the floor.

  “Okay, what the fuck?” I ask, feeling sort of violated, in the weirdest way.

  “Don’t be mad,” he laughs. He picks himself up and hops over to his garage.

  I follow him, repeating myself, “Do you always have to act like such a pervert?”

  He looks into one of his army-green bags and pulls out a syringe. He injects it into himself, without a care in the world. “You can’t suck the venom out. It doesn’t do anything,” he says.

  “You bastard!” I feel my face turn red with embarrassment. My anger and adrenaline soon follows. “You’re… disgusting!”

  “Hey, I saved your life,” he yells after me, jumping up from the concrete.

  The smell of burnt rubber fills my nose and, although I thoroughly enjoy it, I’m thoroughly annoyed with this man that is my neighbor.

  He limps after me. “Don’t you dare follow me back inside,” I say. “You… you… you violated me!”

  “It’s called a joke, honey,” he says, smirking. “You know, people do make those every now and then.”

  “Yeah, well, it was overboard,” I say, turning around at the edge of my door.

  The snake is slithering away into the distance, and I suddenly remember my dream. All of the emotion, the passion, and the heat come flooding back into my body.

  Fuck, why does he have to look the way he does? And why the hell do I have to be so tempted by his body? What is wrong with me?

  “Hey, before you slam the door on me, I want you to know that I always carry around a first-aid kit with anti-venom serum. You ever need help; you should call me. I know you think I’m the devil or something worse. Shit, maybe I am. But I don’t have much to do during the day, so I can help you whenever you need it,” he says. “That’s not an innuendo. It’s just the reality.”

  “All right,” I whisper.

  Dammit. Why does he have to turn around and act so nice?

  “Sorry for the venomous joke. I realize now that it wasn’t that funny,” he says. “Anyway, um. Goodnight.”

  He walks back to his place, swiping his hair back with his fingers. He’s stopped his limping now and is seemingly back to normal.

  Maybe I’m too harsh on the guy. I mean, he is an asshole, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have good intentions.

  “Rowan, wait,” I say. He stops and the dust beneath his boots flies up around his jeans.

  “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.

  “That’s my baby,” I say.

  “She doesn’t look so good,” she says.

  “She’s dying,” I say. “But I think I can revive her. Just need the right parts. Here, come inside for a second. I won’t be long.”

  She carefully follows me inside, acting as if one wrong move will make this whole place attack her somehow.

  “I just have to take a quick shower. Help yourself to whatever you want. I have some cookies I made in the pantry if you want some.”

  “You bake?” she asks, holding back her smile.

  I stop and turn. “Hell yeah, I bake. A guy gets hungry when he works on his bike.”

  “Okie-dokie,” she whispers to herself, almost condescendingly.

  I run the shower and quickly clean myself off. The suds of soap turn black with grease and engine fluid.

  I look down at the bite on my thigh. It’s a little raised, but it’s healing okay enough. Nothing to be worried about anymore.

  When I dry myself off, I throw a towel around my waist and walk out to find her staring up at the only framed picture I’ve got out here.

  “Who are these people?” she asks.

  The picture is of my crew, the High Priests. We’re standing around our bikes, pistols in hand, and we’ve got our patches and vests showing proudly.

  She turns, and I’m close to her now. She backs away slightly and notices I’m only wearing a towel.

  The way she looks at me, I swear, she wants it to fall off my body. She breathes a bit deeper and immediately coughs a little.

>   “Just some old friends,” I tell her. It’s not really a lie.

  “Just some friends? Your friends carry guns?” she asks, looking at me like I’m some crazy person.

  Her eyes trail down my tattoos. If she looks any further, she’ll be eyeing my cock.

  “Welcome to the Southwest,” I laugh and adjust my towel.

  She flinches a little. I glance down at her thighs, and for a second there, I wonder to myself what she would do if I was to just let this towel fall?

  What would she do if I was to lay my hand across her stomach and fold it under her crotch?

  I just want to slide my palm across her wetness. I want to feel her soft lips against my hand. I want to hear her voice quiver and see her chest rise when she feels the blow of her orgasm.

  Instead, I shower quickly, walk back to my room, and put on a new pair of jeans.

  Shit, Caroline couldn’t handle a guy like me. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself when she found out she’s fallen head over heels for my… well, you know.

  I throw on a button-down shirt, leaving the top three buttons open. I enjoy the feeling of the wind when it hits my chest. It makes me feel like everything in the world is all right, like it’s steady.

  She’s staring at that picture still. When she turns around, she sees something worse.

  My Glock nine, lying flat on the kitchen table. She jumps back, nearly breaking the bottle of Jack on the counter.

  “Whoa there,” I say. “Don’t worry. It ain’t gonna bite you.”

  “What the hell, Rowan,” she says, startled. “Why do you keep a gun out? Are you some sort of criminal?”

  I start laughing loudly because the way she says criminal is hilarious. She’s like a third grader when it comes to crime.

  “What? Why is that funny?” she asks.

  “You’re cute,” I tell her.

  She turns beet red and walks out of my place, just like that. “It’s a compliment,” I call after her.

  She lectures me as we walk toward the main road into town. “Yeah, well, when you get to be my age, cute isn’t exactly nice to hear.”