Hostage (11 page)

Code

I can’t even begin to describe the rage that I’m feeling right now. She didn’t come right out and say that her step-father had raped her, but it’s the obvious conclusion. What kind of sick fucking bastard does such a thing?

Hypocrite much?

Yeah. And that fact is just adding to my rage. I may have just teased her about wanting it as much as I did, but that was before. Before I got a fucking glimpse into who the hell she is.

There’s nothing else I can say at the moment and decide to just focus on the damn road. The car is a basic model—no bells and whistles—and it’s a little run-down. I look at the gauges and see that Jamie hadn’t bothered to fill the tank and curse myself for not doing it before we left town.

Not that it’s a bad thing. I’m just happy that we’ve put some distance between us and Deke and the cops and everyone else for the time being. I glance over at Wren. “We gotta stop for gas.”

“Whatever.”

It’s not like I’m expecting a pleasant fucking chit-chat, but the tone of her voice just sounds…defeated. And I did that to her. Fuck.

I see a sign indicating that there are gas stations at the next exit, and I figure we’ll pull off the highway, fill up, and be on our way relatively quick. At the pump, I climb out, and Wren’s looking off in the opposite direction.

“Fine. Don’t fucking talk. See if I care.” I feel a little sulky as I walk inside to pay in cash before I can pump. The attendant looks to be about sixty and is all but asleep behind the counter. “I need twenty on pump fifteen.” The old guy nods and rings me up without even looking at me.

Whatever. Makes no difference to me. As I walk out the door, I see it, and my gut clenches. There on the news stand is a newspaper—with Wren’s face on the front page. “Shit.” I make a quick decision and look over my shoulder and see that the old guy is asleep again so I grab the paper and walk out the door.

I don’t want to say anything to Wren just yet. So I fill the tank like I don’t have a care in the world. Replace the cap and climb back into the car. She still doesn’t turn around to face me.

There’s a Walmart across the street, and I quickly pull out of the gas station lot and make the U-turn to get across to it.

“What are you doing?” she finally asks.

I toss the newspaper in her lap and hear her gasp. “It’s a local paper and might not be an issue just yet, but I think it’s time we did some work to disguise your appearance. It wouldn’t hurt to change mine a little too.”

“Why? Why do I need to hide my appearance? In case you haven’t figured it out, I’d love for someone to recognize me and get me home.”

While I know what she’s saying makes sense, it just pisses me off. “We had a deal, Wren. Laredo. After Laredo you can go wherever the fuck you want but we need to get there first.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Dress like a dude? Cut my hair?”

“Princess, there is no way that anyone would believe that you’re a dude. You’ve got too many curves, and there is no way to hide those tits.”

Her eyes widen at my words, but I can tell that they please her. On instinct, I reach out like I had earlier and grazed my hand down her chest until I found her hardened nipples and played with them a little.

“I don’t want to hide them. If anything, I’d like to see more of them.” I leave it at that as I park the car.

“So then what are we doing?”

“We’re gonna get some hair dye first. And then a couple of changes of clothes. I know this is a little beneath you, but it’s our only option right now, and I’m sure you won’t mind changing out of those clothes after wearing them two days.”

“You have no idea.”

“Good. We need to be fast. Don’t make eye contact with anyone. And you don’t leave my side. Got it?”

“Wouldn’t it be faster if we split up and got what we needed?”

She has balls. I have to give her that. “After you just admitted how you want to get recognized and get away, do you honestly think that I’m fucking letting you out of my sight? Think again.”

“Shit.”

I look over at her and smile. “It’s kind of hot when you don’t talk so prissy.” She blushes slightly and we get out of the car. “Fifteen minutes. In and out. All right?” She nods.

For all of her talk about not giving a shit and wanting to get away, the girl is a fucking pro shopper. In less than ten minutes we each have three changes of clothes—including underwear and shoes—hair color and toiletries. It’s pretty fucking impressive.

“I can’t believe I’m going to have to wear this crap,” she mutters as we walked out of the store.

“What’s the big deal? At least they’re clean.”

“What difference does it make? All of the places that we’ve stopped at aren’t.”

“You are such a fucking snob.” Seriously, I cannot believe that she goes from cooperative and helpful to just plain bitchy in the blink of an eye. “I could’ve fucking tied you up and taped your damn mouth shut and thrown you in the trunk! And you’re gonna bitch because I’m not buying you designer clothes?”

The rest of the walk is completed in silence, and I can tell that she’s pouting. Back in the car, she looks at me. “Now what? We can’t dye our hair while we’re driving, and I figured you’d want to get as much driving done as possible overnight. So are we going to stop at another hotel before dawn?”

I actually haven’t thought that far ahead, but it’s a better plan than staying on the road and risking someone recognizing her. “Yeah. Sure.”

Back on the highway, it’s a long time before either of us spoke.

We’re getting close to Austin, and I’m relieved to see a sign saying that there’s a motel at the next exit. If we keep driving, we can reach Laredo before dawn, but it’s too dangerous to keep going with Wren still recognizable. The cops aren’t stupid. They’ll know I’m might try to get to the border. This interstate is the straight-shot down to Mexico.

What’s another few hours, anyway? Maybe delaying will confuse the cops and throw them off the trail.

When I park in front of the office, I leave her in the car. I think she’s too fucking tired to try and get away. I pay for the room and pull around to the back. Together we bring all of the supplies into the room.

“I know you’re tired but I think that we need to do this hair thing and change clothes, and then we can rest a few hours and start off again. We can still get to Laredo before morning.”

“Whatever,” she says around a loud yawn as she unpacked the hair color. She silently set everything up in the bathroom and motions for me to sit down on the chair she had pulled in. “You ready?”

Not particularly. But if this is what it takes to keep us off the radar for a little bit longer, then it’s what I’ve got to do.

Wren

Our disguises aren’t really disguises. We’re just going to change the color of our hair and dress differently. I’m honestly not sure whether it’s going to keep me from being recognized, but Code seems to think it will help.

I’ve decided not to try to argue.

I was starting to feel kind of soft about him earlier, but then he was a jerk again. So I’m going to do what I always do. Say yes. Don’t put up a fight. Do what other people want just to make things go easier on me.

So now I’m standing here over Code, bleaching his dark hair.

It’s a temporary dye—although not as temporary as the stuff I bought for my hair, which just washes out. But his hair is so dark that the stuff is going to have to stay on for a while so it can fully process.

I dampen his hair and then rub the solution into it.

His hair is pretty nice—thick and softer than you would expect—so it’s a shame to mess it up with by bleaching it a fake blonde. But it’s his deal, and I’m not going to argue about it.

I’m not going to argue about anything anymore. I’ve decided.

I get through his hair quickly, and then go to rinse the solution off my hands. “You need to keep it on for a while. Maybe thirty minutes. If you wash it too soon, it won’t work.”

I hand him a towel, which he wraps around his shoulders. He’s making a face, but I don’t know if it’s because the stuff smells bad or because it’s tingling on his scalp or because he’s just generally in a bad mood.

“I need to get my hair wet,” I say, “so I’m going to take a shower, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

So I take a shower and then wrap up in a towel as I spray the dye into my hair.

It’s pink.

It’s actually a very pretty medium pink, but I’m hardly the kind of girl to want her hair to be pink. I’ve used chalks before—just a strand or two of pink or purple—but this is different. This is all of my hair.

My hair has always been one of my best features—long and brown and shiny and straight.

Now it’s going to be pink.

I remind myself that it will wash out with a few shampoos and keep going until my whole head is pink.

“Is it working?” Code asks, opening the bathroom door without knocking.

I jump in surprise but manage not to snap at him. I’m going to be agreeable. That’s my resolution. “Yeah. There’s a hairdryer on the wall, so I’m going to dry my hair. You should wash that stuff out now.”

So I dry my hair while he takes a shower.

When he comes out, I’m still wearing just a towel, and my hair is pink and shiny. He’s got a towel slung around his waist and his hair is streaked with an almost white-blond.

It really doesn’t look that bad. Kind of punk, which isn’t him, but he can pull it off.

His eyes are raking up and down over my body, lingering on my hair. “Pink looks fucking good on you.”

It’s rather crude, as compliments go, but I flush with pleasure anyway. What the hell? Why do I even care what this guy thinks?

“If I put on that fake leather skirt and the halter top, I don’t think anyone will be able to recognize me.”

“Yeah. Same with this stupid blond hair. You want something that calls attention to itself enough to distract people from our faces. These’ll do.”

“So should we start out again?” I ask.

“Let’s rest a few hours. If we’re traveling this late at night, we’ll just call attention to ourselves.”

That sound good to me. I supposedly slept at the other motel, but I don’t feel rested. I’m just too wired and confused about this whole thing to be anything but exhausted.

He steps over so he’s just a few inches away from me. He feels very big, and he’s almost unfamiliar with the strangely blond hair. But his blue eyes are the same, and so is his body, which I’m suddenly tempted to run my hands over. I’ve never seen shoulders like his, and the way the one arm is inked by the tattoo is just mesmerizing.

I feel myself shudder inside, but I manage to keep my hands still.

“I like the pink hair,” he says, his voice a little husky. He reaches out and runs his hand down the length of my hair.

“You already said that.” I look down, hiding my expression with my eyelashes. I’m trying to be agreeable again, but I don’t want him to see that I’m excited.

It doesn’t seem to matter. He always seems to know how I’m feeling. He reaches out and untucks the towel from under my arm, gently pulling it away from my body. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re gorgeous,” he mutters, staring down at my naked flesh with hot, hungry eyes.

Arousal starts to pulse between my legs, and I clench my fingers at my sides. I glance up to see his expression but then drop my gaze again. I’m going to let him do anything he wants to me, but there’s still something inside me that doesn’t want him to see how much I want this.

“Look at me, Wren.”

I start to look up instinctively but then resist the impulse.

“Look at me.”

This time, I can’t deny the rough authority of his voice. I meet his eyes.

Then he’s grabbing my face and kissing me, and I moan in the back of my throat as I start to kiss him back.

My whole body is on fire, alive with the power of him, the blaze of him. His tongue is delving into my mouth, claiming all of it for his, and I open wider for him, meet his tongue with mine.

He makes a guttural sound and lifts me up by the hips until I wrap my legs around his waist. Then he carries me over to the bed and lays me down, almost gently, before he moves over me to claim me again.

I’m breathless from his kiss when he trails his way down to my breasts. His mouth is urgent and skillful as he teases my nipples in turn with his lips and tongue and teeth.

I’m whimpering with pleasure now, arching up into his mouth. I’m so aroused it aches, and I can’t seem to stay still beneath him.

“Do you want this, Wren?” he mumbles over my skin as his mouth moves lower, skimming my belly.

“Oh God,” I gasp, parting my thighs and wrapping one leg around his shoulder. “Oh, Code, please.”

“Do you want this?” he asks again.

I’m so turned on I’m practically sobbing as his hand explores between my thighs. He feels how wet I am as two of his fingers penetrate me. “Oh, please, make me come.”

“I will,” he rasps, lifting his head to gaze down on me. “Baby, I’ll make you come until you scream. But first tell me if you really want this.”

Now I’m so shameless I’m trying to ride his fingers with my hips. “Can’t you feel if I do?”

“I know your body wants this. I know how turned on you are.” He strokes my pussy with his fingers. “But I want to know if you really want this. If all of you wants this.”

I don’t even know the answer to the question. I’ve never wanted sex before—body or soul. Now my body wants him like crazy, but I don’t know about my soul. “Please make me come,” I beg, since that’s so much easier than trying to figure this out.

“I will. But only if this is what you want.” He leans down to kiss my nipple and murmurs, “If you don’t want this, Wren, then tell me no.”

I’ve never been any good at saying “no.”

I’ve spent my life not saying it.

I whimper and keep trying to ride his fingers, and he eventually either has pity on me or can’t resist, since he moves down farther and tongues my clit.

I nearly buck up off the bed at the jolt of pleasure.

“Yes,” I cry out, too loudly. “Please.”

He teases my clit some more with his tongue and then starts to apply suction as he fucks me with his finger. I totally come apart with the orgasm that slices through me, shaking wildly and practically screaming.

I’m gasping helplessly when he raises his head and removes his fingers. He moves up and kisses my belly, my breasts, my throat. “I want to take you now. I’m dying to take you. But, if you don’t want this, then tell me no.”

I’m not any good at saying “no.” I’m not even sure what it feels like to say “no.”

And now, here, Code is making me tell him the truth.

Which means I have to figure it out.

He’s not moving now, and my body is temporarily sated, so I’m not as desperate as I was a few moments earlier. He’s looking down on me, holding my gaze, and I can’t seem to look away.

“Baby,” he murmurs thickly, “Tell me no.”

“Would it…” My voice breaks, so I have to clear my throat. I’m suddenly strangely chilled, strangely frozen. “Would it matter?”

“Yes, it matters. If you tell me no, then I won’t do this.”

He’s very turned on. I can feel his hard cock against my thigh. And he hasn’t seemed to have many qualms about making me do what he wants me to do before. But he seems to mean what he’s saying.

“Do you want this, right now? Like this? All of you? If you don’t, then tell me no.”

He’s so tense, he’s almost shaking, and I’m not even sure why. But his urgency is infectious. I’m trembling with suppressed feeling.

He leans down to kiss my mouth, just a brush of his lips against mine. “Tell me no.”

He seems to already know the answer, so I say it. I just say it. “No.”

Code pulls up, his eyes dark and focused and deep. “Okay.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. Okay. We won’t.”

“But your hard-on—“

“Won’t kill me.”

I have no idea what’s happening here, and I feel young and bewildered and strangely terrified. He gets up and goes to the bathroom for a few minutes, and then he comes back to bed.

He looks more relaxed, so I guess he jerked off, but I’m huddled under the covers now.

He gets in bed with me and pulls me against him. I suppose it’s for the same reasons it was before—he’s afraid if he happens to fall asleep, I might try to get away if he’s not right next to me—but it feels different this time.

He feels almost protective.

It doesn’t make any sense, since he’s a criminal who took me hostage, but I feel a little safer as I press against his warm body.

It’s a long time before I stop shaking. And a longer time before he lets me go.