Strapped Down Page 26

  “Shyla, I lost everything that day. He destroyed her. She could never stop being his slave, she couldn’t get out of his grasp,” he says between sobs. “She was going to have our child. I didn’t know, I’m not even sure she knew yet. I would have never let her storm out like that.” But I know, I know that it wouldn’t have mattered. He would have had a shell of Em. I know what it’s like to be with a person who loves you with all of their heart, but who makes you feel numb. For all the vileness, for all the depravity he sees in Taylor, Taylor has a way of making us feel alive; born anew. But I can’t say these words to him: that Em never really loved him back, that he was convenient: he was the guy she was supposed to love, and so she went along with the picture book romance, all the while, her essence was slowly dying. It’s a bitch, knowing that the right person for you is the most dangerous. When Taylor wouldn’t have her. it was like a death sentence to her soul.

  To watch this large hunk of a man crumple in front of me, full of so much devastation, overwhelms me, and I begin to cry with him. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I am so sorry,” I say and he wraps his arms around me and cries into my waist. I don’t know what to do other than to accept his embrace and stroke his hair. “Shyla, I didn’t rape you. I’m not that kind of guy,” he says. My brain spins with so many conflicting thoughts and emotions that I don’t know what to do other than live in this moment. Part of it is self preservation, but some of it is pure empathy for this destroyed man in front of me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Once Eric composes himself, I drift onto the bed adjacent to his seat at the table. Our knees nearly touch, we are so close.

  “Eric, I feel for you. I really do, but Em was her own person and she made all the decisions that led her to where she ended up.”

  “We are going to disagree fundamentally here. If it wasn’t for him, she’d be here. He fucked her head up. You can’t manipulate people like that and get away with it.”

  “If it wasn’t for him, you would have never met her.”

  “Well it would still have been for the better.”

  “So that’s why you came back, when I met you?”

  “Yeah, after she died I wanted Taylor to pay. He has stolen everything from me Shyla. H.I. should have been mine, and then Em. My career and my love. My child. What does a man have left but vengeance? So, I went to do some recon, and I found out he recently hired a new assistant.”

  “That’s why you scoped me out at the bar?”

  “Yeah, I had no idea you would look like you do. Then again, I should have known with my brother. Of course, shortly after talking to you, when you said you were looking for a new job, I figured you were done at H.I. But shit, Shyla, I liked you a lot. I thought we had chemistry. It had been a long time since I just talked to someone, I used to be that kind of guy, but after Em died, I closed up.”

  I nod. Eric has always been so emotional, Randall said.

  “Then you told me he was your boyfriend and I thought, not another one. Not another girl he’ll just chew up and spit out before he moves on to the next one. And it threw my plans for a loop.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I wanted to warn you and I wanted to fuck with his head; I got emotional instead of methodical. I couldn’t use you to get back at him by harming you because I didn’t want to hurt you. Not after I met you.”

  “So instead you did the next best thing. Had sex with me and sent Taylor the dvd.”

  “No. I didn’t. Whoever did that to you, it wasn’t me, and I wouldn’t put it past Taylor to use you to set me up.”

  “No, that’s bullshit. It makes no sense.”

  “Well look what’s transpired since. I’m a fugitive now. Short of killing me, he almost found a way to eliminate me. Shyla, Taylor is a genius of the worst kind. He is always several steps ahead.”

  “No. No, I refuse to believe that. You weren’t there when he found out. You didn’t see his face.”

  “Taylor walks around in a mask every day. You think he can’t put on a show when need be?”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  Eric pauses and steers the tone of the conversation in a different direction. “You know, saving you, it gave me a new purpose. It was like somehow I could make up for what happened to Em if I could save you from Taylor.”

  “I am sorry about Emily, but I’m not her. You don’t need to save me. We’re happy. You coming back is the only thing that has fucked with everything.”

  “Well, I can’t just forget about all of this for you Shyla. At this point I realize I can’t convince you that Taylor is disturbed. I need to settle things with him anyway. He has to know what he did and take responsibility for it. And at least for tonight, he will get to know the feeling of what it is like to lose someone he loves, if he’s even capable of loving. Ultimately, he has to pay.”

  “I won’t let that happen.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  “So what are you going to do? Shoot him?”

  “That’s one question I won’t answer.”

  “Please Eric, don’t hurt him. I can’t live with the guilt of him getting hurt because of me.”

  “It would be because of him.”

  “I am begging you.”

  “Shyla, this is not up for discussion. The stars have aligned to bring us all together, and I won’t let Taylor get away with killing Em.”

  “He didn’t kill her. She killed herself.”

  “Don’t talk about Em like you knew her.” Eric says firmly. His easy nature makes me forget I still am a hostage, but at that moment I am quickly reminded.

  “So here we are then,” I say, subdued.

  “Here we are. Shyla. You’re going to be fine.”

  “If you hurt him, I will never be fine. Never.”

  We sit for a few moments in contemplative silence. “Can you humor me for a moment?”

  “Well, I’m not going anywhere, Eric. Allow me to humor you.”

  “Remember what I said in your bedroom? If things were different. If we really were two strangers who met in a bar, do you think you and I would at least have had a little something?”

  “You mean if I didn’t believe that you stalked me and tricked me into sex?” I can’t believe I am joking about this. Eric rolls his eyes. “Well…you know you’re good looking. Those fucking Holden genes. A blessing and a curse.” Ingratiate him Shyla.

  Eric smirks.

  “So is that a yes?”

  “Sure. I guess in another galaxy, a parallel universe, we could have, ya know…”

  “I knew it wasn’t just me.”

  “Don’t go getting any ideas. That was a massive hypothetical.”

  “You kissed me back.”

  “No I did not. You scared the shit out of me and I let you kiss me because I thought I was going to die.”

  “Sorry about that. I would never hurt you. I had no intentions of hurting you that day. You have to excuse me, I was a little frantic, your sweet boyfriend had my ass whopped pretty severely and I was a little out of sorts.”

  “Well can you blame him?”

  “That was a farewell ass-whoop for being back in town, a little farewell gift before being dropped off at the airport. It’s a Taylor Holden hug.”

  “But his hunch was right, that you were here to hurt him in some way.”

  Eric shrugs. “Back to the kiss,” he says with boyish charm.

  “You are something else.”

  “I know,” he winks. He looks so much like Taylor when he does that and it freaks me out.

  I suck my teeth.

  “What if it’s my last night on Earth? What if I were to die tomorrow?” He asks.

  “Don’t say that.” Why do I give a shit?

  “What if it is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If you knew you would never see me again and Taylor would never know. Would you kiss me again?”

  “I never kissed you. You kissed me.” I remember the dream I had wi
th him in a world with no consequences and the sex was so fucking good.

  “Tomato, to-mah-to.”

  I shake my head disapprovingly. “Sorry Eric, I’m in love with Taylor.”

  “Your loss,” he says standing up with a casual confidence both Holdens seem to have mastered. “Listen, I am going to shower, you’re welcome to join me. I don’t want to tie you up, but I am going to leave the door open to keep my eye on you. I have no problem chasing after you naked and I will catch you. Let’s keep the cooperation going, okay? This is for Taylor’s benefit too.” Just to make sure I have no chance of getting far, he slides the table in front of the door.

  Eric starts walking over to the bathroom, leaving his cell phone on the table. This could be my chance to call Taylor and let him know I am okay. “One more thing,” Eric says spinning on his heels as he swoops back to grab his phone and his gun. Well, shit.

  He pulls off his shirt overhead and throws it on the bed. After that, he pulls his belt buckle loose and whips the belt from his jeans. I try to divert my eyes in this tiny hotel room, but it’s nearly impossible not to see his shirtless body. He grins, getting a kick out of this just like a Holden would.

  Next, he drops his pants, and his tall athletic physique is standing in front of me in a pair of white boxer briefs. Apparently, he too packs the Holden heat. I should feel threatened that Eric may try something, but his tone is playful. So much like the Eric I thought I knew before the rape. He’s trying to tease me, not force himself upon me.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be kinky?” He asks. “And you’re getting shy over some nudity?

  “Oh come on.” I say. “I’m a free spirit and all, but what do you want me to do? Ogle you?”

  “Doesn’t bother me one bit,” he says flirtatiously.

  I give in, convincing myself it would be much less awkward to acknowledge him than to keep looking at the water-damaged ceilings of this dump.

  “I’m looking at you. See? Big whoop!”

  He smiles the Holden smile.

  Alright, I’m going in. “Enjoy the show,” he says as he whips his briefs off.

  “Oh my god,” I say, covering my mouth.

  “I am so unimpressed. I had no idea you’d be such a prude,” he says, walking off into the bathroom, his pale, taut butt cheeks reverberating with each step.

  Eric turns the shower on, steam quickly enveloping the bathroom and spreading out into the bedroom. “You’re steaming the place up,” I complain.

  “Thank you,” he says.

  “Oh shut it.”

  He whips the curtains off to the side, leaving them open to keep an eye on me. Then he steps into the shower. The steamy water cascades over the curvature of his body. These fucking Holdens and their perfect bodies. He makes a thick lather from the hotel room soap and rubs it all over his body, including his package, taking extra time there as if to taunt me, circling his hand around his dick and cleaning it as if he was jerking off. Afterward, he steps back under the shower head, the stream of water rinsing the suds off of his wet, firm body. He steps out completely naked, his towel over his shoulder, back out into the common area.

  “You’re getting the carpet wet.” That’s probably the cleanest thing that has happened to this carpet in 30 years.

  “I have to keep a close eye on you. You’re welcome to shower too, but same rules about the door apply to you,” he says as he dries himself off.

  “No thanks, I’ll just stink up the place.”

  “Whatever,” he shrugs.

  As he dresses, I sit in silence, wondering if cooperation is the right tactic. What if I go along, and he just uses me to lure Taylor and kill him? I know Taylor wants me to rely on him, let him take care of things, but in the current circumstances, I am not sure Taylor’s rules apply. What can I really do at this point? If I run, he’ll catch me. I haven’t heard a peep from anyone one else in this motel; we are in the middle of nowhere. He separated his gun and bullets, so even if I got a hold of one, I’d have to get a hold of the other, which would be miraculous. Cooperation is my only choice for now and I pray that Taylor has something up his sleeve.

  “You know, people are going to start looking for me. I was supposed to come to work today.”

  “I’m sure Taylor handled everything. He knows it’s important that no one knows about this.” His last sentence sends a bolt of fear through my body that almost makes me jump. How could he let me walk away tomorrow? I made him. How can he be sure I won’t tell the police everything I know? The smart thing for him to do would be to kill me and Taylor, then he could go on and do whatever the hell he wants.

  “What will you do after tomorrow? After this is all over?”

  “I don’t make plans that far ahead. I focus on the mission at hand.” Taylor is methodical, Eric is emotional. I am not yet sure which one is more dangerous.

  “Eric, I am begging you, please don’t hurt Taylor. You will ruin me if you do.”

  Eric agitates the thin, worn towel against his wet hair, pretending not to hear me. He walks it over to the bathroom and neatly puts it on its rack. If there was any place where towels on the floor would be acceptable, it would be in this hellhole.

  “You tired?”

  “More like wired,” I say.

  “We should go to bed soon, at least try. Early wake up tomorrow.”

  “What time?”

  “I’ll wake you.”

  “As if I could sleep.”

  Eric shrugs, his mood more solemn than earlier, but not alarmingly so. There is only one bed and I hope that he remains as much of a gentleman as he has been this entire time. The mattress is thin, the springs permanently compressed, so far from its heyday as a thick, plush mattress. There are no headboards to tie me to. I watch Eric examine the area with his eyes, trying to figure out the setup.

  “Okay, I am going to cuff you to me. If you sneeze, if you so much as try to scratch your ass, I will feel it.”

  “No,” I say, knowing it is pointless.

  “I could tape you up, but that wouldn’t be very comfortable for you.”

  I accept my fate.

  He grabs the clicker for the shitty, circa 1990 television which has about 13 channels and points to my spot on the bed, furthest from the door. I reluctantly slide over, never letting my scowl leave him as I do so. He plops next to me, wincing after discovering how flat the mattress is, and throws one cuff on my right wrist. The sound of metal clinking informs me that I am resigned to be his prisoner for the night. Then he does the same on his left. He takes the empty gun from his waistband and puts it in the nightstand drawer, he waves the handcuff keys in front of me and shoves them down the front of his boxer briefs. He would.

  “Even if I was drugged, I wouldn’t sleep through a girl putting her hands down my pants,” he jests.

  After cycling through the 13 channels about three times, he settles on a riveting episode of Maury. “You are NOT the father!” Maury Povich says as a boney young man with roughly 13 teeth starts doing a improvisational dance on stage, his 400 pound former lover hobbling away in tears as the camera jaggedly follows her.

  “Quality programming keeps the mind sharp,” Eric says. As darkness settles upon us, I am not as much at ease as I was with Eric during the daytime. Something about the night, the mask of darkness, permits things to happen that would never be even entertained during the light of day. For a moment, the thought flutters through my mind. Do I seduce him? I subtly watch him: the glow of the television casts a bluish hue on his shirtless body. His lips curve into an amused smile as he watches more paternity test results, his glacial blue eyes are nearly transparent. Do I give him another opportunity at my body? The key is in his underwear, but then what? Without a loaded gun, I won’t even make it to the door.

  I am Taylor’s. He would never forgive me if I took matters into my own hands like this. Trust in Taylor, I recite in my thoughts. He makes the rules. He takes care of things.

  I wish I could say I did something bold, som
ething daring. That I mounted Eric and rubbed his cock and made him so hard that he forgot all about the keys. That after I fucked him and he released himself inside of me, he fell into a deep slumber and I silently removed the key I hid under my tongue, unlocked the cuffs, and loaded the gun. Or maybe I spotted a weapon earlier in the bathroom (and used pure tenacity to retrieve it despite being taped up) then held it to his neck, promising I would slash his jugular if he didn’t release me from the handcuffs. But no, all I did was sit there, praying that Taylor had a master plan in his endless labyrinth of a mind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Time passes as it always will, a minute is always a minute, an hour is always an hour. But it so often feels like it spites us, those last moments with a loved one passing too quickly; excruciating pain that lasts for minutes can seem like hours. And so, I lie in bed in this pitch dark room with nothing to stare at, wondering if this night will never end because I so fiercely want to see Taylor again. And if—when—we do see each other, will that moment whizz by leaving me on my knees, breathless, trying piece together the scenes that flashed before me? Or will it be slow, each minutia being stamped into my consciousness for as long as I live?

  Sleepyhead can’t sleep. I can’t tell if Eric is asleep, but his breathing doesn’t have that shallow, rhythmic sound of a person whose body and consciousness have disconnected. I am not sure how long I lie there with my knees pointed to the ceiling. But then I know Eric is awake too, because he says something.

  “You’re keeping me awake. I can feel your restlessness.”

  “Well, I am so sorry about that,” I say sarcastically.

  He is silent for maybe ten seconds. Then he sighs, resigned to a sleepless night with me. “Tell me something about yourself Shyla.”

  “I am sure you know plenty.”