This was my first hostage situation, and by and large, it wasn’t as terrifying as I would have expected. Not that I had ever put a lot of thought into being held hostage. If movies were anything to go by, it seemed there should have been a lot more rope, duct tape, zip ties, and sobbing—on my part. And not that I wasn’t afraid—I was—but I wasn’t falling apart from terror, and I didn’t believe my death was imminent.
That may have been incredibly naive since there was a gun. Any time my captor stood up, I saw it tucked haphazardly in the back of his jeans. The gun scared me. I kept my eye on it when I could, and when he sat down, I watched his hands carefully.
He had nice hands. It was a strange thing to notice about the man holding me as collateral for the money my roommate Helen owed his boss slash brother, but we were an hour into this thing, and I was bored.
Still too afraid to really move or speak, but bored, and as a pianist, hands were something I always noticed.
My captor flopped down on the armchair diagonal from my love seat and propped his booted feet on the coffee table. Normally that would bother me, but since this furniture belonged to Savage University, and oh yeah, he had a gun, I kept my lips pressed tight.
With a sigh, his dark, wary gaze swept over me in a slow pass. My hands were clutched tight in my lap to stop from fidgeting under his assessment.
Bringing his hand up to his mouth, he muttered, “Damn.” No explanation, but his straight, black eyebrows were furrowed into an angry line.
“What’s your name, little mama?” He sounded like he’d eaten gravel then lined his throat with lacquer. Rough and smooth all at once.
“Um, I think Helen told you. It’s Zadie.”
His head cocked. “Zadie what?”
I licked my lips, but my tongue had gone desert dry. I wasn’t great at talking to guys on a good day. The gun tucked in this man’s pants and the fact that I wasn’t sure if he’d shoot me meant this clearly wasn’t a good day.
“Zadie Night.”
His lips were dusky pink and seemed to be positioned in a perpetual scowl. When I said my full name, they quirked, tipping up in the corners. It didn’t qualify as a smile by a mile, but it was something.
“That’s a real name?”
“Um, yes?” Should I have given him a false name? He already knew where my dorm was. Since he was sitting in my suite, it wasn’t like he couldn’t find me again after this…if I lived through it.
“Sounds fake.” He flattened his palms on his legs, smoothing down to his knees. “Amir Vasquez.”
My stomach lurched. I barely eked out a whisper. “I wish you hadn’t given me your last name.”
“That’s a strange thing to wish. Good thing there are no genies here or you would have wasted it.”
“But…”
His hands flipped over, palms up, a show of impatience. The way he spoke belied that gesture. Each word was drawn out, sitting on his tongue until he was ready to release it. Lazy disinterest laced every syllable, but his sharp gaze said he was anything but.
“But what, little mama? Speak.”
“It’s just that, I’ve seen your face, I know your name. So…”
His forehead crinkled with his raised eyebrows. “Finish your sentence, Zadie Night.”
I swallowed hard then blurted, “Won’t you have to kill me now?”
There was a long pause where Amir only stared at me, his dusky lips parting slightly. His movement was too sudden for me to protect myself. My face was in his hand, and I hadn’t even had the chance to gasp a breath.
“Are you going to tell someone I was here tonight, Zadie Night? Will you run to your phone as soon as my back’s turned and dial nine one one? What will you tell them? That I sat in a room with you? You’re not tied up. No one is barring the door. You could walk away at any time.”
“You have a gun,” I pointed out.
“Do I?” His fingertips stroked my cheek. “I’ve never seen it before. This must be your roommate’s gun. You wouldn’t want Helen getting in trouble for holding an unlicensed handgun, would you?”
“I’m not calling the police, not if you don’t hurt me or Helen.”
Narrowed slits stared back at me for a long moment before he dropped my face and reclaimed his original position in his chair, lounging like a lazy prince.
“If Helen brings me the money she owes Reno, no one’s getting hurt tonight.” There was nothing lazy about his vigilant gaze.
That was a big “if,” so his reassurance did nothing to settle me. Helen owed Amir’s brother, Reno, a lot of money. It wasn’t her fault, but she had to pay it anyway. Me being trapped here with Amir was supposed to be her incentive to bring back the cash as quickly as she could.
But what if she couldn’t?
“Will you hurt me if she doesn’t?”
He hadn’t stopped watching me, but my question sent him forward, his elbows on his knees, black eyes drilling into mine.
“If it comes to that, I won’t take any pleasure in what I have to do.” He steepled his hands beneath his chin. “Let’s hope Helen pulls through and neither of us have to experience that.”
I nodded, wishing I could rewind time back to when I was bored. There was nothing comforting in knowing the man holding me hostage was a legit bad guy, not just a regular person who’d gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd. Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them. I turned away so he wouldn’t see them trail down my cheeks, but I couldn’t hold in one quiet sniffle.
In my periphery, Amir sprung from his seat. He stood over me for so long, I was forced to look up at him. When I did, he swiped his thumb over my wet cheek, then sucked my tears off like drops of nectar. I shuddered, and he walked away, pacing the confines of the small living area I shared with my two suitemates.
He paced and used his phone while I sat, sinking into the stifling silence.
A while later, there was a knock on the door. Amir opened it, spoke in murmurs to whoever was on the other side, then closed it again. He stopped in front of me and placed a white paper bag on the coffee table. The scent of oregano, garlic, and tomatoes drifted from it.
“Eat, little mama,” Amir gruffed, then walked away again.
I didn’t want to, but the hours were ticking by, and despite the churning in my stomach, I was hungry. Still, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep anything down. Gingerly, I opened the bag to find two take-out containers, one holding half-dollar-sized raviolis and sauce, the other filled with garlic knots. From over my shoulder, Amir handed me a plate and fork before he circled around to sit beside me. He dished food onto his plate like it was nothing—like he hadn’t told me this situation could end with me being beaten or killed.
When I didn’t move, he set his plate down, grabbed mine, and filled it. Then he wrapped my fingers around my fork, took my chin in his hand, turned my face toward his, and gave me a hard, commanding look.
“Eat, Zadie.”
I sucked in a ragged breath and tore my face from his hold. “I will. It’s just…you’re making me nervous right now.”
He growled but didn’t reply. I shifted as far from him as possible—which wasn’t far—and tried to eat. I was anxious on way too many levels. The food sat like sawdust on my tongue, nearly impossible to swallow. I managed to get down one ravioli and half a garlic knot before I called it quits. Amir was shoving his food into his mouth like his conscience was clear and he wasn’t holding a girl hostage. He also had his long legs spread so wide, his thigh was practically on top of mine.
I started to get up to take my plate to the sink and dump out the food I wasn’t eating, but Amir snagged the loop of my jeans and yanked me back down.
“You didn’t eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
He leaned over me, bracing his hand on the arm of the love seat, scanning my body. My mom called me curvy. At the very least, I was chubby. Had been my whole life. By Savage U standards—where the girls were disproportionately thin, tan, and blonde—I was a whale, and some of the girls here liked to remind me of that.
“You don’t skip meals.” He stated this as fact. No malice behind it, but it hit me right in my rounded stomach and dug deep.
“I ate.”
“Barely.”
“I’m sorry I’m not able to eat when I’m not sure if I’ll be alive by the end of this,” I said meekly.
He barked a laugh that sounded so menacing, I squirmed in my seat. “I’m not going to kill you. Now, eat the dinner I bought you before I get offended.”
I bit my tongue before I could tell him that wasn’t much better. Knowing I could be beaten bloody instead of murdered didn’t really ease my mind. But I tried eating since it seemed I didn’t have a choice. I wouldn’t want to offend my captor.
A-hole.
God, I couldn’t even curse him out in my head for fear of repercussions.
I ate one more ravioli and the rest of my garlic knot before I held my plate out to Amir. “Is this enough?”
He scowled at my filled plate like it was a direct insult to him. “More.”
Using his fork, he cut a piece of ravioli off and held it to my mouth. I opened automatically, and he placed it with surprising gentleness on my tongue. He fed me two more ravioli like this before I covered my mouth with both hands. Amir grunted and scowled at me like I’d killed his firstborn, but he relented.
Another hour or so passed of Amir pacing and using his phone, and me cleaning up the dishes, followed by falling back into boredom. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I slipped my phone from my pocket to scroll through my emails or read the dictionary. Something. As soon as it was in my hand, though, it was snatched away.
“Password, little mama.”
“Password?”
He glanced up. “To your phone. Give me the password.”
“Why?”
He leaned over me, one hand on the back of the couch, the other cupping my throat.
“Give it to me.”
I gave it to him, and he didn’t release me, even after he entered it. His thumb kept stroking my fluttering pulse, and he let out a low humming sound that sounded strangely like he was trying to comfort me—even though he was the one violating me.
Tipping my head back gave me room to breathe and allowed me to study my captor up close while his attention was on my phone. Under different circumstances, I would have found him intimidatingly attractive. With bronze skin that spoke of possibly Middle Eastern or Latino roots—maybe both, given his name—thick, short, black hair, long, sooty eyelashes, and a mouth that looked so soft, only sweet words should’ve ever passed it, the phrase “tall, dark, and handsome” might have been coined to describe him.
He released a long sigh, pocketed my phone, and took a seat in the armchair, once again studying me.
“You don’t have a boyfriend.”
Again, he said this as a statement, and if he’d looked through my meager texts, he knew it as fact.
“No, I don’t.”
“Do you want one?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m busy, though, so—” I stopped myself from explaining. It wasn’t his business, and by now, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t shoot me if I didn’t answer.
He canted his head, studying me from under thick lashes. His eyes were dark, so dark, it was hard to tell where exactly he was focused.
“Do you fuck?”
I flinched. “What?” Oh, I heard, I just couldn’t process what he was asking. This was definitely none of his business.
“Do. You. Fuck, Zadie? Do you like cock?”
“Why in the world would you ask me that?” The second the question was out of my mouth, something else dawned on me. He’d said he wouldn’t murder me, but he’d also promised violence. “Are you—? You wouldn’t—”
Amir’s gaze grew impossibly darker. “I’m talking about fucking. Rape isn’t fucking. And no, I’m not going to force you. I want to know why a girl who looks like you isn’t fucking anyone.”
A coil of spikes unfurled in my chest, but only partway. We were still having an uncomfortable conversation Amir seemed insistent on having.
So, I shut it down. “No. I don’t like it. We’re not going to have a Go moment, so can we drop the subject? I preferred silence.”
He only showed more interest, taking another long look at me. “Go?”
“It’s a nineties movie I watched with my mom. These friends leave their other friend with a drug dealer as collateral and they wind up in bed.” I shook my head. “That’s not going to happen.”
He flicked his fingers out. “It would make the time go faster.” Then he let his hand fall. “But I’m more curious than anything. Why don’t you like cock, little mama?”
Every time he called me that, I got feverish. It was a ridiculous pet name, but something about the way he gritted it out of his plush mouth spiked my temperature and sent shivers down my spine.
“The drug dealer in Go had a better personality.”
Amir smirked and made a clucking sound with his tongue. “Maybe. Then again, you don’t really look like Katie Holmes. I don’t care either way.”
My first thought was, oh, so he did know the movie, followed quickly by, wow, the truth in that statement kind of burns.
“Did someone hurt you?” he inquired.
“Did someone drop you on your head?” As soon as the words were out, my hands flew to my mouth, and I stared at Amir with wide eyes. He didn’t look pissed, though. He very nearly smiled, and something like a chuckle rattled in his chest.
“You’re funny,” he stated dryly.
“Thanks,” I squeezed out of my clamped throat.
He slid down in his chair, stretching his long legs in front of him. The whole time, he never took his eyes off me. Sometimes they rested on my face, others, they danced around my chest and middle.
“Answer the question, little mama.”
“People have hurt me, but not in that way,” I replied. “Have you hurt people?”
“Oh yeah I have,” Amir blinked, letting his eyelids stay at half-mast, “but not in that way.”
“That’s good to know.”
“So,” he licked his bottom lip, “tell me why a girl like you doesn’t have men blowing up her phone to link up? No dick pics, no one begging for your nudes, not even one simp. Are you uptight, Zadie? Do you think you’re too good to take cock?”
“What do you mean, a girl like me? What am I like?”
“You know how you sound.” His sultry lips tipped into a smirk. “You know what you look like.”
My hand rose to my cheek of its own volition. “I’m just…I look like me.”
“Oh, shit.” His chuckle was without humor. “You really don’t know?”
“Are you making fun of me?” I hated how meek I sounded. Why did I care what he thought of me?
But I knew why. As perverse as it was, I had been instantly attracted to this man, even through my terror. After having a gun pointed in my face, the last thing I needed was for my captor to tell me he thought I was a hideous beast.
Amir instantly sobered. “No, Zadie, I’m not. You asking me that question pisses me off, though.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Yeah, I know you didn’t. I bet you’ve been sweet since the day you were born.”
I pursed my lips. “I did tell you you weren’t charming.”
“And my feelings were really hurt.” His eyes were intense, but his expression remained impassive. “Tell me why you don’t have a man.”
His voice…god, it settled like coal in my belly, heating me from head to toe. He had no idea what he was asking pressed on a patch of raw nerves. Why wasn’t I with someone? Why did I turn away from every guy’s attention? I had my reasons, very real ones, I wasn’t going to share with my captor.
At the same time he pressed on those nerves, he also hit something else: my anger. So much had been taken from me, and this was only one more thing. I should’ve had a phone filled with texts, at least one simp, a few unwanted dick pics, guys asking to see my boobs. But I was locked down tight, keeping to myself, missing out on those annoying, ubiquitous-to-almost-everyone college experiences.
“I don’t think I’m too good to fuck.” I clasped my hands in my lap and whispered, “I do like it.”
Amir stilled. “What did you say?”
I leveled him with an unwavering stare. “I said I do like…fucking. I miss it, it’s been a long while, but I like it.”
He scooted to the edge of his seat and took his gun from the back of his pants. For one split second, I thought he was going to shoot me. But then, with his gaze on me, he placed the gun on the coffee table and held his hand out to me.
“Come here.” His gravel had turned to dust, coating his command in something soft and muted. “Come here, little mama. Talk to me.”
I wondered what I was doing, why I’d said that, and how I could be considering slipping my hand into his. His beautiful hand with long, tapered fingers and calloused palms.
My eyes met his. Black like midnight, and just as dangerous. I sucked in a deep breath and made a decision.
It was either going to be the best or worst I’d ever made.
But for once, it was mine.
I slipped my hand into his.
