Read Online Loaded: A Bad Boy Romance by Roxie Noir - Free Book Online
Authors: Roxie Noir
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inches.
Before I can open my door, she’s got her arms out of it, her face against the opening, and she’s screaming bloody murder . It doesn’t matter. There’s no one around but me.
I stand by the car patiently, jacket in hand. After a few more screams, she stops and just looks at me.
“You done?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer. After a few moments, she scoots away from the window. I shove my jacket through the opening and hear it fall onto the seat on the other side, and I get back into the driver’s seat.
“Watch your fingers,” I say.
Her hand is still out the window.
“It’ll break all your fingers,” I tell her. “Seen it happen.”
“You probably did it,” she says.
She’s right, but I don’t respond, I just wait. After a moment she pulls her hand back into the car.
I put the window up and drive back onto the highway.
----
I t’s a little after four in the morning when I pull off the highway and onto a gravel track. Tessa finally drifted off to sleep, and even though she refuses to use my jacket for a pillow, in her sleep she’s clutching it in one hand.
I’m always amazed at the places people can fall asleep: airplanes, bathrooms, in a car while being kidnapped, though in her defense, she’s half-drunk, totally exhausted, and lots of people fall asleep in cars.
When we start rumbling over the gravel, she wakes up but doesn’t say anything. The plan called for blindfolding her, but the plan also called for Andres doing this part while I went back to the wedding, and I didn’t think to get the blindfold from him.
Besides, it’s dark, she’s half-asleep, and we’re in the middle of nowhere. The gravel road is pretty slow to drive, even in this car, and it’s about fifteen miles long. The radio signal has been gone for hours, so the car is dead silent.
“Are you sure you’re not going to kill me?” she finally says, so softly I can barely hear her.
“If I were going to kill you, you’d be dead already,” I say. “I’d have done it back in Los Angeles.”
She nods and looks at the window, but I know she can’t see a damn thing.
“If I killed you it would be to send a message,” I say. “I wouldn’t take you to the middle of the desert when no one will ever find you. I’d want you to be found.”
I can just barely see her nod in the back seat.
You’re probably not making her feel much better , I think.
We don’t speak for the rest of the drive, until I pull up to a house. It’s a double-wide, pre-fab with white vinyl siding, and the desert is already starting to take its toll. There’s a six-foot chain link fence around it, and I stop the car, get out, open the gate, and drive through.
“We’re here,” I tell her.
She’s leaning forward, peering through the windshield.
“Where’s here?” she asks.
“Our safehouse,” I say. “We’re fifteen miles from the nearest road. The closest town is Ballarat, California, and it’s a ghost town that’s thirty miles away. During the day, it usually gets up to one-ten, one-fifteen out here.”
I’m looking through the partition at her, and finally her eyes meet mine.
“You’re telling me there’s nowhere to go,” she says.
“You got it,” I say.
“Are you gonna tell me that the car’s got a thumbprint lock, too?”
“No,” I say. “But the keys are in my pocket, and if I were you, I wouldn’t try to get them.”
She nods slightly, her eyes flicking back to the house.
“Can I get out now?” she asks.
I get out of the car and close the gate. I don’t worry about locking it; she can’t go anywhere, and I hate feeling trapped.
I open her door and offer my hand, which she ignores. She’s covered in wisps of diaper material, and her long dress is wrinkled, her hair half falling down.
I can’t help but take a moment to appreciate how hot she is, even now, and I think about her legs wrapped around my waist and that soft oh! she made when she came.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she
Before I can open my door, she’s got her arms out of it, her face against the opening, and she’s screaming bloody murder . It doesn’t matter. There’s no one around but me.
I stand by the car patiently, jacket in hand. After a few more screams, she stops and just looks at me.
“You done?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer. After a few moments, she scoots away from the window. I shove my jacket through the opening and hear it fall onto the seat on the other side, and I get back into the driver’s seat.
“Watch your fingers,” I say.
Her hand is still out the window.
“It’ll break all your fingers,” I tell her. “Seen it happen.”
“You probably did it,” she says.
She’s right, but I don’t respond, I just wait. After a moment she pulls her hand back into the car.
I put the window up and drive back onto the highway.
----
I t’s a little after four in the morning when I pull off the highway and onto a gravel track. Tessa finally drifted off to sleep, and even though she refuses to use my jacket for a pillow, in her sleep she’s clutching it in one hand.
I’m always amazed at the places people can fall asleep: airplanes, bathrooms, in a car while being kidnapped, though in her defense, she’s half-drunk, totally exhausted, and lots of people fall asleep in cars.
When we start rumbling over the gravel, she wakes up but doesn’t say anything. The plan called for blindfolding her, but the plan also called for Andres doing this part while I went back to the wedding, and I didn’t think to get the blindfold from him.
Besides, it’s dark, she’s half-asleep, and we’re in the middle of nowhere. The gravel road is pretty slow to drive, even in this car, and it’s about fifteen miles long. The radio signal has been gone for hours, so the car is dead silent.
“Are you sure you’re not going to kill me?” she finally says, so softly I can barely hear her.
“If I were going to kill you, you’d be dead already,” I say. “I’d have done it back in Los Angeles.”
She nods and looks at the window, but I know she can’t see a damn thing.
“If I killed you it would be to send a message,” I say. “I wouldn’t take you to the middle of the desert when no one will ever find you. I’d want you to be found.”
I can just barely see her nod in the back seat.
You’re probably not making her feel much better , I think.
We don’t speak for the rest of the drive, until I pull up to a house. It’s a double-wide, pre-fab with white vinyl siding, and the desert is already starting to take its toll. There’s a six-foot chain link fence around it, and I stop the car, get out, open the gate, and drive through.
“We’re here,” I tell her.
She’s leaning forward, peering through the windshield.
“Where’s here?” she asks.
“Our safehouse,” I say. “We’re fifteen miles from the nearest road. The closest town is Ballarat, California, and it’s a ghost town that’s thirty miles away. During the day, it usually gets up to one-ten, one-fifteen out here.”
I’m looking through the partition at her, and finally her eyes meet mine.
“You’re telling me there’s nowhere to go,” she says.
“You got it,” I say.
“Are you gonna tell me that the car’s got a thumbprint lock, too?”
“No,” I say. “But the keys are in my pocket, and if I were you, I wouldn’t try to get them.”
She nods slightly, her eyes flicking back to the house.
“Can I get out now?” she asks.
I get out of the car and close the gate. I don’t worry about locking it; she can’t go anywhere, and I hate feeling trapped.
I open her door and offer my hand, which she ignores. She’s covered in wisps of diaper material, and her long dress is wrinkled, her hair half falling down.
I can’t help but take a moment to appreciate how hot she is, even now, and I think about her legs wrapped around my waist and that soft oh! she made when she came.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she
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