Disclaimer: Not mine.
Captive 4
Saint Anger
Hair brushed across his chest, a soft cheek rested over his heart. His arm was across a slender back; his leg was thrown over hers, as they tangled closely together in the small bed. His body was alive with sensation, hardly able to tell where he began and she started. It felt like they'd slept together for years. Half aroused, and only half awake, he drifted on the edge of consciousness, enjoying the touch of female flesh for a while. He didn't want to do anything, just lie there and enjoy. She smelled so good. Felt so good. Maybe, in a minute, he'd roll over, put her under him, kiss her awake. Then they could -
The loud knock on the door shattered Trunks' pleasant drifting, dreaming state. He was on his feet instantly, arousal switched to alert tension, aware of the woman only because of the indignant noise she made when he pushed her away to jump up. His attention centered on the door.
The knock came again. "Tiger?"
Scythe. Trunks shook his head to clear it further. Sunlight poured in through a small window over the bed. Daylight. "What," he answered.
"We're in," Scythe called back. "Docking in ten minutes."
Trunks felt the changes in Blade's speed and position through the soles of his bare feet as the engines throttled down. He listened. Heard the cries of the gulls, the sounds of the other boats, human voices carrying across the water. He should have noticed earlier. He threw Marron an annoyed look, blaming her for his getting caught up in some peaceful fantasy when he should have been paying attention. He couldn't let it happen again. Not if he wanted to get them out of San Enfado alive.
Marron shook the hair out of her face and glared back at her captor. She'd been sound asleep a moment ago. Now she had to live with the disgust at having slept in that detestable thing's arms. Peacefully.
She centered her animosity on Tiger Reese. "What are you looking at?"
"Nothing. Get dressed."
"I am dressed."
Trunks ignored that he'd said something stupid. He went to the door and opened it just wide enough to see Scythe.
Marron watched Trunks warily while he spoke quietly to the man in the corridor. Tousled hair didn't make him look any less dangerous. Certainly more disreputable. Disreputable suited him far too well. He's a murderer, she reminded herself ashamed that she could look at him with anything but disgust. She was aware that she hadn't actually seen him murder anyone, but considering how she'd ended up sharing this cabin, she figured it was a safe assumption.
"What about Radditz?" The other man asked. "Think he ran back to Piccolo? What do we do about Radditz?"
Marron listened closely, waiting for Tiger's answer. People like Reese spent their short, violent lives double-crossing each other, killing anyone that got in their way. He hasn't killed you yet, a small voice in her hear reminded her.
"It's Piccolo we need to get to. If I have to negotiate with Radditz to do it, fine."
Just like business, Marron concluded. Another businessman, she thought bitterly. Just like Joao, but with a gun.
"Can't Piccolo wait? What about the party you promised first?" The other man asked. "What about the woman?"
Trunks didn't even look at her. He swore, yanked the door open, and slammed it behind him on the way out. The men continued their conversation up on the deck. Marron could hear shouting, but she couldn't make out any words.
After a while, it occurred to her that it didn't matter what Tiger Reese intended to do with her. It was up to her to take control of her own life. She'd always been too passive, too pragmatic, and what good had it ever done out of her? She had nothing to lose, nothing to return to, and no one to care. Maybe it was time for a little reckless abandon in her life. After all, it could only get her killed, and that was likely to happen anyway.
"Are you going to kill me right away, or do I have time to pick up a toothbrush?"
Trunks wasn't sure what to make of Marron's sudden bravado. He decided to ignore it. In another half hour at most they'd be at the Church of St. Lucia. The priest there, Father Dende, was one of his few civilian contacts. A smart, ingenious fellow who knew who he was and would be happy to take Marron under his protective wing.
They were now on a narrow street that led steeply up from the docks. San Enfado was a small town, built almost vertically on the side of a dormant volcano that loomed up over the harbor. From the looks of some of the buildings they passed, it appeared that a storm had been through since his last visit to the island.
He kept walking, with his hand firmly around her wrist. He was a lot bigger and stronger. She went where he wanted to go. He didn't tell her the destination he had in mind. He didn't pay any attention to the street vendors that thrust their wares in their way.
"Excuse me, but could we - "
"No."
"You don't know what I what I was going to ask."
"Didn't I tell you to be quiet?"
"No, you told me to get dressed."
"That was an hour ago. Be quiet."
"I'm not scared of you."
If he hadn't felt her gaze on him, hot and defiant, if her steps hadn't lagged until he was practically dragging her up the hill, he wouldn't have finally looked at her. "Yes, you are."
Their gazes locked and held. He stopped thinking and pulled her closer until there was no more than an inch between them. He had one hand on her shoulder, one locked around her left wrist. The flat of her hand came up to touch his chest just over his heart, whether to fend him off or for some more intimate purpose he couldn't tell. He felt the heat of her touch through the thin cotton of his shirt and it was like it was her racing heartbeat he was sensing. Her eyes widened, the color deepened. They were so blue he thought he was going to drown in them.
There was a crowd around them in the congested street. Low, flat-roofed buildings with faded pastel paint and shuttered windows bunched up against the sides of the road. Shaded alleys darted off in all directions from the man street. Tropical flowers in window boxes and on pushcarts and piles of fruit added scent and color to the scene. Flies buzzed, there was a lot of shouting, and the sun was hot as hell overhead.
For a long, painful, delicious, confusing moment. All he was aware of, for what couldn't have been more than a stolen second, was the sight, scent and feel of Marron Chestnut. He was aware that all she was aware of was him. His hand slipped from her shoulder to circle her waist. Her hand moved up to circle the back of his neck. He felt her fingers in his hair.
Just as he was about to kiss her, she shook her head violently and tried to push away. He felt like he'd just been slapped awake. He almost let her go.
"Stop looking at me!"
He kept a tight grip on her wrist. "I was going to do a lot more than look." He turned and began hurrying them up the street again.
"No, you're not."
"I said was. The mood's past."
"Good. Keep it that way."
"You weren't exactly fighting it." This time his reply brought him the silence he wanted. He could still feel Marron's glare as he shouldered a path for them through the crowd.
He couldn't afford to be reckless, or away from his men for very long. As he'd promised, he'd given his men twenty-four hours and a cash bonus to spend carousing. He hated the waste of time, but a deal was a deal, even if he did half blame his hapless prisoner for causing the delay. In twenty-four hours Father Dende would have arranged to have Marron off the island. No matter what went down she wouldn't be a part of it. But even getting her to the priest still forced him to spend more time in her tempting company than he liked. She was making him act soft and stupid. Like a horny teenager.
Now, here they were at San Enfado, and he was no closer to completing his assignment for Naval Intelligence than he had been twenty-four hours before. Less. He damned Radditz, since it wasn't fair to curse a group of innocent bystanders who'd gotten killed due to Radditz's greed. He damned himself. And he damned Marron Chestnut just because she existed in this time and place. Because he wanted her. Because she'd never know the Naval Intelligence officer even existed. She'd only have painful memories of a very bad man who went by the ridiculous nickname of Tiger.
"What kind of name is Tiger, anyway?" Marron asked.
She was growing tired of Trunks' fierce determination to ignore her as he hurried her up the steep, narrow street. He was correct, she was scared of him, and not just because he held her life in his hands. She was more scared of how he made her feel when he shouldn't make her feel anything but loathing. She did loathe him. He disgusted her, but loathing and disgust didn't seem to be enough to shake off the other things he made her feel. "Where are we going?"
He just kept walking, with her bouncing along behind like a balloon on a string. When he continued to ignore her, Marron dug her heels into the dried mud of the street, leaned her weight back and refused to move any farther up hill.
Trunks was forced to turn around and say, "Do you want me to carry you?"
"No."
"Then come on."
"No."
"You're a spoiled, rich, brat, you know that?"
Marron took a shaky breath as the pain of loss stabbed hard through her. "You don't know that," she snapped back. "You don't know anything about me. Just because my family's rich - because my family. Damn!" She turned her head away, refusing to explain any further to him. She hugged her grief to herself, concentrated on it because it was the only emotion she could bear to look at. Everything else was terrifying, shameful, wrong and centered on Tiger Reese. He couldn't have her grief too.
She made herself look at him again. Marron focused on the important thing rather than imagining it was remorse she saw in his eyes. "Where are you taking me?"
Trunks decided he might as well tell her.
But the shot came from behind them before he could answer.
Why is it that salesladies have to be such borrible hitches to their fellow females? I was only asking them very nicely to change the cd I had since the one they gave me was defective. I wasn't interrupting anything that was crucial to the fate of mankind anyway. They were only milling about converting oxygen into carbon dioxide. Where did the saying "the customer is always right" go? Where was the service in "customer service"? Did they expect me to be content with a cd I couldn't listen to? I think not!
Fortunately the Tower Records guy did listen to me and was very helpful and since he was very nice I didn't unleash the rant that I had on my mind. Did I mention that he was easy on the eyes too?
