The Second Stop

~B.S~

"So, your name's Isabella, right?"

I turn my head to the left awkwardly, to glance at the small, black haired woman who is sat leaning forwards in the back seat, right in between the driver and passenger seat, with her face uncomfortably close to my left shoulder.

When I turn my head, my nose almost touches hers.

"Um, yeah," I reply, clearing my throat, because those are the first words I've spoken in over an hour, and also because her proximity is startling.

She nods, and cocks her head to the side a little so her almond shaped, grey eyes are directly in my line of sight. She narrows her eyes a little, staring directly into mine, and I find myself blushing, so I turn my head forwards again, trying to focus my attention on the road.

"That's a nice name," she remarks, her right forearm resting on my seat, just next to the headrest. Her petite fingers are casually hanging by the nape of my neck, and I feel them fluttering as she runs the very tips lightly through the unruly strands of hair that have fallen out of my bun. It feels very...personal, you know, definitely not the sort of thing you'd do to just anyone, especially someone you don't even know and were hired to kidnap. She's making me uneasy and I feel my face growing warmer as I lean forwards slightly, trying to escape her fluttering fingers.

"You're half Italian," she says, and I jump because her lips are right at my left ear as she says this. In fact, her lips brush against my lobe as her hot breath tickles my ear. Again, I lean away from her.

What the hell is up with this woman?

And wait...how did she know I was half Italian?

"Yeah, I am."

He – Edward – has been silent for the most part, answering with one worded answers, or hums or grunts when the black haired woman – Alice – asks him something.

She's been the only one talking for the entire journey, babbling on about...well...everything and anything really, and not even seeming like she gives a fuck whether we're listening or not. I wasn't listening, until she just spoke to me directly, and I'm pretty sure he wasn't either.

I glance at him quickly from the side of my eye, and I see that he still looks mad. His face is in a light scowl, a slight crease between his eyebrows, his angular jaw line constantly pulsing as he clenches and unclenches his teeth. He keeps his eyes trained meticulously on the road, his grip taut on the steering wheel.

However, as I continue inconspicuously peeking at him, he seems to sense it or something because suddenly he tears his turquoise eyes from the road and his meticulous gaze shifts to me. Our eyes meet for a split second before I hastily look away.

"Can you speak it?"

Alice's lips are at my ear again, and she sort of half whispers, her fingers trailing up my neck lightly. I shiver a little, because she's making me feel really awkward now.

"Um, excuse me?" I ask, moving further away from her until I'm pressing myself into the car door.

"Italian," she continues in her half whisper, "Can you speak it?"

"A little."

"Can you understand it?"

"Yeah."

"Really?" She says, and I can hear a smile in her tone. "I can speak a little Italian myself. I mean, I'm not fluent or anything, but I can hold a simple conversation."

I nod stiffly, tensing as she transfers her arm around to the right side of my seat – where I've moved to, to try to escape her closeness – and her fingers boldly return to my neck, stroking it softly with her fingertips.

Then her lips are at my ear again as she whispers, "ti trovo molto...attraente, Isabella."

Oh my God. She just told me that she finds me very attractive.

Wait, is she a...?

"Alice!" He yells suddenly, causing both of us to jump. "Leave her alone."

Alice finally removes her hand and face away from me, leaning back in the back seat.

She snickers quietly. "Oh relax, Edward, I'm only trying to calm her down a little, seeing as you scare the shit out of her with your gun pointing and constant yelling."

"And how the fuck is flirting with her gonna relax her?" He asks through clenched teeth.

Flirting with me?

"I don't know, but she seemed to be enjoying it," Alice retorts.

He scoffs. "She's practically falling out of the car door trying to get away from you, Alice."

"Well, she was blushing."

"Yeah, because you're embarrassing her."

They're talking about me as if I'm not even here, which is pretty rude, but who am I to get indignant? I'm only their hostage after all. I sit silently, listening to their bickering, when he suddenly turns to me, his eyes roving over my face intently.

"Isabella," he says, and my heart starts pounding quicker at the way my name sounds coming from his mouth. His voice, coupled with his accent, makes it sound really fucking hot. I actually don't like people calling me 'Isabella', but for him I can definitely make an exception. "Just in case you haven't noticed – and you'd have to be an idiot not to, seeing as she's practically sexually harassing you – Alice here, is a carpet muncher."

"Hey!" Alice's tiny hand connects with the side of his head swiftly.

He half chuckles, half hisses, letting go of the steering wheel with one hand to rub at his head. "Jesus, Alice, that fucking 'urt," he mutters.

"I've warned you about calling me that, you shithead."

He rolls his eyes. "Alice is a lesbian, and apparently," he turns to look at me with a teasing smirk, "she finds you attractive."

I blush again, partly at his words, and partly at his smile.

Ok, mostly at his smile.

His soft, pink lips curve up unevenly, the right side of his lips curving just a little more than the left, and God, his cheekbones are to die for. They're more pronounced, high and Greek god statue-like, and his eyes squint a little so they crinkle up at the corners, making his smile have a sexy, yet mischievous schoolboy look about it.

His smile is fucking beautiful.

And so I'm blushing hard as I look away from him, from that smirk, and divert my attention to my thighs.

"See, she's blushing again. Told you she liked it," Alice remarks, and I can feel her hovering next to me so she's probably leaning forward from the back seat again. "Besides," she continues offhandedly, "I'm not the only one who thinks you're hot, Isabella, believe me..." She trails off with a snicker.

What?!

I can feel him looking at me again, and his voice is soft as he says, "she's embarrassed. Leave her alone, Al, I mean it. I'll stop the car and dump you out here, in the middle of...wherever the fuck we are, if you don't."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

TTT

We've been driving for about two hours now, and Alice – thankfully – has been quiet since he threatened her. I can hear her humming along to the radio occasionally so I know she's still awake, but she doesn't try to flirt with me anymore, and her constant chatter has dwindled to a few random comments every now and then.

Edward is completely silent again, all traces of his playful banter with Alice, and gorgeous, teasing smirk completely erased. He's not scowling anymore, at least, but his face is impassive, and although he's paying careful attention to the road, it's obvious that his thoughts are miles away.

Kings of Leon's Use Somebody comes on the radio, and I automatically reach out to turn the radio up, like I'd usually do in my own car, seeing as I like that song – when his hand reaches out for the radio simultaneously.

Our fingers brush, his long ones lightly entangling with my short ones for the briefest moment, before we both snatch our hands back quickly.

I immediately redden, because although it was accidental, the contact felt very...intimate.

"Sorry," I mumble, looking at my lap again, "I err, was just gonna turn it up a little."

He clears his throat, and in my periphery I see his fingers raking through his hair quickly before he gestures to the radio.

"Go ahead, I didn't know you wanted to listen to it, I was just about to change the station."

I reach out for the radio again, hesitating slightly, before I turn the knob a little to the right, turning the music up a fraction.

Alice is chortling from the backseat. "Edward hates this song."

"I don't hate it," he mutters, "I'm just fucking sick of it."

I peek up at him from under my lashes. "You don't like, Kings of Leon?" I ask. I know there's no point of making conversation with them, but I do it anyway.

His eyes dart to me quickly, and his eyebrows elevate ever so slightly, as if he's surprised.

Alice snickers.

He does the hand raking through his hair thing again before answering, "Actually, I'm a big fan of the Kings. Radio stations just love to batter songs to death." He shrugs his surprisingly broad shoulders. "I prefer their older stuff though; their new stuff is a bit too...pop."

I nod. "I haven't heard any of their old stuff."

"Well, maybe I could..." He stops suddenly and frowns, and I notice his lips moving as he murmurs something silently to himself. "Never mind," he finishes, and then he's silent, jaw tensed once again, his grip on the steering wheel firmer as he stares ahead.

There's an awkward silence.

Until Alice breaks it.

"I love the lead singer's voice," she says.

And then it's back to the silence.

TTT

It's about five thirty in the evening when we finally reach the hotel.

He parks in the parking lot of the hotel, and we sit in the car for a moment as he checks the details of the booking.

"What name did you put it under?"

"Masen, of course."

He nods, before turning around to glare at Alice. "You better not have booked another honeymoon suite, Alice," he warns.

She rolls her eyes. "And if I have?"

He glares at her silently for a moment, before he opens his door.

"Wait in the car for a bit; I need to make a few calls."

"Why can't you make them in the car?"

He ignores her and steps out of the car, slamming the door behind him. I see him reaching in his back pocket, and he pulls out his cell phone with his thumb and index finger. I stare at his rear a little longer than necessary as he walks a few feet away from the car, holding his cell up to his ear as he does.

Alice is laughing quietly again, and I can't, for the life of me, figure out why she keeps laughing.

"He does have a pretty nice ass – for a guy," she says.

My eyes widen and I feel the heat spread across my face like wildfire. She caught me ogling his ass!

She leans forward again, her hand resting on the back of my seat, her face once again too close for comfort as she whispers, "But I think yours is better."

Oh my God. She's hitting on me again.

She studies my face for a moment, before her face spreads in a wide grin, and she leans back again, laughing heartily. "I'm only fucking with ya, babe, no need to look so terrified," she exclaims through chuckles.

I sigh in relief.

When she finally stops laughing, she looks out of the window at Edward, who seems to be having a very heated conversation on his cell, judging by the way he's gesticulating furiously.

"He's twenty three."

"Excuse me?" I ask, puzzled.

"Edward. He's twenty three."

"Um...ok?" I have no idea why she's telling me this.

"He hasn't got a girlfriend at the moment either," she says, and I can hear a smile punctuating her words.

Wait...what? Why is she telling me this?! Does she honestly think that I'm...interested in him, like that – a guy who was hired to kidnap me by some mystery person? Is she crazy?

But then again Bella, you have been checking him out at every chance you get.

"He's not a bad guy, babe," she continues, "he likes to put on a tough guy exterior for his job, because most of the time he needs to, but he's harmless really. He has a temper, but it never really goes anywhere, you know? He sort of, flares up and then you expect a huge explosion from him or something, but you just get this little pop instead." She laughs. "It's quite funny really. That's why I love pissing him off on purpose. He's kind of endearing when he's mad, you know, like a little puppy."

She shakes her head fondly at his long form, a miniscule grin on her face, as we watch him pacing up and down the parking lot, still talking animatedly on his cell. He looks mad again.

"Who's he talking to?" I ask. Weirdly, I'm starting to feel sort of, comfortable with her.

"I don't know," she replies absently, still gazing out of the window at him. "Jasper, maybe. Or Carlisle. Or Emmett."

After a while he strides over to the car, opening the back door for Alice first, before they both come around to the passenger side and he opens my door.

Instead of dragging me out by my arm, like he's been doing, he holds out his hand to me.

I stare at it in surprise and confusion for a moment, before he sighs impatiently.

"We haven't got all day, woman."

I tentatively situate my hand in his open palm, and he hoists me out of the car, placing his other hand lightly on my waist when I sway slightly. He stands there, his fingers still wrapped around my hand, his other hand at my waist, still – unnecessarily – holding it, and his ocean coloured eyes burn into mine.

His lips move silently and quickly, and although I can't hear what he's saying, I can lip read pretty well. "Sei molto attraente," he mouths, and I'm certain that I'm not imagining his beautifully crooked lips turning up at the corners minutely, in a trace of that gorgeous smile.

Oh my God.

I nearly melt right there, at his feet, because I'm sure that I read his lips right. He just told me that I was very attractive.

In Italian.

I don't – I can't – look away, because his eyes are sort of...hypnotizing me. It's almost involuntary. They're so pretty, and intense, and captivating, as he steadily stares at me, smoldering all traces of self preservation I have left – if I had any to begin with. I look up at his – my kidnapper's – handsome face – and I stare back.

Alice clears her throat delicately, and he immediately releases me from his grip and his gaze, stepping back abruptly, before he suddenly remembers that he's supposed to be keeping hold of me – and it's back to the arm grabbing.

He holds my arm at length, as if he's afraid he'll get cooties or something, making sure there's a gap between our bodies as we walk up to the hotel. I'm still red-faced from the strange moment we just had, and it's almost as if he's a walking furnace. I can feel his...heat or whatever it is, emanating off him, and it makes me very aware of his body next to mine.

We check in at the front desk, and make our way up to the suite in silence.

And it's a very awkward silence.

TTT

We've been in the suite for about an hour now. Alice and I have been sitting on the couch, while Edward has been pacing, walking in and out of the bedroom, constantly on his cell phone. I strain to hear what he's talking about, because he's practically growling into the phone, but I can only make out a few random words every once in a while. I do hear the name, 'James', frequently, usually following a swear word, and from what I gathered earlier on in the bathroom at the gas station, James is the guy that blew up the car.

There's a light knock at the door and Edward rushes over to it before Alice can even stand up from the couch, muttering an angry, "it's about fucking time."

I hear a voice, and I'm a little surprised to hear that it's female. I had been expecting it to be that huge, muscled, intimidating guy that had come to the other hotel room. I guess he was a bodyguard of some sort, put there so I wouldn't get away. Not that I would have bothered trying anyway.

The woman sounds very...cheerful? Edward is griping about how she took too fucking long to get here, and she just laughs, telling him to stop being so impatient. I want to turn around to look at her, but I'm afraid to, so I just sit silently, my knees up to my chin like a shield.

"Is that her?" I hear the cheerful sounding woman ask.

"Obviously. Who else could it be?"

"Edward, I'm doing you a favour here, so you better cut the fucking attitude." Her voice is suddenly authoritative, somewhat...motherly in tone, but the type of mother you don't want to mess with.

I'm shocked to hear Edward mutter – quite sheepishly, "Sorry. I have to delay this job because of that prick, and it's pissing me off. Thanks for doing this though, Ez, I really appreciate it."

She's back to her previous cheerfulness. "You're welcome. Now, go, Carl and Emmett are waiting downstairs."

Where's he's going?

"She's been pretty cooperative so far, but don't let your guard down," he says to her, and although I can't see him from where I'm sitting, I feel him looking at me. There's a brief pause before he says, "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Take as long as you need," the woman replies.

Alice gets up from the couch, lazily stretching out her petite frame in a very catlike manner, and smoothing out her shirt.

"C'mon, Ed, let's go," she says through a yawn.

She's going too?

"You're not fucking coming, Alice,"

She scoffs. "Yes, I fucking am, Edward."

He groans exasperatedly. "What help are you gonna be, Alice? Seriously, what the fuck do you need to be there for? We've got cars, Em's got the guns, Jay's got the police sorted...You'll just be taking up space."

Guns?!

She lifts her shoulders up to her ears and drops them again in an exaggerated shrug. "I can...keep lookout or something."

"Jasper's doing that." I can tell that his teeth are clenched.

Alice sighs deeply, rolling her eyes. "I'm coming, Edward," she says, and there's a clear air of finality in her tone. At that she walks over to the door calling out, "later, Ez."

The woman laughs and I hear Edward muttering something no doubt profane, before he follows, slamming the door behind him.

The hotel suite is in a ringing silence as their footsteps and their voices – they're arguing again – fade as they head away from the room. I hold my breath, tensing as I hear the clacking of heels on the hardwood floor, approaching the couch.

The woman plops down heavily on the couch, and turns to me, a friendly smile curving her lips. She's pretty, with caramel coloured, curly hair held up in some sort of hairclip. Her face is soft, rounded, and she has large, bright hazel eyes. Her lips are a little on the thin side, the red lipstick she's wearing barely standing out the way it should be. She's in a beige skirt suit, with a white blouse underneath, and tan coloured pantyhose, ending in beige coloured ankle length, high heeled boots. She looks older than me, older than Edward too, and maybe Alice, but she can't be older than thirty.

She holds out a manicured hand to me, her hazel eyes keeping a steady focus on mine, smile unyielding. "I'm Esme," she says, her tone still chipper.

I stare at her long, slim fingers hesitantly. Her nails are longish, painted a pearly pink. Her palm looks very soft, and inviting.

What a weird thought to have about someone's hand.

I only snap out of my stupor when she chuckles lightly, and then I grab hold of her hand in a clumsy handshake, muttering a, "sorry."

Her palm is very soft. Sort of reminds me of Renee's...

I quickly divert my thoughts away from my mom, because I don't even know if I'm ever going to see her again, and that thought already has the telltale tingle of tears brewing behind my eyeballs. The last thing I need to do is to start blubbering again.

"I'm starved. I'm gonna order some food. You want some?" She asks.

I nod, unwilling to trust myself to speak right now, because speaking would no doubt open the floodgates.

Please don't let these goddamn tears spill, I silently plead with my tear ducts, trying very hard not to blink as I keep my eyes averted from Esme, because the tears are definitely there. One blink and they would flow in rivulets down my cheeks.

"Hey," I'm startled as I feel an arm brush against my nape and a soft, Renee-like hand squeezes my shoulder, and pulls me into a soft, curvy body.

And I blink.

The next instant I'm sobbing. The tears flow quickly, warm and wet, blurring my vision as I try – in vain – to stop them. Esme's arm stays around my shoulder, and she squeezes me soothingly as I sob and sniff, because my nose always fucking runs when I cry. She does feel pretty comforting, and that just makes me cry harder because she really reminds me of Renee. Renee may be flighty, and a crappy cook, and an even crappier housewife, but she's a great mom, and the thought that I'll never see her again just kills me.

"I just...I just wanna know what's gonna happen to me, you know?" I hiccup. "But no one's telling me anything. I'm being 'delivered' like a fucking package, and you people are all being so nice, and making me stay in posh hotels, and feeding me and stuff, and Edward says you're not gonna hurt or kill me but you have g-g-g-guns, and you're my kidnappers', and you have people trying to kill you, and I'm just so fucking...c-c-c- confused, and scared."

I pull back from her hold, finally meeting her hazel eyes with my watery brown ones. Her face is screwed up in a grimace, and it looks as though she wants to cry herself. She chews the corner of her bottom lip as she looks back at me hesitantly.

I dig my stubby nails into her shoulder blades in desperation. She looks like my best chance of getting some answers – or maybe even escaping.

"P-p-p-please, just tell me where they're taking me. Tell me if I'm, at least, gonna ever see my mom again."

Her whole thin bottom lip disappears into her mouth now, and the space between her eyebrows creases.

"Isabella," she begins, and then hesitates. She shakes her head. "I honestly don't know where Edward's taking you. I don't usually deal with this stuff. I'm only here as a favour because...well...something important came up that he needs to take care of."

I nod forlornly, because she looks like she's telling the truth, and my chest flutters erratically as I try to catch my breath. I release her shoulders, suddenly feeling silly at my outburst, and rub the heels of my palms across my cheeks, wiping away the tears.

Esme watches me warily for a moment, as if she's waiting for me to burst into tears again, and I mumble another pathetic, "sorry," before resuming my earlier position of knees up to my chin.

She nods, giving me a small sympathetic smile. "Should I order room service now?"

I nod in return, realising that I'm ravenous and utterly spent. This whole fucked up situation is draining.

TTT

I look at the clock hanging up on the wall opposite the bed I'm lying on.

2:23am.

The room is in darkness, and as my eyes adjust, I make out the faint shape of Esme, sitting at the small mahogany desk situated at the corner of the room, before the window. She's sitting perfectly still, eerily still even, facing out into the moonless night. Her shoulders are slumped forward, and from the faint light filtering in through the half open blinds I can also make out a mess of papers scattered on the desk in front of her. I peer closer, and find that the fingers of her left hand are loosely wrapped around a pen. Her head is down, seeming as if she's staring intently at the jumble of papers before her, but she doesn't move.

She's completely unmoving.

I stare at her form for a moment, my sleep addled brain confused at the sight before me.

"Esme?" I whisper into the darkness.

She doesn't answer.

I slowly lift the heavy feather filled comforter off my body and slide out of the warmth and temporary comfort of the king sized bed. Tentatively, I tiptoe over to the desk, a feeling of dread suddenly creeping up on me. I stand a few inches behind the swivel chair she's slumped in, but still, she doesn't move a muscle.

Why isn't she moving?

"Esme?" I whisper again, and I jump back a few inches, my hands flying up automatically to my heart in surprise, when a loud snore suddenly erupts from her. She finally moves; slumping further into the seat as her head lolls heavily to one side. Then she's still again, and I can hear her steady, deep breathing, the only sound in the silent suite.

I almost start laughing.

I almost throw my arms up and yell, 'hallelujah'.

I almost spin around and start wiggling my hips in a victory dance.

Because she's asleep.

Esme has fallen asleep, and I'm awake, which means she's not watching me.

I can escape.

Before I even think the word, 'escape', I'm out of the bedroom, tiptoeing across the living room of the suite, my eyes searching the darkness intently for my shoes, which I'd managed to remove before giving up hope of trying to escape Esme's hawk-like watch and going to sleep.

I locate them, tucked neatly underneath the low coffee table next to couch. I crouch down, fumbling with the laces hastily, before slipping them on. I don't even bother to tie the laces up again; I just tuck them inside the shoes.

Then, quick as lightening, I dash over to the door, and then my fingers are scrabbling at the many locks on the door, which have all been locked, obviously to slow me down if I were to try to escape. I grin smugly to myself as I turn the final lock anticlockwise, a little squeal of joy escaping my lips as my hand grasps the cold, shiny doorknob. I can almost smell freedom.

I yank the door open a fraction –

And then, before I even register what's happening, it's slammed shut again, and then I'm slammed against it, cold hard steel pressed fiercely into my temple.

Then, Esme's hazel eyes are scorching mine, burning with anger, yet oddly, her lips are curled in a small smirk.

TTT

I'm sobbing again as Esme ties the last silk tie around my left wrist before tugging my arm over to the bed post, wrapping the tie around it several times before tying it in a knot a boy scout would be proud of. She then picks up her gun, which she tossed on the floor by the bed in order to tie me up.

I'm lying on my back; arms and legs spread eagled and tied to a bed post on each corner of the bed with a silk tie.

Esme sighs as she raises the gun back up to my chest. "I didn't wanna do this, Isabella, I really didn't," she says, shaking her head ruefully. "But you gave me no choice. I was nice to you, sympathetic, and you took advantage of that. You thought that you could, as Edward would say," She chuckles, "'take the piss' out of my good nature. Well, guess what? Big mistake. Now, I'm gonna have to keep you tied up until Edward gets back."

I close my eyes tightly, squeezing out the excess tears. "I'm sorry. Please untie me, I promise; I won't try to escape again."

She shakes her head slowly from side to side. "Not gonna happen. I can't trust you anymore." She paces over to the swivel chair, keeping the gun poised in my direction and facing me so she's walking backwards. She blindly reaches out a hand behind her and drags the chair, wheeling it closer to bed, before she sits on it. "It's a good thing I decided to put that motion detector on your wrist," She continues, motioning over to my right arm with the gun.

I turn my head sharply to the side, straining my neck as I try to peer at my wrist. There's a thin black metal band dangling from my right wrist, a small red light blinking periodically on it.

"What's that?"

"A motion detector," she repeats. She reaches a hand under her blouse – the other hand still clutching the gun – and her fingers reappear a second later with a small black object held between her thumb and index finger. I can't make out what it is in the relatively dim light. She holds it up. "A clever little device this is. It's connected to that black bracelet on your wrist, via Bluetooth. When you move, it vibrates. The more you move, the harder it vibrates. I clip it on my bra and I can feel whenever you move. I put the bracelet on you after you fell asleep, and then I clipped it on myself just before I fell asleep. When you were trying to get away it was vibrating like crazy, and of course, woke me up." She leans back into the chair with a satisfied smirk – gun still poised. "I made it myself."

I sigh, defeated. "Am I gonna get to eat?"

"Of course. I'll feed you."

"And what if I need the bathroom?"

She grimaces. "Damn it, I didn't think of that." She purses her lips in thought briefly before shrugging. "We'll figure that out later."

"But I need to pee now."

I didn't let her tie me up easily, I mean, I did try to put up a fight, but Esme is shockingly strong. Not to mention the fact that she has a firearm in her possession and I don't. She must have knocked me out, because everything blacked out for what seemed like a split second, and then I opened my eyes to find both my legs and one of my arms tied to the bedpost.

She shrugs again, eyebrows elevated in amusement as she replies, "Tough luck."

And 'tough luck' is the understatement of the century.