Chapter Two: Paper Thin Perception of Choice
"Anything is better than going back to Charming," she said quickly.
"Anything?" Tig asked in an unreadable tone as he seemed to stand up taller.
Rosamund swallowed hard and nodded slowly. "Anything," she breathlessly reiterated.
"Do you really mean anything?" Tig found himself asking, the words slipping from between his lips. His brain's dopaminergic pathways were already ahead of him, planning in the swirls of energy within his frontal cortex.
His question made Rosamund grow still, a carved statue, as her heart began to race in its opaque pericardial sac.
"What do you mean exactly?" she managed.
"What 'do' I mean?" Tig asked himself, hearing his question echo in the confines of his skull. He looked away from Rosamund's searching gaze and dropped his eyes to the veritable rock of Gibraltar on her left finger.
"I thought there was no fiancé," he stated, ignoring her question.
"Do you know how much this is worth?" Rosamund scoffed, not needing to look at the little over two carat cushion cut diamond that weighed down her hand.
Tig shook his head and struggled to keep his expression neutral when she muttered the price as she twisted the platinum band nervously around her slim finger.
Rosamund and Tig regarded each other in collective silence.
Her eyes darted around the room, the fight or flight response in her brain's amygdala began stimulating her neurons to the point that her hair stood on end. If she had been prey in the shadow of an apex predator in that precise moment, her hair standing on end would have bolstered a false sense of confidence, instead her blood sugar spiked and she clenched her hands in and out of loose fists, her palms clammy.
"I get why you're here, but I can't go back to Charming," Rosamund breathed, adding lowly. "I can't see that man again."
"Hale?"
Rosamund nodded, her circulatory system dilated and flooded her organs with oxygen, priming her muscles for potential action. She was electric and instantly reactive as Tig's expression remained unchanged as he spoke.
"I'm not here to negotiate with you," Tig rasped.
"I'll pay you," Rosamund began to babble as she nodded in the general direction of the stolen and sloppily hidden luxury sedan outside the hotel. "I've got cash, bonds and you can have this," she added, her tone growing more urgent as she started to tug the large, clear diamond ring from her finger.
"It's not about money," Tig said casually as he moved away from the door, closing the already small space between them.
"Everything's about money," Rosamund scoffed, unable to stop from stooping to the level of a petulant child and rolling her eyes.
Tig dropped his eyes back to the heavy rock she was still pulling from her finger. He knew he could get an obscene amount from selling it in addition to the cash and bonds she had in the trunk, but he also knew that having Hale close to the MC, nestled snugly in their leather-lined pocket, was worth a lot more.
"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, ya just need to come back to Charming with me," Tig stated simply, his tone stained with the promise of danger upon defiance.
Rosamund slid along the length of the mattress, desperate to create a modicum more of space between them. "I'm not going back there," she whispered as loud as she could, not entirely trusting her voice.
Tig blew out a breath and splayed his hands out to the side in the hopes of not spraying her growing fear with more napalm, he could feel the cold waves of anxiety spilling from her as she continued to inch away from the bed, nowhere to go but the bathroom with the paper-thin door.
"What do you want to say you couldn't find me? All I need is enough money to get north," Rosamund stammered, looking everywhere for anything she could fashion into a weapon. The cheap, shitty room was devoid of much, the plastic remote control wouldn't inflict much damage even if she had the throwing arm of an NFL quarterback.
"Miss Hal… Vincen…," Tig trailed off, struggling to keep from losing his patience.
"Vinzenci," she corrected.
Tig nodded, "miss Vinzenci, this can go one of two ways and one will be easier for you."
Rosamund felt a plume of anger fill her despite the emptiness that encroached upon his syllables. "Easier for you and my fucking uncle," she accused, internally a sudden, landlocked, category five tsunami at the sound of his words, hating that her whole life had been lived under other people's directions, rules, and structure.
Tig paused, captivated by the surge of beauty that filled her exquisite features as she narrowed her eyes. "You probably think this is going to give you some kind of leverage," Rosamund spit, adding as she shook her head. "Everyone in Charming except my uncle's close friends are pawns."
"How so?" Tig asked, his ego ruffled that someone like Hale could possibly pull the wool over his sparkling eyes.
Rosamund's shoulders fell, knowing it was futile to get past the man blocking the path to the doorway or bust out the back of the hotel despite the walls being flimsy particle board under shoddily applied drywall. She sat heavily on the broken-down mattress, seated in its squeaky bed frame. "My uncle is putting together some kind of pipeline deal to run through the city, he's buying back businesses and finding ways to evict anyone in the way, even homeowners."
Tig nodded, "you're coming into money soon aren't you, why not wait it out?"
"Because he found a way to tie up my trust fund until I'm twenty-five. His college frat brother is now the medical director at St. Thomas's and if he can raise questions over my ability to make sound decisions, he can justifiably be the keeper of my trust."
"And the fiancé?"
Rosamund pinched the bridge of her nose and blew out a sharp breath, unable to stop a chuckle escape from between her lips. "He's the same doctor's son, my uncle needs Doctor Fischer's money to get this pipeline built. Fischer and my uncle are part of this 'men's club,' that has some antiquated ideas about genetics, breeding, stuff that was popular in 1945 in parts of Europe."
Tig's expression must've been filled with unspoken questions and Rosamund summarized the study of Eugenics, human selection for breeding and genetic manipulation.
"If I play along with Fischer's son and agree to a short-term marriage, pop out a few kids, with a promise of dissolution later, my uncle said he'll give me control of my money. He won't need my trust money anymore with the pipeline in place, he'll be raking in millions."
Rosamund trailed off and raked her fingers through her hair, rubbing at her temples with an encroaching, nightmarish migraine.
"How'd ya end up with Hale anyway?" Tig asked.
"My parents were killed in an interstate pileup when I was eleven, Hale got custody as my father's brother. He pulled me out of public school, had me home-schooled and groomed. All I've ever been is a bargaining chip, an escort for fucking CEO's and senators."
"An escort?" Tig immediately asked.
"Not in the way you're thinking," Rosamund snapped, adding in a sharp tone. "I just went to parties, galas and art openings with these men made of money."
Tig's phone rang as he was processing Rosamund's words.
Her eyes followed Tig's hand pulling the phone from his back pocket and raising it to his ear.
"Yeah?" he answered, keeping Rosamund frozen under the weight of his penetrative gaze.
"You find the runaway yet?"
Tig never blinked as he answered Clay.
"Not yet, she must've traded out cars. I'm gonna go to the office and see if this shithole has any surveillance tapes."
Rosamund's breathing slowed as Tig told Clay he'd call as soon as he had a better idea of where the runaway was.
She waited until he slid his phone back in his pocket before speaking. "Does that mean you'll look the other way so I can get north?"
"No," Tig casually stated.
"So what then?" Rosamund, irritation and anxiety merging in her voice.
"I need some time to think," Tig mumbled and settled in a cheap, upholstered sofa.
"What's there to think about?" she practically sputtered. "I'm not going back to Charming."
Tig leapt to his feet, the abrupt movement made Rosamund flinch and quickly copy by jumping to her feet, tension twisting her nervous system into a jumbo pretzel.
"I'm not fucking asking you what you want," Tig rasped, his cerulean blue eyes glowed brighter as he was caught between frustration at her continued obstinance and the growing urge to see if her skin was as soft and supple as it appeared.
Rosamund shuffled sideways away from the bed, creating the illusion of more space between them.
Tig took a few steps toward her, his hands out in front of him but he couldn't suppress his intimidating effect. He noticed how she shadowed his movement as much as she could in the limited space. Rosamund never took her eyes off of Tig, knowing exactly where every part of him was in relation to her.
Rosamund snatched the plastic remote control and hurled it uselessly in his direction, watching in slow-motion as it bounced harmlessly off his denim-clad thigh. Tig's small smirk infuriated Rosamund and she reached down for the wire wastebasket and chucked it in his direction.
"Hey, stop," Tig said as she got her hands on a thick, yellowed phonebook and threw that at him followed by the token word of some people's popularly worshipped god.
"Stop," Tig shouted and charged Rosamund as she cranked her arm back to throw the room's provided empty ice bucket.
Rosamund gave a startled shout when Tig yanked the bucket from her throwing hand and captured her wrists until he could pin them against the gentle curve of her lower back, applying just enough pressure that she had to stand up straighter to avoid too painful a strain on her shoulder joints. Rosamund couldn't help but arch her back, serving to only bring her closer to the front of Tig's body, a breath away from touching. She looked at a spot on the wall past his shoulder as he stared down at her.
Tig inhaled sharply and exhaled on a shudder as his nervous system was overstimulated by the feverishly hot feel of her wrists within his unbreakable grasp. Nestled deep in his brain, Tig's pituitary gland ejaculated a glut of hormones to flood his system and only further enhance the spicy, warm, vanilla undertones that wafted from her skin as she began to struggle to break his hold.
Rosamund shrieked as his grip tightened, bringing her a breath closer to the front of his body and tried to kick her heels against his shin, hoping the tips of her spiked heels making contact against the sensitive skin of the front of his legs would make him lessen his hold.
"Goddammit," Tig growled as Rosamund connected a few solid blows to his lower legs.
Tig inhaled and yanked Rosamund forward, nearly off her feet until he could crush her against the front of his chest. The small closure of space brought them close enough that he could smell the sweet odor of fear on her breath.
"Let go of me!" Rosamund demanded, anger contorting her beautiful face to that of a life-ending goddess in her fury and indignation.
"Stop fucking fighting!" Tig countered on a grave tone as he shook Rosamund roughly until her leather heels fell from her feet, dead-stopping their sharp assault.
"Let go," Rosamund bellowed and tried to resume kicking her bare feet, aiming her heels for any part of him.
"Fuck," Tig grunted as he immediately released her wrists and roughly pushed her away, Rosamund didn't have time to register where the ice bucket had landed as she stumbled over it to land heavily on the threadbare carpet.
Rosamund picked up the ice bucket that had tripped her and threw it pathetically at Tig.
Tig watched the cheap plastic bucket crack as it landed loudly in front of his feet.
Rosamund half-rose to her feet to reach for one of her fallen shoes. Her hand froze on the red-sole of her shoe when she heard the metallic click of a firearm's hammer being pulled back.
Rosamund turned from where she was crouched on the floor to find Tig's matte Ruger KP95 pointed to the ground directly in front of her, the wind generated by a butterfly flapping its wings would've raised the barrel to a killing trajectory.
Rosamund held her hands out to the side as she chuckled nervously. "So what's this? Am I wanted dead or alive?"
Tig kept his expression neutral as he felt the anxiety rolling off her in waves and crashing over him. He had never experienced the feeling of wanting someone the way he wanted her. Tig tried and failed to suppress his frown as he let his eyes dance over every part of her. Tig's pupils dilated in the sea of his cerulean blue eyes as he memorized the curve of her right earlobe, the vascular structure under the smooth skin of her neck, near certain he could see her carotid pulse pounding under her skin.
Tig had craved a million women, from the living to the dead or nearly dead as well as female animals on four legs but never felt as deep a longing as when he had first looked at Rosamund. His visceral tissue bound up when he laid eyes on her, his genetic roots remembered what it felt like to experience want and express needs before there was words given to the emotion.
His voice would've been devolved to guttural groans and primitive grunts if he had tried to speak. Tig managed his façade as Rosamund stammered.
"Please don't kill me," she begged, not ashamed for pleading.
"I won't," Tig murmured quickly and slipped the gun from sight, crouching down across from her, bringing himself subtly closer as she plowed on speaking, stuttering, and falling over her words.
"I can't go back to Charming; I'll give you the money and the car, just let me disappear to Canada."
"What's in Canada?" he asked as he slid perceptibly closer. Rosamund flinched as she detected his movement but answered softly.
"I have my passport and there are lots of odd jobs in education that I could become a part of, if you're generous to give me enough to get a start, you can have everything in the car, fuck the car itself if you want and this thing," Rosamund spit as she pulled the heavy diamond free and tossed it towards him. It glittered as bright as the noonday sun under the crappy yellowed ceiling lights.
Tig plucked the heavy rock off the floor, a ring that should have decorated the fingers of royalties and deceased queens in history. The ring, he noted as he stared at Rosamund's anxiety kissed face, was fitting for her and her features of the murdered Romanov women.
"I told you I don't want this," Tig stated and tossed it back to land on the carpet in front of her.
Rosamund stared down at the ring as she stammered. "I can tell you where my uncle has a lot more cash."
"It's not about money," Tig murmured as his hand reached out and captured her closest wrist.
"What then, guns, drugs?" Rosamund asked with a whine as she began trying to tug her wrist free. "What do you want?" she asked brokenly.
Tig was silent a long time, keeping his grip on her wrist firm but not tight enough to impede the blood supply to her flailing fingers.
Tig's heart increased its demand for oxygen and caused his coronary vessels to nearly spasm as he traced the rough fingertips of his free hand along the smooth line of her jaw. Electrical instability disrupted his heart's conduction system as he trailed his touch down the front of her neck and teased small circles around the hollow at the base of her throat.
Rosamund held her breath as Tig snaked his free hand around her other wrist and tugged her forward, off-balance. "I'm not used to dealing with someone like you," Tig admitted on a dry chuckle.
"What kind of person am I?" Rosamund asked carefully as breathed in slowly through her nose.
As Tig debated his answer, his phone chose to give a shrill ring from his rear pocket. "Fuck," he whispered lowly and released one of Rosamund's wrists in order to answer the phone.
He tightened his grip before he answered the incoming call from Clay.
"Yeah?" Tig answered, keeping the entirety of his attention and weight of his dangerously glittering gaze on Rosamund.
"You find her yet?" Clay asked.
"Uh yeah, she's at this shithole."
"Are you headed back now?" Clay asked.
"No, uh, I'm still trying to find the money, it wasn't in the car," Tig mumbled.
"Hale can look for his own money, just get her back here."
"I'll be headed out in a bit; I need to get ….. gas."
"What's going on there brother, you in some kind of trouble?"
"No, no, it's okay. Lemme get this wrapped up," Tig interrupted cagily and mumbled something incoherent before abruptly ending the call.
At that moment back in Charming, a deep frown pulled at Clay's forehead when Tig hung up on him. He looked up to find Chibs and Juice looking his way, already agreeable to anything he'd ask, their hearts beating for MC business.
"Why don't you two make sure Tig can find his way back with that runaway thief," Clay said as he flexed his hands into loose fists, the shooting pains letting him know that he wouldn't be riding that day.
Juice and Chibs were quick to nod and make a beeline north from the shop.
As Clay drank away his joint pain, Juice and Chibs stopped for a red light, while a few hours away at the hourly rate hotel, Tig stared down at his phone long after he had abruptly ended the call with Clay.
"What did you just do?" Rosamund asked in a shaky voice.
Tig chuckled dryly and shook his head, rhythmically squeezing his fingers around her slim wrist. "I just signed myself up for a visit with Mr. Reaper," he murmured before capturing her eyes within the optical shafts of his penetrating gaze. "Or, I'm going to get the chance to start over somewhere new, leave the daily dance with death behind," Tig murmured.
"What does that all mean for me?" Rosamund asked, stumbling over her words as Tig's grip on her wrist became just shy of painful as he pulled her to her feet.
"It means get the rest of your stuff from the car, we need to get going," Tig stated benignly, certain that Clay would have dispatched a couple of the guys to head to the hotel's address.
"To what end?" Rosamund asked as her tone began to grow in shrillness and volume, giving life to her effort of yanking her hand free.
"Till the drive's over baby," Tig teased and trailed off when he became aware of the steady dripping sound from the bathroom sink's faucet. The realization of how much white noise had receded since he first shared Rosamund's airspace became more apparent with each passing second.
"Can't you just take the money?" Rosamund asked resignedly.
"No," Tig said easily, "you're going to need to come along."
"Can't you just leave me here?"
Tig shook his head and tugged her closer as she dug in her heels.
"Why?" Rosamund shouted as she lost the game of tug-o-war and crashed against the front of his body, his arms trapping her close.
"I always longed for someone like you, but was willing to accept what was within reach," he rasped, ignoring her question as he squeezed her taut flesh a little harder.
"What am I?"
"You're irreplaceable," Tig murmured in a lovely but empty tone. A sound was present that only those with great mental suffering and distress could hear. A dog whistle for internal turmoil and ground zero for emotional combustion.
Rosamund heard him, she heard his well-camouflaged basal needs crying for fulfillment, his hope nearly run dry.