Chasing the Dragon Page 6

  He’s not going to let me go. I can just feel it. Don’t give up, Tiffany… I’ve got to get out of this alive. I just have to.

  The man stopped several times along the journey. This last time, the old car jerked and rattled as he shut the engine off.

  She knew the drill now. First, he moved her to the driver’s seat. Then, she felt the touch of cool leather around her arm and the sound of a buckle being adjusted. He was tying her to the steering wheel with a belt. At this point, she was sure it had to be a belt. With her handcuffed wrists, this maneuver put her in an odd, uncomfortable position. “Don’t try any tricks or treats. I’ve got my eye on you.” He slammed the car door so hard, it echoed.

  She sat there in silence, straining to press her face against the glass and hoping someone would see her. No one came; in fact, wherever they were, the place had to be pretty much deserted. She couldn’t hear anything, not even a peep, and her blindfold had made her lose the sense of time and place.

  He returned soon thereafter with a drink and sandwich for her, at which point he released the belt and offered to let her relieve herself in another isolated area.

  She took him up on the offer, unable to pass on any potential opportunity for escape. But then she heard the clicking of his gun, and he stood so close, the slightest move could land her with a smoking hole in the middle of her gut. There she was, time after time, with no cars zooming by, not even the noise of bugs or the chirping of birds.

  Perhaps it was nighttime again; she wasn’t sure anymore.

  Sometimes, she’d holler at him, but he rarely responded. When he did, he sometimes yawned, acting like he was damn near bored to tears. His calm demeanor unnerved her. Not once did he seem bothered or moved by her declarations; the mindfuckery she’d use on so many others to get them to see things her way was completely wasted on him. She’d exhausted herself with schemes, sweet nothings, and all out screams.

  Now they were once again inside the vehicle, and she remained quiet, drifting into nothingness as she fought with the need to sleep until she finally succumbed.

  Later, her eyes fluttered open when the car slowed to a crawl, then stopped with a jerk. She gasped when the blindfold was snatched away from her face. The shock of being submerged in light after the total darkness felt surreal. Before them stood a rundown motel with several floors, the exterior painted in pastel pink and yellow.

  “I’m going to take off your handcuffs.” He leaned forward, smelling of coffee and cologne. “If you try anything, I will kill you. You’re the type who needs that sort of reminder. And I don’t care who’s near to watch. The people around here can be bought and sold with a pissed-on twenty-dollar bill and a scratch off lottery ticket, so you go right ahead and try your luck.” The car seat sighed as he got to his feet and made his way around the vehicle to her. She blinked, still trying to adjust to the off-white, blinking Christmas lights that hung from the rundown place like some out of place decoration. She winced when he removed the handcuffs. The damn things had cut into her wrists, making them bleed.

  Wrapping his arm around her waist, he held her tight to him. The butt of his gun bumped awkwardly against her side like some horny fucker nursing a hard on, making it known he wanted to fuck. Moments later, they stood side by side as he paid for the night and got a key. In no time, they were climbing the iron steps to their room. She dreaded each second, fearful of what awaited her behind those walls.

  The air around them smelled like day-old elephant piss and fresh puke. A host of drunks and druggies moved about in front of the motel and their rented rooms like disease infested roaches and subway rats, scavenging the place, their eyes hopeful for a handout or invitation to party.

  He’s clearly not broke. Why are we here?

  She knew a broke motherfucker when she saw one. No, this man had money. He reeked of it… He had far more money than a cop would make. His cologne was definitely expensive, quality and not too overpowering, but the scent never faded. His hair was professionally cut, his low-cut beard and mustache trimmed to absolute perfection. His nails were filed and shaped, and his clothing and shoes were a dead giveaway of his upper echelon status. Broke men didn’t wear Marc Jacob shirts and pants, they didn’t sport Oyster Perpetual Rolex watches, either.

  Who the hell is he?

  They entered their room, a tiny thing with lint-ball-covered white linens, an older model television, and an air conditioner on full blast. Two small beds stood practically side by side and the light from the bathroom lit the entire area up. The man hit the light on the wall with his fist and slid two duffle bags onto one of the beds.

  “Get comfortable. I packed a few of your nightgowns in there for you.” He pointed at one of the duffle bags. She made her way towards the thing, unzipped it and peeked inside. For a split second, it felt like these were artifacts, mere relics, something from another life and a time she no longer knew. She hadn’t been gone long, but a part of her believed that soon enough, she’d be dead. Reaching into the bag, she pulled out a long navy blue frock. She recalled purchasing it from an online boutique; it was one of a kind.

  “Is it all right if I take a shower?”

  “Yes.” He lounged back on the bed and grabbed the remote, his gun tucked halfway in his pants. She moved past him and entered the tiny enclosure, closing and locking the door behind her.

  “Take the fucking lock off,” his voice boomed, but he didn’t yell.

  The sound sent a chill down her spine. She did as was told, then leaned over the dingy tub and turned on the water. The liquid spurted out, as if choking on itself, before it simmered down and gushed in an even flow. After giving the shower valve a good tug, the water burst from the head. She gathered a flimsy white wash cloth and a packaged bar of soap. Stepping inside the tub, she yanked the clear shower curtain closed and stood there under the rushing water, soaking herself. She made quick work of removing the paper wrapper, setting the shredded remains off to the side, and meticulously lathered the miniscule, cream colored bar with the wet rag.

  For the first time in years, she was genuinely afraid—a foreign feeling for her, practically unheard of. She’d been excited, anxious and even worried, but never flat out terrified. At least not for a very long time.

  Pull yourself together. Everyone has a button. You just have to find his, find out what makes him happy … what makes him sad … and use it to get your ass up out of here. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your mind right.

  She rinsed her hair, digging her long, natural nails into her tresses, while wishing she could rinse away the entire nightmare of a day, too.

  I should have left town, too, just like Gable, but then that would’ve drawn attention to me, made Gable and me a target, for sure. This way, no one knows a damn thing… Well, they didn’t, until now.

  Rinsing herself off, she turned off the nozzle and stepped out of the shower. She took note of the odd shape of the robe hook hanging on the back of the closed bathroom door. The thing tilted slightly downward.

  That’s on with adhesive. I can rip it right off…

  Drying off her body the best she could with the rough towel, she then wrapped the material around herself and stood in front of the sink. The mirror was fogged up so she slid her arm across it and revealed her true self. For a split second, she didn’t recognize the person who stared back at her. Wet strands of long, crinkled black hair stuck to her face. She brushed her tresses out of the way and ran a slow hand down her cheek, giving herself the once over.

  At last, she left the restroom, hoping by some miracle he was gone. No such luck, though. The man lay on the bed with his ankles crossed and his shirt off. She swallowed and paused. Under normal circumstances, she’d delight in such a sight. The man’s body was a fucking sight to behold, and he was sexy as hell, too. Why did the man who’d threatened to kill her several times have to look like Christian Bale rather than the late Don Rickles? She surveyed him further, taking note he still wore his pants and socks.

  H
is muscular chest sported a large black dragon tattoo, which caught her eye. He glared at her, and she glared back until she finally broke their gaze and made her way over to her bed. Allowing the towel to drop to the floor on a sigh, she bent over, giving him full view of her freshly lotioned ass as she wiggled about and slinked into her nightgown.

  Come on, motherfucker! Don’t you want this wet juicy pussy? Let me get you in a compromising position so I can slit your goddamn throat…

  The fucker did nothing. She tossed him a glance over her shoulder, and he stared blankly at some war documentary on the television. Plopping down on the bed, she nestled under the sheets, praying the damn thing wasn’t filled with bedbugs and roach eggs. The place made her skin crawl.

  “Get yourself some shut eye. We’re only going to be here for a few hours and then back on the road.” She nestled her head into the pillow after glancing at the front door a time or two, guesstimating it would take her four seconds max to dash towards it and race away into the night once the time was right. She looked over at him, pleased with her plans until he stood to his feet. Her heart pounded as he approached, the handcuffs in his grasp.

  “No, please … my wrists hurt too bad,” she whined, laying it on thick.

  She glanced back over at the door, gritting her teeth with rage at the thought of all her plotting being flushed down the drain. Without a word, he reached for her wrists, almost in a delicate sort of way. Before he could grab the other, she raised the sharp end of the robe hook she’d discreetly removed from the back of the bathroom door and lunged, aiming for his neck. With her trapped in a whirlwind, the sheets flew away from her body. He countered, practically crushing her fingers in his mighty, painful grasp. Her eyes glossed over from the agony. She hissed and spit in his face.

  “Fuck you!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, beating on him everywhere she could land her fist before he tackled her down onto the squeaky, lumpy bed. Snatching the hook from her ironclad hold, he tossed it to the ground, grabbed her sore and reddened wrists, and handcuffed her to the headboard. “I’m not scared of you, mothafucka! Blindfold me, handcuff me, do all you want. I’m not tellin’ you shit! I’ll die before I tell you anything, goddamn it! Do you know who tha fuck I am? You will, soon enough! You won’t get a moment’s rest with me, you hear? Not one damn second!”

  “Lady, you will choose life or death. Doesn’t make me a damn bit of difference.” His eyes hooded, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her as if she were a full-fledged lunatic.

  “You don’t know who you’re dealing with, son of a bitch!” She ranted so hard and strong, the rage within her exploded and drove her out of her own damn mind. He just stood there, as if looking through her, completely unfazed, which infuriated her all the more. After the bastard finished checking to ensure she was properly locked into place, he casually bent down and picked up the door hook. He studied it, turned it around in his hand, smirked, then slid it into his pocket and got back in the bed. Grabbing a tissue from the nightstand, he wiped the saliva off the side of his face.

  She stared at the pompous, crazy fucker as she lay on her side. He kept his focus on the television, but she knew if she so much as moved one baby toe, he’d notice and make her bleed. Minute after minute passed and he became nothing more than a blur…

  Her eyes grew heavy; she couldn’t hold on much longer. Before she realized it, the world around her faded to black…

  CHAPTER SIX

  She didn’t feel a thing…

  Much to his relief, Tiffany had fallen asleep and it must’ve been deeper than a canyon because when it was time to rise and shine, she didn’t even budge. He nudged her several times, and all she did was sigh and roll over. He debated being a bit more aggressive, but decided against it. She’d have plenty of that sort of thing soon enough. Instead, he got her ready for the new day: eased her out of the gown, snapped on her bra, slid a fresh pair of panties up her legs, then finished it all off with a long-sleeved light shirt and jeans. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her out of the motel room with their belongings and gently placed her inside the car. Her eyes moved ever so slightly beneath the lids, but she remained lost in slumber.

  How odd that someone could sleep like that, as if they’d fought the entire world and suddenly couldn’t move a muscle. It had to be the constant adrenaline rush within her, which had worked for hours on end and finally worn her down. The sun hadn’t risen yet; the early morning hung tight to watered down darkness. As he pulled out of the parking lot and got back onto the highway, he couldn’t help but be amused that she’d been resourceful enough to garner a creative weapon.

  She could have gotten him good with it, punctured his jugular, but she was just too slow. He could see her plans in her eyes before she’d even tried to take his life, that expression he’d been faced with too many times before. She’d even wiggled her smooth, rounded ass in an attempt to lure him, an act that amused him more than anything else. It wasn’t that he didn’t find her alluring; in fact, she was ravishingly beautiful and she knew it, but he needed more than just a nice set of tits and something soft, warm, and wet to slide into to get him going.

  He’d had plenty of pussy, from politicians to playboy mansion playgirls. Anyone who caught his eye needed to be a special breed of woman. She had to be able to captivate him, teach him something new, and motivate him to want to love and protect her. Tiffany’s eyes fluttered as she stretched, her hair all over her head and sleep in her eyes. She looked around, at him, then at her reflection in the window. Picking at her shirt, she removed a couple pieces of lint, then ran her restrained hands over her jeans and slumped in her seat, as if overwhelmed.

  “Shit,” she mumbled. “It wasn’t just a bad dream.”

  “Are you hungry?” He gripped the steering wheel tight as traffic thickened. She nodded, blinked a few times and yawned.

  “I’ll pull into a drive thru.” After another ten minutes or so, he took the exit and made his way towards a McDonald’s. Once he pulled up to the speaker, he ordered two coffees and the breakfast combo of egg and sausage biscuits and hash browns. She stared intensely at the cup of coffee, and he burst out laughing.

  “You’ve got to be crazy to think I’d give you of all people a cup of hot coffee so you could dump it on me. No, this is going to sit here and cool down, away from your grasp until I am certain it’s lukewarm.”

  She visibly swallowed and turned away in a huff, looking out the closed window. He sipped on his coffee as they sat parked in the lot for a spell. After a while, she turned towards the food he’d placed near her and just stared at it. As if on cue, he reached over and unwrapped the biscuit, then lifted it to her mouth. She took several bites before she turned away, her mouth full, announcing she’d had enough.

  …But he was just getting started.

  Time flew by like it had wings. The hours rolled on; the sunset came and disappeared. He stopped at a couple of gas stations along the way, allowing her to relieve herself after he checked out the inside of the facility for any escape routes and items the little female fiend could whittle into something deadly. Then, he stood guard at the door while she took care of business. The last hours had proved rather uneventful, though he knew her type; she’d not give up until he squeezed her dry and broke her down to mere dust. Tiffany was built to last. Being a woman and in her late thirties, doing what she did for a living without landing in the hospital or graveyard was damn near unheard of. She hadn’t survived by sheer luck; she must’ve been diabolically brilliant and he couldn’t wait to crack open her mind like a walnut, pull out all the white meat and make her cough up her cousin and any other kernels of information she’d been hiding. Soon, they’d be in Vegas. The city of luck, lust, lovers and losers.

  Shame on her. Tiffany had taken another gamble, but this time, she’d lost. Now, all she needed to do was pay up. The penalties would be steep, her pain surpassing anything she’d ever endured previously, and the interest was mounting.

&
nbsp; And he was ready to collect…

  Fuck.

  That was the only word that came to mind when Tiffany entered a large, empty, industrial-sized room. In the middle of the floor sat one foldable metal chair. The windows were painted black and boarded over as if to keep the Devil out … or perhaps, in. The place smelled of automotive oils, burning liquids, and an odd buzzing noise floated by every so often. Several light rafters stretched across the beamed ceiling, some of which blinked and faded in and out. The man had tossed her inside like a stick to be chased by a dog, then closed and locked the door and left her there. It had been at least twenty minutes and she’d not heard another word from him. She noticed several cameras hanging in the corners; a light flashed on them periodically, the lens zooming in and out as if she were some experiment to be studied.

  Her footsteps echoed across the concrete floor as she walked to the chair. Grabbing it with both hands, she went to one of the walls and set it down, then stood upon it. Reaching up as high as she could, she tried in vain to touch the frame of one of the windows. If she had to practically rip her nails off the beds to get those boards off, she would, but they were far too high. She grunted in frustration as she jumped off the thing and slammed it to the ground. In a fit of rage, she grasped the chair and charged across the room, throwing it as hard as she could at one of the cameras. It hit the thing, causing it to wobble, but it remained in place. Again and again she went, sweat racing down her face as she screamed. Wires now dangled from the corner, yet, the damn thing still blinked on and off, fully operational.

  “I know you’re watching, you sick son of a bitch! Let me outta here! People are lookin’ for me and when they find you, they will kill you!” She banged the chair over and over again as she repeatedly tried to finish the camera off, but the thing kept on blinking, mocking her efforts. Seconds graduated to minutes until at last, she fell in a heap on the floor, head bowed and heart pounding.