“All I want is the keys.” And to not spend the rest of my life in prison.
“Give me the—”
I pull the trigger, closing my eyes against the expected noise.
All that comes is a dull click.
A dull click then Malakai launches himself at me, wrestling the gun away in less than a second, pushing me back on the bed, a hand shoved over my face with such force I can’t breathe.
“You tried to shoot me.” His voice is incredulous. My heart pulses with shock. Was I? Was I really going to do that?
A sob tears out of my throat, crammed so full of fear, I’m choking.
Not at what he might do but at what I just tried to. Scaring myself.
“You tried to kill me and you’re crying?”
His weight disappears off me for a second. He strides to the rucksack, stowing the gun and pulling something from its pockets.
A length of rope, masking tape, and a utility knife.
I shove myself upright on the bed, legs pushing with so much force the covers bunch and slide down halfway. “Please,” I say, holding my hands in a warding off gesture in front of my face. “Can’t we talk about this?”
“Talk? If you wanted to talk, perhaps you should’ve done that before you shoved a gun in my face.”
“An unloaded gun.”
His face twists with emotions—too many at once to read. He gets on the bed, knee walking higher with the fearsome equipment in one hand, his other free to apply it.
“Please don’t…” I begin then have nothing more to say. The panic is still inside me, worrying at what the police are doing at my home. Every other part of me knows that I can’t fight so I have to talk my way out of whatever Malakai has planned. An escape route that will seal shut if he gets that tape across my mouth.
With a new priority, I start again. “Please don’t tape my mouth. I promise I won’t scream.”
“If I’d asked you an hour ago if you’d pull a weapon on me, I’m sure the answer would’ve been no. Since you won’t tell me what’s changed—”
“I will.”
I won’t.
Bad enough the police might be finding out exactly what type of person I am, right now. I need to get home, find out if it’s a fishing expedition or if they have knowledge.
The first means I still have the chance to save myself. The other means at least I’ll be in familiar surroundings when I find out I’m fucked.
Either way, this boy doesn’t need my mess lumped on top of his own.
I whisper, “Just… please?”
He unrolls a length of rope, flipping me onto my stomach before threading it around and between my wrists until it’s a solid block, then tying it off, cutting it free with the knife.
Next, he finds the edge of the masking tape, while my pulse rate steadily climbs, making me dizzy, making it hard to catch my breath. My head is sideways on the bed, eyes trying to see behind me, to see what he’s doing.
“Please. I’m about to pass out.” So much begging and it all falls on deaf ears. I close my eyes, a tear squeezing out from under the lid. “I won’t scream. You know I won’t. This isn’t fair.”
“Shut up,” he growls. I hear the rip of tape coming away from its roll, then a soft curse under his breath. There’s a thump as he throws the tape on the floor behind him.
Then his hands grab my waistband. His hands slide under me, lifting my hips in the air while he undoes my belt, then tugs the shorts down.
I freeze. Scared of arguing in case he goes back to his plan to tape my mouth shut. Scared of letting him do what he plainly wants to without at least trying to say no.
