Kai
WE HAVE BEEN IN THISdamn cell for six hours, ever since I called Rachel to come and get us. Leo called Noah three hours ago, after he sobered up enough to make the phone call, but no luck there either.
“This is your fault.” Leo presses his head against the metal bars, looking like a puppy who lost his toy.
“No argument here.” This is my fault. If I weren’t so obsessed with this woman, we wouldn’t be here.
The sound of the automatic doors opening breaks the silence between us, and we both turn to see who has entered. A police officer approaches, with Rachel and Noah walking beside him. He opens the door and motions for Leo and me to exit the cell.
“It’s been six hours,” I say to Rachel while Leo and Noah walk ahead. We follow them toward the exit of the police station.
“You ghosted me for a week,” she says in return.
“I told you my sister was in town.” I try to argue, but she’s kind of right. I could have explained to her that I was busy. After her date with Alex, I’ll admit I was a little angry about it. I needed time. I’m not perfect, and she isn’t either. We both have issues to work on, but what I know is that this woman has been on my mind nonstop since I met her, and that’s worthsomething. I’m not willing to let her go just because we’re both a little broken.
“Little criminal, stop, please,” I say, and she turns around to look at me.
“Listen, I know I should have communicated more. I should have told you I was busy,” I start, and she looks at me with those big blue eyes of hers, moisture already gathering in them. I can tell this is not a conversation she is comfortable with. “I like you, and I’m sorry if I haven’t shown it the right way,” I admit, and she nods. She doesn’t speak, just a little nod, but that’s everything she could have said and more. “I’m sorry.”
She wipes one of her tears away, her voice barely a sound when she speaks.
“I’m sorry too.”
“Let’s go home,” I tell her as I hook my arm around her shoulders and bring her close to me. She melts into my side as we walk outside toward her car.Don’t worry, my little criminal, we’ll figure it out together.
Rachel
WE HAVE JUST ARRIVEDat my house. No words have been spoken since Kai’s heartfelt apology. I should probably run for the hills. I could change my name and address. Maybe even my job. That sounds like the right plan of action when you are being stalked by someone who knows where you live. A smart person would run for the hills. But I am not smart, and instead, I choose to guide the handsome biker with the blue hair and the infectious personality to my bedroom. I am making great decisions. First the whole kidnapping, then stalking him back, allowing him to fuck me more than once, and now willingly bringing him home.Fuck. Noah is right. He is my boyfriend.
“Are you coming?” I shout as I reach my bedroom door.
“So bossy,” he smirks. “I bet it must feel so good bossing me around, little criminal.” He is so full of himself.
“Inside.” I bark the order, and he obeys. He doesn’t argue with me. He doesn’t try to object. He walks over and sits on my bed silently, without any snarky remarks.
He looks around, and even though he has been here more than once at this point, he looks as if he is exploring a whole new world. His wide eyes wander around my small space, and it feels invasive, to say the least. It’s as if I am standing naked in front of him, but even worse. It’s my soul that is naked in front of him. This room is an exact representation of everything that makesme, well...me.It’s my safe space, one that I rarely share with anyone other than Noah.
“How old are you in this picture?” Kai holds the picture frame that usually sits on my nightstand, next to a half-empty glass of water from the night before and the book I was reading before bed. It’s a picture from my childhood, one of the very few that exist. I guess when you have been raised by strangers your whole life while your parents lived their own lives, there is bound to be very little evidence of your childhood. Don’t get me wrong; I had a good childhood. No dramatic background or traumatic events. I was always fed and well-dressed, with toys that would make any child jealous. I had playdates with friends I still keep in touch with to this day, and Christmas mornings filled with gifts and tasty food. It was a good childhood, if you don’t count the fact that it lacked the most important thing a kid needs—love.So, it’s safe to say that when Rena, the lady who raised me, brought home a small puppy as my gift for my sixth birthday, I was overjoyed. The picture in Kai’s hand is from that day. I am sitting on the first step of Rena's house with the puppy on my lap.
“I was six,” I finally respond after being lost inside my head for way too long, more than I should have been with a strange man in my bedroom.
“Cute dog,” he murmurs. His fingers trail over the black Labrador in the picture.
“He was.” I don’t bother to hide the sadness in my voice; instead, I approach the bed and take the frame from his hand. I lay it on the nightstand. Kai watches me as I take a seat next to him.
“Did you have any pets growing up?” I don’t know why, but it feels like the right question to ask. I have this desire to know more about him.
“I had a goldfish,” he tells me like a kid excited for show-and-tell. “I was so happy when I got it; I poured him and the water from his little bag—the one the pet shop put him in for transportation—into the glass bowl where my brother’s fish was, too.” His eyes now have a glimpse of sorrow. “I thought they could be friends and share a home like me and Ryan did.”
“That’s a sweet thought,” I say with a smile.
“It was, but then his fish ate mine in the first hour of them being together.” That took a dark turn.
“Really?” I know this is not the time to laugh, but I have always had a tendency to laugh when someone shares something related to death. I don’t know why. It’s not that I don’t respect death and what comes with losing someone. It’s not like I find it funny or anything. It’s just a twisted way of coping, I guess.
“Yes.” He laughs with me, and now I am truly concerned that this man is completely insane. “Turns out the kind of fish my brother had doesn’t do well with other fish. They are supposed to be housed alone.”
“It must have been terrifying for you.” My laughter dies, and my hand touches his, but I don’t move. He doesn’t either. We stay so still that I can hear both of our breaths, loud and echoing in the room like thunder in a storm. I don’t like the silence between us, and as I part my lips, ready to say something—anything—he speaks.
