Drawing the Line, page 2
I rocked the seat to the side, not wanting to force it backward where I’d be stuck on my back. It took a couple of tries before I was finally able to get enough force to tip myself over. The moment the chair tilted, I had second thoughts about my plan. My shoulder slammed into the floor first, my head whipping to the side and slamming against the hard tiles which dazed me.
The garage door creaked and rumbled as it began to shut again. I didn’t have long. Once the stunned feeling faded, I stretched my body as best as I could to try to force the zip ties down the chair until I couldn’t extend anymore. The zip ties stopped about an inch from the bottom of the chair leg. No matter how I squirmed, I couldn’t get my legs free.
A car door slammed, and I knew he would be coming back soon. His footsteps were far away but my window of opportunity was closing fast. It was hopeless. I was stuck. My chance was coming to an end and at that moment, the reality of my situation finally sunk in. Tears stung my eyes and my sobs threatened to choke me.
“Shit, what happened?” his voice was close to me and I hadn’t even realized when he’d come back inside. I glanced up through my tears at him leaning over me. He removed my gag and I just sobbed harder.
“I’m sorry. I thought maybe if I...” I sniffled.
“It’s okay. Can’t blame you for trying.” He picked up the chair with me still in it and sat it back right. He gently gripped my chin and examined me intently. “Damn it. You’re bleeding.”
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, and it was the only thing I could say. I was sorry. I was sorry for failing to escape, for hurting myself in the process, for letting a stranger into my home. Hell, I was sorry for even ordering takeout. I wished I could get a complete do-over on my entire day.
“You got a first aid kit somewhere around here?”
“Bathroom closet,” I managed to get the words out around my tears and shuddering sobs.
He left my sight for just a few minutes as he went to the closet. He returned with the first aid kit and a clean washcloth. He dampened the cloth and gently blotted away the blood. I winced from the pain and he yanked his hand back as if it had burned him.
“Sorry. I’m trying to be easy,” He blotted the cut again and studied it. “It doesn’t look too bad; the head just bleeds easily. I gazed up at him, studying his expression. He seemed genuinely pained that I’d gotten hurt which was a comforting thought, considering I was his captive.
After cleaning the cut on my head, he gently bandaged it.
“Look, my purse is by the door. Take whatever you want, just please leave me alone.”
“I'm not here to take your money.”
My breath shuttered and I froze feeling the blood drain from my face.
“Oh God,” my voice cracked, sounding pained. “W—what is it you want then?”
“I just want to hang out here for a little while.” He ducked his head so that we were face to face and locked eyes with me. There was something tender there, almost pleading. As though he were willing me to see that he wasn't the monster I suspected him to be.
I hesitated before speaking. “Hang out?”
“Yeah. There are some people looking for me and I need a place to lay low.”
“So, you're really not here to hurt me?”
“No. Of course not. I said I wouldn't and I'm a man of my word.”
“Okay,” I whispered but the fear was still prevalent in my voice.
“Good, now I believe you had some dinner to eat? Your food’s getting cold.”
I hadn’t expected such a change in direction. But my stomach chose that moment to remind me that I was in fact very hungry. I’d skipped lunch, too enthralled with my painting to worry about silly little things like eating, but I was famished.
He placed my takeout on the kitchen table and scooted my chair up to it.
“Am I going to have to bob for my dinner?” I motioned with my head because my hands were still tied.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“If I free your hands, can I trust you aren’t going to do anything stupid like trying to escape? I’m not leaving you alone again so there’d be no way you’d have time to try to get yourself free.”
“Then I suppose there’d be no danger in it, would there?”
“I suppose not.” He pulled out a pocketknife and I flinched.
“I’m Mason, by the way.” He rounded my chair and cut loose the zip ties binding my hands.
“Hana.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Hana.”
“Wish I could say the same,” I muttered.
I pulled my hands in front of me, rubbing my raw wrists and rolling my stiff shoulders.
“Sorry, it's not a very comfortable position. I apologize for the discomfort.” He walked back to my side and handed me a plastic fork from the takeout bag before going to the other side of the table with the first aid kit.
“You sure are polite for someone who breaks into a woman’s house and holds her prisoner.” I dug into my dinner, hungrier than I’d realized as the scent of the food reached my nose.
He stopped organizing the first aid supplies and glanced up at me, raising one eyebrow. “Extenuating circumstances.”
“You mean running from the cops?” I spoke around a bite of my fried rice.
He lifted his white tee up over his head exposing his tan, chiseled abs. My jaw went slack. I’d seen my share of nice physiques during art class when we learned about painting the human body, but they were nothing like that. Those weren’t the muscles from some polished model. Those were real muscles. Muscles gained by hard work or extensive training.
He cleared his throat and I glanced up at the amused smirk on his lips. Heat rushed into my cheeks.
“See something you like?” His grin broadened, and I scowled before looking back down at my food.
“Is there a reason you’re stripping in my kitchen?”
“Yeah, I gotta clean up this nice gash you gave me.”
“Oh,” I flushed again but this time more out of guilt than embarrassment. “Sorry about that but then again, you did sort of force your way into my home and refuse to leave.”
“So maybe we’ll call it even?” he smirked again, and I realized that I liked that mischievous little smile. It was much better than his serious scowl. But he was my captor who was running from the cops. I shouldn’t like anything about him.
I took another bite of my food and watched him as he tended to his wound, cleaning it a lot less carefully than he’d done mine.
“I think this thing is going to need stitches.”
“There’s an urgent care about fifteen minutes up the road,” I said without thinking.
He raised his eyebrow at me again and I realized how ridiculous my response had been. He was running from the cops. How would he explain a large gash in his chest?
“But I guess that’s not really an option is it?”
“No. You got a sewing kit?”
“Hall closet, two shelves down from where you found the first aid kit.”
He moved like he was going to go get it then stopped suddenly, studying me as I ate.
“I’m not going anywhere. I couldn’t get out of this fast enough anyway.”
My answer must have satisfied him because he nodded and hurried down the hall. He was back in no time, carrying my small sewing kit. I never did much sewing of my own, so I never needed a lot of supplies, just enough to take care of a small tear or hole on occasion.
He pulled the bottle of rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit and put it on the rag before blotting it onto the gash with a loud hiss. I stopped eating, placing my fork on the table, watching him with fascination as he sanitized the needle and thread and began sewing himself up.
“Doesn’t that hurt?”
“Yeah,” his voice was strained and lacked its previous smooth tone.
I was mesmerized watching as he skillfully and methodically closed up his cut. He kept his expression stoic without a hint of the pain his voice had given away.
“You’ve done that before.” It was less of a question and more of an observation.
“A time or two.”
He tied off the last stitch and bandaged his wound before gathering all the used supplies and throwing them in the garbage.
Chapter 3
Hana
“I need a shower.”
“A shower? Oh sure, make yourself at home.” I rolled my eyes, but the vision of hot streams of water running down those rippling muscles came to mind unwittingly.
“I wouldn’t but I still smell like smoke.”
A loud knock on my front door made me jump and I looked over at Mason with wide eyes as my heart threatened to leap from my chest.
His body was tense. Silently, he lifted his finger to his mouth and took a deep breath.
He whispered so quietly that I had to rely more on reading his lips than actually hearing him, “are you expecting anyone?”
I shook my head and swallowed hard around the lump in my throat. I should have been relieved that someone was there to rescue me from my captor, but instead of relief, I felt fear.
Fear of not knowing what would happen in a confrontation between Mason and whoever was at the door. Fear that maybe Mason was telling the truth about not being a bad guy and I would see an innocent man get taken away to jail, hurt, or even worse. Fear that he would hurt whoever was at the door and show his true, violent nature. In which case, the lie that he was the good guy would be shattered, and he’d have no reason to pretend to be good toward me.
He didn’t seem like a crazy person. He wasn’t a psycho. He had compassion and cared for me when I got hurt even though he didn’t have to. Hell, he could have left me on the floor with my head bleeding. It probably would have been easier on him, but instead he took care of my wound before tending to his own. A small fear deep down began to grow, and I realized, I didn’t want to see him get hurt.
We waited without a sound, wondering if whoever it was would give up and go away, but another knock made me jump. Mason went to the duffle bag I hadn’t seen him drop by the door to the garage, probably because I was too busy bleeding on the floor.
My breath caught when he pulled a black pistol from his bag. He checked the chamber and the clip before hurrying back over to me and cut me loose.
“You’re going to answer the door calmly, act natural like nothing is going on, and you aren’t going to give anything away. Whoever it is, get rid of them, because if they get suspicious, I will have to hurt them, and you don’t want that do you?”
I shook my head and swallowed hard as the possibility of him being a good guy faded.
He followed me through the living room with the gun in hand and hid just out of sight. I opened the door without bothering to check who it was. How much worse could it be than the man who was already inside my house?
Standing on the front porch was a kind-looking, slightly plump police officer.
“Hello, ma’am. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all, officer. I’m sorry it took me so long to get to the door. I was just getting ready for bed.”
His eyes grazed down my bare legs. I’d nearly forgotten I was just in my big t-shirt. “I see. Well, I’m sorry to bother you, but we have a manhunt going on and your neighborhood is within our parameters.”-
“Oh no.”
“Have you seen anything suspicious in the past two or three hours?”
“No, I can’t say that I have. And I’ve been here all night so I’m sure I would have noticed.”
“You mind if I take a look around the outside of your property? Just to make sure he’s not hiding out?”
“Of course not. Please do. There’s a shed out back. I keep it unlocked since there’s nothing really worth stealing out there. Feel free to check in there too.”
“Yes, ma’am. I will. You have a good night, now. And call nine-one-one if you see anything out of the ordinary.”
“Thank you, officer. I will.” I shut the door and sagged against it with relief.
The policeman seemed nice, but I was glad he was gone. I had no doubt that Mason could have easily taken him if he’d gotten suspicious, and I didn’t want to see anyone get hurt.
Mason tucked his gun in the back of his jeans and locked the front door. “You did good.”
“I did a good job of lying to the cops. I’m not sure I’d say I did good.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” I sighed.
“If he’s going to be snooping around your property, it's probably a good time for me to take a shower. That way we don’t risk him seeing me through a window.”
“It seems like you’ve got it all figured out.”
“I’m trained to. Come on.” He motioned with his head for me to go ahead of him back to the kitchen.
“Are you going to tie me up again?” I said flatly.
“Yes, but not in here.” He leaned down and grabbed his bag before motioning for me to go down the hall.
“Where then?”
“I told you, I need to take a shower.”
I whirled around to look at him and he startled, “I’m not taking a shower with you.”
His whole face crinkled up as if completely put off by the idea. “Of course not. But I’m not leaving you alone. You’ll stay in there where I can keep an eye on you.”
“While you take a shower?”
“Yes.”
“No way.”
His expression hardened and he pinned me with his warning stare. “I think my politeness is causing you to forget who’s calling the shots here.”
I let out a huff and timidly led the way to the bathroom.
Mason placed his duffle bag on the floor beside the shower and I stepped back from him as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
“What the—?”
“These work so much better than going through your whole bag of zip ties.” He stepped toward me and I backed away until my back hit the closed door. “Hands.” He looked at me expectantly and I gave in with a sigh, offering my wrists to him.
He cuffed one wrist, pulled me to the towel rod next to the shower, looped the cuffs through, and cuffed my other hand. I was a prisoner in my own home. There was something about being cuffed and helpless in my own bathroom that cemented the idea in my mind.
It was not lost on me that he’d cuffed me facing my back to the shower so that I couldn’t see him.
I heard movement behind me and imagined he was probably taking off the rest of his clothes. The idea of being cuffed in the room with a naked stranger sent fear coursing through me. I stood there silently, listening to each sound and I could almost envision each movement he made, removing his clothes, turning on the shower, digging through his bag, moving the shower curtain so that he could step in and let the hot water trace the lines of his muscles as it ran down his body. A flash of the image popped in my head before the reality came rushing back in.
The water suddenly cut off and the sound of the shower curtain opening made me jump.
“Much better. I would have never been able to sleep with that stench of smoke all over me.” Sleep. I hadn’t really thought about him staying all night or what that would mean about sleeping arrangements. I prayed that I wasn’t wrong about him being an honorable and good man even if he was doing bad things. I hoped I wasn’t wrong in assuming he wasn’t some psycho that was just waiting for me to let my guard down.
He came up behind me and I nearly jumped out of my own skin until I realized he was just unlocking the cuffs.
“Do you need to use the restroom before bed?”
I couldn’t speak for fear of what my voice might sound like and so instead I chose to simply nod.
“Okay, there’s no window so I’m going to trust you in here alone. I’m sure you’d appreciate your privacy.”
I still didn’t speak. I didn’t move until he left the room and shut the door behind him. I locked the door and used the restroom, brushed my teeth, contemplated my ability to make a shiv out of the toothbrush before realizing I’d watched way too many crime shows. I was afraid of what would happen once I walked out of the bathroom. While I was in there, I was safely locked away. I sat on the edge of the tub, wracking my brain for some way that I might be able to get myself out of the situation.
My best chance was to bide my time. Hopefully, he would leave in the morning. If not, my best chance of escape would be once his guard was down. I needed to make him feel comfortable, like I wouldn’t run or fight. Then when he didn’t expect it, I could escape.
“Everything okay? You’ve been in there for quite some time.”
“Yes, sorry. I’m just finishing up.” I splashed some water on my face, blotted it dry on the hand towel, and opened the door to find him standing there waiting for me.
“Sorry about that.”
“Trying to figure out some way that you could escape?”
“How’d you know?” I rolled my eyes and walked past him down the hall.
“Because it's what I would do.”
I walked into my bedroom and he followed close behind. He shut the door, dropped his bag into the corner chair and opened it.
“Lie on the bed,” his voice was so matter of fact.
“What?” I turned around to face him as he pulled out the set of handcuffs.
“Lie on the bed,” he spoke slower and with more authority.
“What are you—?”
“It's been a long day and I’m exhausted. I’m going to cuff you to the bed so I can sleep without worrying you might try to escape or kill me in my sleep.”
“Kill you in your sleep?” I was mortified by the thought, but he just shrugged.
“Never know. What I do know, is that tomorrow is going to be a long day and I’m going to need to be well-rested.”
