Page 13 of Outlaw

Still staying silent, he grabs something from the shelf and walks back over to me. He reaches out, grabs my wrist, and pulls me from the bed and over to the corner of the room.

“Hey, what are you—”

But before I can finish, I hear a metallic click and look down to see him securing a handcuff around my wrist.

“What the fuck!?” I shout. This time I do struggle. I thrash against his grip, but the metal of the cuff digs into my skin and I yelp in pain. I flail and jump, but Christian catches me with one arm and carries me over to an old radiator. With a quick motion, he fastens the other end of the cuff to it and sets me down on the ground.

“What are you doing!?” I bellow. “Help! Help, somebody!”

My screams tear painfully out of my throat as I scream bloody murder, but I know it’s no use; even if my voice somehow penetrated the concrete walls of the bunker, we’re in the middle of the woods somewhere. No one would hear me.

“Jesus, girl,” Christian says, shaking his head. “Would you relax? I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Says the guy who just handcuffed me to a radiator!”

“And who saved your sweet, naïve ass from a life of slavery,” he counters. “I just need to make sure you stay here while I go out. It’s not safe for you outside yet.”

“Oh, and I guess it won’t be for like…another f

ive years or so?” I spit back. I yank my hand against the cuffs, but all it does it hurt my wrist.

“Relax,” he tells me. “I’ll only be gone for a few minutes.”

There’s nothing more to do. I just sit there, cuffed to a radiator in a bunker in the middle of the forest, furious with myself for being desperately attracted to the man who put me in this position.

He walks to the door, glances back at me once more with a smile, then leaves. I think about screaming again but realize there’s no point, so I just watch as he closes it again behind him.

Once he’s gone, I wonder what I’ll do if he never comes back. The radiator is enormous, like something built in the '50s, and it’s connected to the ground by two thick pipes that go straight down into the concrete. There’s absolutely no way I’m moving it.

I remember seeing a video on YouTube once about how to get out of handcuffs. One of them involved picking the lock with a paperclip or a bobby pin, neither of which I have. But of course he’ll be back, right? It wouldn’t make sense for him to just leave me here.

What worries me the most is the fact that no one will realize I’m missing for at least another twelve hours – maybe more. As far as Violet’s concerned, I’m at the Red Lions’ party serving drinks. I could be there all night. I told my parents that I was staying at Violet’s, so they won’t be worried until tomorrow evening when I don’t come home.

And where the hell did he go anyway? Catch a midnight matinee movie?

I look around for something I could try to pick the handcuffs lock with but don’t find anything. Not that it matters really; there’s no way I could actually do that. So I just sit there for what feels like forever, looking around the room until finally I hear the door click and look up as it swings open.

It’s Christian. He’s smiling and has a bag in his hand. He shuts the door behind him, kicks off his boots, and walks over to me.

“Aw, honey! You’re back,” I say, pretending to be happy. He just goes right along with it.

“Hey, babe!” He smirks. “Yeah, sorry. There was traffic or I would have been back earlier.”

He goes to the mini-kitchen, opens a drawer and grabs two spoons, then comes over to me. From his pocket, he pulls out a little silver key and unlocks my cuffs. I rub my wrist as he reaches into the bag and pulls out a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

“Here,” he says. “After the evening you had, you deserve it.”

I’m stunned. Did this guy really just cuff me to a radiator like a kidnapping victim and then go out and buy me ice cream? Now I get why he was so adamant about me answering his question. Did he maybe think he would get better results by just letting me in on his plan? But then again, I wouldn’t be as surprised and grateful right now if he had, because to be honest, ice cream right now would definitely hit the spot.

I take a spoon from him as he takes the top off the ice cream, jab it in and stuff a big scoop into my mouth. It’s so good I literally moan.

“Damn,” Christian remarks. “That a hunger moan or an orgasm?”

I just sort of smirk-frown back at him as I swallow and scoop another bite. He takes one too and we eat together in silence for a few minutes, sharing the tub between us. It feels strange – like a boyfriend-girlfriend moment that we’ve done a million times before. I know we were just kissing, but this is somehow even more intimate. I feel close to him.

“Christian?” I ask as I slap my spoon absentmindedly against my tongue.

“Yeah?”

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