Chapter 4 - Riggs

CHAPTER 4 - RIGGS

I flip on the lights and stare down at the woman at the bottom of the stairs, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. "What the…" There is blood everywhere . "What the fuck did you do?"

I descend and a moment later, I'm jumping over her bloody feet and reaching under her arms to pull her away from the stairs.

After I left her this morning, I stuck around for a little while, listening to see if she'd start making noise or just in case she managed to get free, because I was organizing all the equipment that still needed to be put up before I can start testing things and go home.

When I didn't hear anything, I left and was gone for about four hours. But as soon as I opened the front door, I heard the banging.

Looking at her now, it appears that she's been kicking her feet against the bottom step for quite a long time because her heels are a mess of broken skin and blood.

She's crying, so she hasn't bothered to answer my question.

"You stupid, stupid woman." I bend down, reach under the t-shirt blindfold that's flapping over her face, and pull the rag out of her mouth.

She starts gasping for breath in between sobs, which makes the whole scene even more dramatic than it already was.

"If you were trying to piss me off, you've done a good job."

"You left me!" she screams. Her voice is hoarse and raspy. "You piece-of-shit asshole! I've been down here for days with no water! No food! No nothing! What am I supposed to do? Just sit here and die of thirst?"

I kinda chuckle. Not that it's funny, because it's not. She's a mess. It's just… wow. Dramatic. "Well, that's an impressive bit of theatre. I suppose you learned all about acting, growing up in this fake-ass town."

"Acting!" She's still got the t-shirt over her face, so she can't see me and I can't really see her either, but it's pretty clear she's angry. "I'm not acting! I can barely breathe. I'm starving, and thirsty, and I have to pee! I'm not acting!"

"Woman." I shake my head and roll my eyes. "It's been like six hours. You're not starving or dying of thirst. What you are doing is overreacting."

"Over—" She scoffs, then starts again. "Over reacting ? I was fired from my job, kicked out of my cottage, and came home ready for a good cry and I was kidnapped in my own house! I am not overreacting, you bastard. My behavior is entirely appropriate!"

"Well, you're definitely screaming, so… tone that down a little, because it's too loud for me."

"Too loud ?!"

"Should I gag you back up and leave?"

"If you leave me here, I swear?—"

"You'll what ?" Even though she can't see me, my eyes go squinty. I'm pretty sure all this annoyance is conveyed in my tone because she doesn't finish her threat.

Instead, she takes a deep breath like she's trying to pull herself together and gather up the last of her self-respect. After a few seconds of that she says, "May I please have a drink of water and may I please use the bathroom?"

When I first threw her down here, I didn't actually think about how much trouble a prisoner might be. I was only thinking about how much I want to be done with this job so I can go home and show my father and the Colony directors that my word is good now, and have that final hearing where they say my debt has been paid and I will not be sent back down to work the tunnels.

But I see that I have grossly underestimated what a pain in the ass this woman will be. So I sigh.

"Listen," she says, clearly interpreting my sighing as frustration. "I wasn't trying to escape. I just needed you to come help me. I can barely talk, mister. I can't swallow. My mouth is so dry, my lips are cracked and bleeding."

"It's only been an afternoon, lady. You're fine. It was a panic attack."

"I'm not fine! Look for yourself. I need water. Now ."

I flip the t-shirt up and study her mouth.

"Please," she begs.

The corners of her mouth are dry and if I look real hard, I can see a few speckles of blood, so maybe it stings a little—like a papercut—but she's really overreacting. However, it's not that hard to give her a drink and let her use the bathroom. Especially if it'll keep her quiet for the rest of the day. So I guess I'll do that.

I grab hold of her upper arm and tug. "Come on, stand up."

She lets out a long breath, like she's been holding it in. Then she manages to get to her feet with my help.

I push her in the direction of the stairs and then grab her shoulders to make her stop at the bottom. "I'll untie your hands, but if you run, or do anything to even make me think you're gonna run, I will throw you back down these stairs and leave you here for good. Do you understand me?"

She nods her head enthusiastically. "Yes. I understand. I won't, I promise."

"The blindfold stays. If you touch it, you're dead. If it even accidentally falls down, you're dead. If that blindfold moves in any way, you're dead. Do you understand me?"

"I won't touch it, I swear. Just please, give me something to drink and let me use the bathroom."

"Fine." I release the belt from her wrists and notice that the leather, while soft because I've had this belt for years, has cut into her wrists. If I were her, this is what I'd be complaining about, not those pinpricks of blood at the corners of her mouth. But whatever.

She groans as her shoulders bunch up and she stretches out her arms. "Thank you." It comes out mumble-y and low, like she doesn't want to feel grateful for the relief, but is obligated to nonetheless.

"Let's go. I'm busy and I don't really have time for this."

"Well, you don't have to keep me. I won't say anything, I swear."

I don't even bother responding to that with words, I just simply scoff and give her a good push right between the shoulder blades. "Go."

She reaches out with her hands, feeling for the stairs, then she starts climbing, using her hands to guide her up since she can't see. This affords me a good look at her backside. Her dress is light green and tight. It's all stained with grass and dirt, since I did tackle her in that flowerbed. But that can't hide the fact that she's got a nice ass.

"What's your name?" I ask her.

"Clover. What's yours?"

"Clover?" I laugh as we get to the top. "That is such a West Virginia name, I don't even know what to say about it."

"No, it's not. It's a very normal name. And you didn't answer my question, what's yours?"

"It so is. I've never met anyone named Clover. And you're not getting mine. If, by some accident you do get mine?—"

"Let me guess," she interrupts, her tone dry and empty. "I'm dead."

"That's right, you're dead."

"You throw that threat around pretty easily. Like it's just another word for you. What are you? Some kind of serial killer?"

I huff. "Do you want to go to the bathroom and get a drink or not?"

"If my other choice is getting pushed down the stairs, then yes. I choose bathroom and drink."

"Good. Then keep quiet and walk." I grab her shoulders and push her down the hallway towards the bathroom.

It's her house so she doesn't need to see to know where it is. She places her right hand on the chair rail and follows it all the way to the little powder room. Then she pauses and aims her face in my direction. "Is the bathroom stocked with necessities?"

My laugh comes out unexpectedly. "If you mean toilet paper, then yes, Your Highness, it's stocked with necessities. You've got one minute."

She walks forward, feeling the panels on the door, then she starts pushing it closed.

I kick my foot forward, putting an end to that immediately. "The door stays open."

Her scorn comes out in her tone. "So you can watch?"

"Woman, I'll watch anything I want. But no, I'm not into bathroom kink. I'm just done taking chances with you. Now hurry up, or you won't go to the bathroom at all."

I'm pretty sure she's weighing the idea of not using it, but she gives in pretty quick and blows out a frustrated breath of air with her words. "Fine. Turn your back, though."

I roll my eyes, shuffle my feet, and then say, "It's turned."

She points her head in my direction for a few seconds, like she knows I'm lying. But she doesn't dare pull the t-shirt up to take a look. Just gives in again, letting out another breath, and feels her way over to the toilet.

I'm really not into bathroom kink. Like, at all. As in, never once entered my mind, not even as a teenager. But I have to admit, there's something kinda sexy about watching her hike up her dress and pull down a pair of silky white panties.

She doesn't sit, she balances like she's peeing outside, which make me roll my eyes again, but this time I smile a little and then I really do turn my back.

"Thank you," she says.

"For what?"

"Finally turning around."

"Whatever."

When she's done, she rearranges her clothes, spends a good minute washing her hands, and then starts reaching around for a towel.

I hand her a rag, which has old paint on it and smells pretty bad. Her body shivers for a moment, but she doesn't say nothing.

I grab her shoulder and point her in the right direction. "Come on, then. To the kitchen for water and… whatever I can find to eat."

"Oh, I get food too? That's nice, thank you."

"Don't start being all polite and shit. I don't like it."

"What kind of person doesn't like when people are polite?"

"It's not the polite part I don't like, it's the fake part. I don't like fake people and everyone in this town is fake."

"Well, I'm very sorry my parents brought me up proper and my good manners annoy you. Would you like me to call you names instead?"

"How about you just shut up?"

"Well, someone's mama didn't care much about manners."

"My mother was sick from the day I was born and died when I was five, so I guess she just didn't have the time for teaching me manners."

My revelation makes her go quiet. It's not even a lie, either. My mother did die when I was five, so I was raised by my father. And being a general, he very much cared about when and how I spoke. I would not call it manners, per se, more like protocols and etiquette.

But this one here isn't gonna get any military etiquette from me.

We reach the kitchen and Clover starts feeling around for the table. When she finds it, she takes a seat, stretching out her legs and letting out a breath of air that comes off as relief.

Which makes me glance down at her feet. "You really did a number on those heels of yours."

"Tell me about it. They hurt."

I walk over to my backpack on the floor and bring it back over to the table. "Don't blame me for that. I never told you to kick the stairs until you were bloody."

"It was the only way I had to get your attention. And I can live with the consequences if you're gonna give me a drink."

"You could've drunk the tap water in the bathroom." I can't see her whole face because of the t-shirt, but I can see part of her mouth and she's scowling. "Something wrong with the tap water?"

"Well, I thought of that, but it smelled rusty. Was it rusty?"

"I didn't notice, but I wouldn't drink it." I'm reaching into my pack as I say this, and my hand bumps up against a stainless-steel container. I pull it out, unscrew the cap, and place it in front of her. "There. Take as much as you want. It's been filtered."

"I'll drink it all. You're not thirsty?"

"Just worry about yourself, princess. I'll take care of me." Then I take a seat across from her and kick out my legs.

She's taking a sip of her water when she stops, pointing her face in my direction. "Do I get to eat? I didn't eat this morning because I was so stunned about being fired. Oh, my God, how is this the same day? I can't believe they fired me. After all my hard work. And kicked me out of my cottage! Do you know what that asshole did?"

"What asshole?"

"My boss! He fucking packed up my cottage, put all my shit in a trailer, and then told me to haul it away. He didn't even pay for the trailer! I have to pay those people when I drop it off. Back in Virginia , by the way! Like… what the fuck, ya know? All this time I thought he was a nice guy, but I was wrong. I hate when I'm wrong about people."

I spy a pout form underneath that t-shirt and now I'm kinda thinking about how she might actually be pretty. I didn't really have a chance to get a good look at her when I was busy tackling and tying her up this morning. But she is. Even with the blindfold mostly covering her face, I can see it.

She suddenly sits up a little straighter. "And you know what else sucks?"

"What?"

"Well, Clarissa, my other boss, and pretty much my best friend—in Virginia, anyway—she doesn't even know I was fired. Right before she left for her out-of-town meeting, I was talking to her in the lobby, and she thought Mr. Sutter was gonna promote me!"

"He's the asshole?"

"Yeah. The one who fired me. She was all, ‘You're getting promoted!' and I was all, ‘What? But what about you?' And then she was all, ‘Oh, this is my promotion! I'm taking over Boston!' And I was all, ‘OMG! I'm so happy for you!' And then she was all?—"

"Clover?"

"Huh?"

"I don't care."

She scoffs. "Well, sor-ree. My mistake. Sorry this is the worst day of my life and instead of whining and complaining to my best Disciple friend, I'm a prisoner in my own house, stuck here with you ." She blows out a long breath and leans back in her chair, kicking her bloody feet out in front of her.

I smile. Just a little. And only because she can't see me. "You're taking this kidnapping thing better than most."

She makes another face. This one is shock, I think. "How many times have you done this that you have an expected outcome in mind?"

"You're actually my very first prisoner."

"Huh."

"You're surprised?"

"Well, you're pretty liberal with your threats, buddy. And, by the way, they were very colorful. You threatened to kill me and stuff my dead body into the trailer, leave me to die and decay in my own basement, and throw me down the stairs."

"And yet you're still here."

"Well." She exhales so hard, the t-shirt fluffs up around her mouth. "I don't think you're serious."

I scoff. "You would be wrong. You have no idea how badly I need this job to go well. I don't care how cute you act, little princess. This ploy of yours? It's not gonna work. If it comes down to me or you, I choose me, Clover. So don't get too comfortable."