Closer to the Edge

Paul had three hours to kill until his father would actually be awake and able to talk to him. By the time he stormed out of the hotel room, it was four in the morning. By the time he got back to his house, it was close to four-thirty. He spent some time pacing in his room before he gave up and started to pack another bag for the penthouse, just in case. Only this time, he included a wide selection of movies. He didn’t expect holding a hostage to be so boring (of course, he didn’t expect her to be so mouthy, either, but that could be solved with a gag, whereas his boredom wasn’t so easy to be cured).

Before the clock even struck seven times, Paul was waiting in his father’s office, sitting in one of the chairs. His leg was bouncing up and down on its own accord and he really wished his father would just…show up. He could hear his father talking on the other side of the door and he knew he was already hard at work. When the door swung open behind him, Paul didn’t even have to look around.

“I’ll have to call you back, Mr. Garcia, I have an early appointment,” Anthony said, his tone clipped, as he hung up his phone and walked around to the other side of his desk. “Paul. I trust you have information for me?”

“I have questions for you,” Paul said, his tone involuntarily mocking his father’s.

Anthony’s eyebrow (just one) rose. “Oh?”

“Kidnap first, ask later, that doesn’t really work out for me,” Paul said. “Why did we take Rowan?”

“Is she safe?”

Paul shrugged one shoulder. “Safe, yes. But she doesn’t know how to shut up,” he muttered.

Anthony smiled. “She’s at the penthouse?”

“No, father, we took her to McDonalds,” Paul snapped, rolling his eyes. “Yes, she’s at the fucking penthouse.”

“I don’t appreciate this attitude, Paul.”

“And I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark!”

Anthony bit the inside of his cheek. “This is my business, Paul, I don’t have to tell you a damn thing if I don’t want to.”

“I’m your son,” Paul said, struggling to keep his voice at a low level. “I think I deserve to know why I just took an innocent girl who did nothing to you.”

“Innocent? Is that what she’s lead you to believe?” his father asked.

“Did you kill her brother?”

“Is that what she told you?”

“Do you want to kill her, too?”

“Does she know who you are?”

“Do you expect me to help you with that?”

Anthony sighed. “Answer my questions.”

“Answer mine first.”

“Does she know your name?” Anthony asked, his tone short.

Paul bit his lip before shaking his head. “No. She doesn’t.”

“Good,” Anthony said, nodding slowly.

Paul sighed, he was steadily growing more annoyed with each passing minute. To be honest, he was getting tired of his father simply expecting him to do everything that was asked without questioning it. Especially when someone who was, for all intents and purposes, innocent. He wanted answers. And he wasn’t getting them.

“You can go,” his father said, dismissing him with a wave of his hand.

Paul stood up but didn’t turn to leave. “What are you going to do to her?”

“Paul,” his father started before smiling up at his son, “are you falling for the poor child?”

Paul rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Are you kidding me?”

“Why else would it matter?”

“Because she hasn’t done anything wrong!” Paul yelled.

Anthony mock smile turned into a frown. “If you doubted my intentions or disagreed, you could have refused.”

“You wouldn’t have let me refuse, father,” he snapped. “Besides, at least this way, I know one of your employees isn’t going to rape her.”

“Don’t accuse my men of—“

“It’s happened before, don’t waste your time denying it,” Paul said.

Anthony sighed, running his hands over his face, before he met his son’s eyes. “We’re going to teach her family a lesson, Paul. Do not let her find out who you are. Bring her to me this evening.”

Paul’s jaw clenched. But even then, he knew better than to argue.

+

Rowan’s neck hurt. Of course, so did her ankles, her wrists, her jaw, pretty much everything. And it didn’t help that Martin was just sitting in bed, relaxing, watching some ridiculous movie that was supposed to be some parody that Rowan thought was a waste of time. But whatever. He got to be comfortable, whereas she got to sit there, her bladder about to explode, and unable to do anything because she tried to escape.

Jeeze, they were acting like the three of them wouldn’t have tried to do the exact same thing had they been in her shoes.

She tried to get his attention but Martin seemed to be pretty content with just ignoring her. It wasn’t until Ash (whom Rowan really wished she could hate but, hey, the girl had spunk and Rowan admired that) walked into the room that anyone really looked at her.

“You okay?” Ash asked.

Rowan shook her head.

Ash looked over at Martin, who simply shrugged, before walking over to the girl and removing the gag. “You good?”

“I have to use the restroom,” Rowan said, her voice scratchy from misuse.

“We’re not allowed to let you,” Martin said calmly.

“What? Your boyfriend won’t let you?” Rowan scoffed. It might have been a bad choice since it only succeeded in hurting her throat even more.

Martin rolled his eyes. “Our bromance is epic. Don’t hate because you want his dick and can’t have it.”

“You stupid little—“

“Guys, stop,” Ash said, before it could get any worse. “I’ll let you go but I can’t leave you alone.”

“Fine. Great. Whatever, just let me pee,” Rowan said, trying to keep the whine out of her voice (but it didn’t really work).

“Bad choice, Ash,” Martin said.

“Well, if you’re not going to help me, then I’ll have to take the risk all on my own,” Ash said, sending him her best puppy-dog eyes.

It got Martin every time—of course it did. He rolled his blue eyes and paired it with an exaggerated sigh before he climbed off of the bed. “Of course you’re going to manipulate me into it, Ash. You always do.”

“It’s the way of the woman,” Ash said, kissing him on the cheek quickly.

Martin, however, sucked it up as he untied Rowan from the chair. He kept her hands pinned behind her back and walked her forwards to the bathroom, Ash following closely behind. He pushed her towards the toilet and stood there with his arms crossed. “Go for it.”

“I don’t think it’s polite for a gentleman to watch a lady as she relieves herself,” Rowan said, mocking his stance and crossing her own arms.

“Then you’re lucky that I’m not a gentleman.”

“At least turn around, Martin,” Ash said. “I don’t think she’s stupid enough to try anything while we’re both here.”

“I don’t believe that. She’s stupid enough to try to take out P—my boyfriend,” he corrected himself quickly, a sickly sweet smile on his face.

“Just turn around,” Ash said, grabbing his shoulders before making him turn. She faced Rowan and nodded. “You can finish your business now.”

Rowan frowned. She wasn’t easily embarrassed but, still, some private matters were to remain private. However, she had to put pride aside in order to get through. So as much as she hated it, she finished her business (with an audience…she was very happy that Martin didn’t give her a round of applause afterwards), washed her hands, then allowed the two of them to lead her back out to the chair. Once she sat down, she was tied to the chair (once again) and tried to mentally prepare herself for another boring day (or, well, a few hours, she wasn’t really sure).

Martin sat back on the bed and crossed his arms once again. “So why did you try to escape on my bro and not on us?” he asked.

Rowan looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“The last two times you’ve been alone with him, you’ve tried to escape. But not with us, not when we untied you,” Martin commented.

Rowan didn’t know how to answer that. It could’ve been because she knew how the other one would react, but she didn’t know how Martin and Ash would. That could’ve been one reason. But she really didn’t know.

“Is it because you want to bone him?” he asked.

Ash scoffed and slapped her boyfriend on the back of his head. “Shut up, Martin. Don’t ask her why, just be glad she didn’t try.”

“Right,” Rowan said, agreeing with the other girl.

Martin rolled his eyes. “Damn women, always ganging up on me.”

+

When Paul got back to the penthouse, he yelled for Martin. He didn’t want to waste any time, not when he had so much to figure out. Martin stumbled out of the bedroom, brushing his hair over his forehead, and Paul raised an eyebrow.

“Not what you think, bro,” Martin mumbled. “Please tell me it’s time for your shift. The bitch is annoying as hell.”

Paul bit back a smile—that didn’t surprise him. “Can Ash handle her for a few minutes?”

“Don’t see why not. She doesn’t fight with Ash,” Martin said with a shrug.

“Yeah, she hates me,” Paul said, his tone dismissive.

Martin scoffed and shook his head. “She wants to bone you.”

Paul paused for a minute and thought about it. Half of him wanted to jump in victory; the other knew it was a bad idea to even get potentially emotionally invested. “That’s beside the point.”

“And you want to bone her, too.”

Paul pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are an infant.”

“Notice how you didn’t say I was wrong,” Martin pointed out.

“Can we. Can we just get to the point?”

Martin shrugged. “If you want to.”

Paul sighed and ran his hands over his hair. “Shit just got real, Martin,” he said, keeping his voice quiet.

Martin scoffed. “Shit’s been real since about five o’clock last night, Paul,” he told him. “What did your father say?”

Paul didn’t respond; the words he had to say were already too bitter. He had some silly notion that if he didn’t say them aloud, it would change their actions, though he knew it wouldn’t. It made him sick to his stomach. And that was when he realized that he couldn’t do it. He didn’t have it in him to take over his father’s…business. He wasn’t that heartless, that cruel, to where he could hurt (or, well, kill) someone else who had never done anything to him.

“Paul?” Martin asked, his brows furrowing together. He grabbed his best friend’s arm and dragged him towards the kitchen, making him sit down at the table. “You okay?”

“No. No, I’m not okay,” Paul said with another sigh. “How can he be so heartless?”

“Your father?”

“Yes.”

Martin shrugged. “I think it comes with the territory.”

“Then I must be defective, Martin, because I can’t kill Rowan.”

“He wants you to—“

“I don’t know!” Paul exclaimed, running his hands through his hair and tugging the ends. “I don’t know what he expects from me, but that wouldn’t really surprise me, you know? Someone’s gonna do. I think he wants it to be him. But I think he wants to make me do it to teach me a lesson or something.”

“He wants her dead?” Martin asked, his voice soft.

Paul nodded.

“What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?”