Page 48 of Deserter

I just wondered how long it would be before she pushed me to my breaking point.

Chapter Eleven

Celia: 1989

“You come here often, little girl?” Grey growled in my ear.

I smiled at the sound of his voice but continued flipping idly through the stack of records in front of me. “I do, sir.”

A tattooed hand snaked around my waist, pulling me back against his hard body. I closed my eyes and inhaled traces of cigarette smoke and leather.

It was dangerous.

If anyone I knew walked in, I’d never hear the end of it from my mother. She’d probably ship me off to a convent. Maybe that was the best place for me because I was letting this biker dominate my every thought.

Initially, I’d wanted to believe that my feelings were nothing more than the pangs of an adolescent crush; something that would fade away. It wasn’t normal, but I knew there were other women like me—captives who’d become attached to their captors.

Hostages.

Mary McElroy had been kidnapped and held captive by four men; developing such strong feelings that a death sentence for one meant suicide for her.

Patty Hearst had been raped by members of the Symbionese Liberation Army before pledging her support; even robbing banks and creating explosive devices for them.

Colleen Stan had been forced to live in a coffin-sized box under her captor’s bed for seven years yet didn’t turn him into the police when she escaped.

I pored over microfiche and textbooks at the library, struggling to put a label on what it was that continually drew me to Grey. According to my mother, I’d bonded my spirit to his when he took my virginity. I tried to convince myself it was psychological and something that could be undone.

“Celia,” he said softly, pulling me away from my thoughts. Hearing my name on his lips did things to me; strange things.

His hand stayed on my hip as I turned to face him, and I inhaled sharply with just one look. He wore a ripped Pink Floyd t-shirt under his leather vest and his long blond hair hung down over one eye, making him look every bit the bad boy my parents had warned me about.

I had graduation to think about and then college, but none of it mattered when he was in front of me. I wanted to know what his lips felt like against mine. I wanted to know if he thought about me as much as I did him.

“Grey,” I finally responded, sounding out of breath.

He pointed to the records. “What are you shopping for today?” He stepped around me and began rifling through them. “Let me guess—a little Duran Duran.”

I frowned up at him. “Not even close.”

“No? Maybe you’re more of a George Michael fan.” He pulled me close and crooned softly in my ear, “I guess it would be nice, if I could touch your body. I know not everybody has a body like you.”

It was low and rough, and I could’ve listened to it forever. My heart throbbed steadily, proof that I wasn’t immune to him. Not even close. “I think you missed your calling. You’ve got a great voice.”

He shook his head. “Fuck that. So, what do you like, Celia?”

You. I like you.

My cheeks burned as I reached for a record, holding it up for his inspection. “This. I like this.”

His tongue clicked against his teeth as he took it from my hands. “Fleetwood Mac, huh? So, you don’t listen to newer music… you wear old dresses. Are you a time-traveler, princess?”

“Yeah, Doc Brown lent me his DeLorean. Say, do you know where I could get some plutonium? I’ve gotta get back to the sixties, man.”

He shook his head with a smile, complete with teeth and everything. “You’re something else. You know that cassettes have been invented, right?”

I slowly walked away from him, letting my fingers trail across the stacks. “There’s just something about the sound on vinyl. It’s like you’re listening to the song in its purest form, you know?”

Grey agreed and picked up Blue Öyster Cult’s Spectre LP, turning it over in his hands to the point that I couldn’t help but stare.

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