Page 99 of Dead Serious with Benefits
“I believe wondering what is going on is ranked up there with wondering why it’s happening as one of the most understandable thoughts when you’re tied to solid objects,” I pointed out wryly.
“Ugh, I haven’t had a headache like this in ages,” he groaned, and I sighed, seeing no point in pointing out that a lot more than my head hurt.
“At least you aren’t forced to sit on a hard floor with a sore ass,” I pointed out, because that at least didn’t sound pitiful and afraid.
He snorted. “That was your own doing.”
“I don’t regret it.”
“I hope not, because it might?—”
“Do not say it was probably our last time enjoying something like that, I swear to God, Arlo. If you do, I will find a way to break out of these zip ties and beat you within an inch of your life.”
“Maybe I should, then you would be free.”
“Ugh, never mind, I promised more than I could deliver. Perhaps I would make a good politician.”
“No,” he said with a sigh. “You’re a natural leader, but you have too honest a heart to be a politician.”
“That is the first time anyone has ever accused me of being honest,” I said with a snort.
“I said your heart is honest, not your mouth,” he said, and I could picture him smiling that secretive little smile in the dark. “You have been honest about who you are and what you want from the moment I met you. It was almost like a kid, how much you seemed to live in the moment. Not carefree, or unburdened, but simply choosing not to let those cares or burdens keep you from moving forward. The only thing you’re missing is the opportunity to prove your virtues and merits. Not to your mother, but to yourself.”
“Oh God, you’re talking like you’re about to die,” I groaned. “Stop.”
“Ward.”
“Don’t.”
“There are armed men in the house who have taken us hostage, have not spoken to us, and have left us to our own devices. Perhaps we should look at the writing on the wall.”
“The writing is in French, and my French is awful.”
“You speak French?”
“I just said my French is awful. Now my German? Well...that’s also bad. Never did have a head for languages.”
“I know Spanish.”
“Really?”
“Central American. I wouldn’t say fluent, but good enough to convey information if need be.”
“Huh, the things you learned while being held hostage in a storage closet in your parents’ house.”
The conversation was stupid as hell, but it went a long way toward making me feel a little better. Maybe because it was lighthearted and made the situation less grim, or maybe because I was no longer alone, left to listen to silence and the sound of Arlo’s breathing. Or hell, maybe it was because it was Arlo I was talking to, and the man had been having weird effects on me from the moment I met him.
There had to be a way to get out of the situation with our skin and lives intact. I just had to think. There was a security system in the house, but it obviously hadn’t been on, and considering I hadn’t heard any blaring noises, no panic button had been hit. There were cameras all over the property, but they weren’t going to do us a lot of good without someone to see we were in trouble. Considering I had yet to hear anyone storming the house to rescue the governor and her family, I assumed they had taken down the security guard at the front of the property.
My phone had been taken, so it was safe to bet that no one had access to their phones, even Arlo, who they had to assume would wake up at some point. There were guns in the house, but that wasn’t going to do me a lot of good right now. Good shot ornot, I wasn’t exactly prepared to go up against armed men. As had clearly been shown to me firsthand, I was in no way, shape, or form prepared to fight them the old-fashioned way.
No, the best and only option was to find a way to get free and get help...somehow. There were two landlines, but only in the kitchen and on the second floor in my mother’s office. I had no way of knowing where they had put our phones, so that left getting to one of the security system panels and hitting the silent alarm. The full alarm might set the men off and make them forget whatever it was they were doing by holding us hostage rather than killing us outright.
“Ward,” Arlo’s soft voice interrupted, and I jerked in surprise.
“Yes?” I asked in a slight daze as I was pulled from my feverish thinking.
“My mother?—”
