There was nothing romantic about married life.
Nothing.
Pistol left his socks on the floor. He kicked the covers to the floor each night, leaving Katrin shivering on her half of the bed. When it was his night to cook, he brought home takeout — either from the crappy Chinese place on 4th Street, or burritos from the Mexican joint notorious for its food poisoning potential. She, on the other hand, tried to keep the house tidy and cook healthy but low-labor meals — without actually doing too much work. If she did too much work, it would send the message to Pistol that it was okay for him to abandon his own duties, because she’d pick up the slack. But it was difficult to watch the dishes pile in the sink, to watch the floor of their bedroom become progressively littered in dirty clothes, to watch Pistol slurp down multiple bowls of her homemade chili when she’d picked an unidentified hair out of her takeout burrito the previous night.
And the thing was, she wasn’t sure whether Pistol was actually a slob, or whether he did this stuff to get on her nerves. Maybe he resented her. Maybe he was steadfastly avoiding anything that might be termed a workable partnership. She knew she sometimes caught herself glaring at him, hoping he’d notice, hoping he’d say something. Katrin had never raised her voice to anyone in her life, but sometimes, around Pistol, she found herself itching for an argument.
Katrin settled into an uneasy routine. Days while Pistol was at work, she’d get online and obsessively look up information on the U.S.-Mexico drug trade. She was never sure whether the information she got was accurate or what she planned to do with what she learned, but she wanted to know all she could. She found Reddit threads designed for people who suspected a loved one might be involved in illicit activity. Hotlines you could call. But she never called the numbers or posted in the forums. She never felt any closer to understanding why or how her dad had gotten involved in this shit.
He was a good man. He used to love me. I know he did.
Eventually she knew she had to give up trying to understand and focus on utilizing what few resources she had. She set up a new email address and linked it to a PayPal account, then started doing freelance medical transcription and copyediting. It gave her something to pass the time, and ensured she wasn’t completely financially dependent on her father or Pistol.
Pistol, who was going out for rides every few nights. Not saying where he was going or when he was coming home. Pistol, who could suddenly afford new gadgets and toys for his bike.
What are you doing, Pistol? Don’t let him lower you like this. How cozy were Pistol and her father getting? She didn’t ask, because she and Pistol barely talked. Mostly they just worked on avoiding each other. Except when they found themselves in close proximity. When Katrin lay in bed listening to Pistol undress and change into pajamas. When they were both in the kitchen grabbing beer or a glass of water. Every time she was within a few feet of him, sparks crackled through her and her skin seemed to buzz. She’d lose focus; her heart would thud like she was still in middle school, sneaking glances across the aisle in biology at Dustin Faber. She’d find her gaze drawn inexorably to Pistol’s arm muscles, his lean hips, his ass, and she’d forget how to breathe.
Goddamn it. Why do I want him so badly?
Best to try to forget he lived with her. Best to focus on building her new life.
She was on the computer one day when her father called. She stared at the phone screen, her heart pounding, sweat breaking out under her arms. She almost didn’t answer, but decided that would cause more trouble than she needed.
“Hello?” she said, keeping her voice steady.
“Hello, dear.” Her father’s voice was warm, and she closed her eyes for a second, wanting to believe that he really did want to talk to her. “How are you?”
“Fine,” she answered stiffly.
“How is life with your new husband?”
What the hell did she say to that?He leaves his dirty socks everywhere, but every time I see him all I can think about is getting his dick inside me? “We’re surviving,” she said flatly.
He chuckled, and the sound made her sick. “Glad to hear it.” He paused. “And tell me, darling — are you happy?”
She nearly barked out a laugh. Was hekidding?
She steadied her voice. “Of course I’m not happy. I want to go to school. I want to be able to leave the house.”I don’t want to be a hostage.
Another pause. Then a soft cluck of his tongue. She couldn’t tell if it was meant to be concerned or mocking. “I see no reason why you couldn’t enroll next semester. And I’ll see about getting your car to you.”
She closed her eyes for a second, relief and gratitude flooding her before she caught herself.Don’t you dare feel grateful to him. He’s the reason you’re trapped like this in the first place.
His tone grew soft and serious. “But my dear, there is a request I’d like to make of you.”
The nausea welled up in her, and she focused on breathing.What? What else could you possibly want from me? Haven’t you destroyed me enough?
“What?” she asked, trying not to let her voice break.
“You see … part of my arrangement with Jax was that he would father a grandchild for me.”
Her heart dropped to her stomach. Bile rose in her throat and for several long moments, she couldn’t even think about replying. Her father had asked Pistol to get herpregnant?
“Dad…” She hated how timid and fractured her voice sounded. “Dad, what are you … what are youtalking about?”
“Katrin. My sweet girl. I know this is a lot to take in. But you’re married now. Surely you understand that this is the next step.”
“You can’t be serious.” Her voice was gaining volume now, but it seemed like hysteria rather than strength. “What makes you think I’d even let him touch me — a man I never asked to be married to? Let alone…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
Her father let out a soft sound of surprise. “Don’t tell me you haven’t even … Oh, Katrin. I thought you liked this guy.”
“Dad, I don’t even know him!”
“You seemed happy when you told me about him hitting on you.”
She let out an incredulous gasp of laughter. “I thought he and I wereflirting. I thought it was harmless. I never wanted to bemarried to the bastard!”
“Well, my dear, I’m sorry to tell you this. But I’m going to need you to do as I say.”
Tears streamed down Katrin’s cheeks, but she refused to let her father hear that she was crying. “You’re a monster,” she said fiercely.
Her dad made a soothing noise than made Katrin’s skin crawl. “Perhaps you’re angry with me now, but once you’ve fully settled into married life, and once you have a baby to take care of…”
“I’m not some broodmare you can breed to a stud you found in your network of criminals.” She wiped her eyes furiously.
“Katrin. Please. Try to look on the bright side—”
“I hate you,” she choked out. “I’ll never forgive you. Mom would beashamed of you.”
She hung up.
###
She didn’t come out of the office when Pistol arrived home. She listened to him putter around in the kitchen, then eventually heard him go out to the garage and start working on the bike.
She’d been numb since the phone call with her father. But now she felt angry. Angry and hopeless and terrified.
Get up. Get out there and start dinner. Focus on the routine. This battle isn’t over yet.
She made herself get out of the chair. Walked to the door one step at a time.
“Part of my arrangement with Jax was that he would father a grandchild for me.”
She walked slowly down the hall into the foyer.
I’m so scared, Mom. So scared.
And suddenly she heard her mother’s voice, clear as if it were coming from right beside her.You’ll be okay, Katrin. I’m here. I love you. We’ll get through this.
But how, Katrin wondered.
You knew, Pistol. You knew, and you didn’t say anything.
In the kitchen, she drank a glass of water. Then she got to work, wiping down the counters, cleaning grime off the stove burners.
She was taking the trash out, struggling to haul the overly full bag out to the garage, when she bumped into Pistol on his way into the house.
“Oh, excuse me,” she said, as though they were two strangers who had bumped into each other on the sidewalk.
He put out a hand to study her. “Here, let me take that,” he said.
“No, I’ve got it.” She gave the bag a tug.
“Hey, that’s way too full. Let me get it.”
She sighed, panting a little. “Well, if you don’t mind.”
He reached for it, and his hand brushed hers. She tensed, feeling a fluttering in her stomach, a rush of heat between her legs.
What’s wrong with you, she chided herself,you ought to feel sick just looking at him. Her face heated further.
She handed the bag over, trying to pretend she hadn’t felt that spark of electricity. Even he had some color in his cheeks.
So he’ll take the trash out if he sees me struggling, but he won’t put his dishes in the dishwasher or do his laundry? She went back into the house and tried to find ways to busy herself. Damn if she was gonna tackle the dishes in the sink. That was his job, and she’d gladly let them stack up to the ceiling before she’d do them for him.
She heard his footsteps approaching outside. The back door opened and he came in, smelling just slightly of motor oil and the outdoors. His T-shirt was damp around the neck, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his bulging, tattooed arms. He caught her eye for a second, then they both looked away.
Even if I want to fuck him — and God help me, Ido want to fuck him, that’ll just be playing right into my dad’s plan.
I get sick just thinking about it.
It was too early to start cooking dinner but it was her night, and she couldn’t think of anything else to do. She got out some pots and pans and pulled some veggies out of the fridge — Pistol had salvaged a junker from his auto shop so they had a more efficient way to grocery shop than him going on his bike. And to his credit, he had done the grocery shopping the other day when she’d asked him to. Except he’d gotten all the wrong things. He’d bought a chili pepper instead of a bell pepper, instant rice instead of a bag of long-grain, dish soap instead of dish detergent…How did he survive before this? she wondered privately.
She started chopping veggies for a stir-fry, using the giant chef’s knife from the knife block. The same knife she’d hidden under the mattress her first night in this house. She heard him go to the fridge.
If you even drink our juice out of the carton…
But he just grabbed a bottle of water and some string cheese and stood there chugging the water. She was inexplicably irritated by his presence, but whether because she actually wanted him out of the way or because she thought she’d come in her pants if she caught one more glimpse of those tattooed arms, she wasn’t sure.
“You should wash your hands,” she said finally, dicing the onion more quickly than was strictly necessary. “Since you touched the trash.”
She heard the crack of the plastic bottle as the suction stopped. He let out a satisfied sigh and turned toward her. “You think I’m dirty?” It was said teasingly, but there was an edge to the words she didn’t appreciate.
God help me, I don’t know how much longer I can survive this “marriage.” I’m either going to fuck him or stab him.
She tried to lighten her tone. “I do. Totally dirty. Go one, wash up.”
She gestured to the sink with the knife.
“Whoa. You look dangerous with that thing.”
You have no idea.
He passed a little too close behind her — deliberately? She wasn’t sure which got on her nerves more — when they both acted formal and polite toward each other, avoiding being in the same room as often as possible. Or when he started making bids for her attention. Because she didn’t know how to treat him when he tried to engage her. Like a friend? Like a fellow hostage?
Like a husband?
He made it sound like we were in this together. Him and me against my father. But we’re not, are we? He’s my father’s pawn. And given what kind of money he’s making, he probably likes it that way.
He washed his hands, shaking them dry and flinging water everywhere. She held her tongue.
She thought he was going to leave the room. Instead, he hovered for a moment. “Need any help?” he asked.
She was shocked. Pleasantly shocked. He was actually offering to help her cook? “Actually, yeah. If you want to chop those mushrooms, I’ll get the sauce going.”
They worked side by side in companionable silence. Pistol seemed a little unsure how to chop veggies, but he did his best, and soon dinner was well underway.
“Kinda early isn’t it? For eating?” He reached past her to add some cabbage to the skillet. That jolt again. Katrin could have grabbed him right there, ripped his shirt off, and started licking him everywhere.
Not appropriate, not appropriate, not appropriate…
“Uh, Katrin?”
Dammit. She shook her head, trying to clear it. “Oh, um, yes. A little early. But I was … hungry.”
When he didn’t respond right away, she glanced at him. He raised an eyebrow, but then went back to monitoring the rice.
Great choice of words, Katrin.
Focus, she needed to focus.
“I, uh…” She wiped her forehead with her arm. Why was she so hot? It wasn’t that warm in here — they had the AC on, and the kitchen was well ventilated. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom. Just … keep stirring that.”
She nearly bolted from the kitchen. In the bathroom, she splashed water on her face. Stared at herself in the mirror, watching the water drip from her skin.
Get ahold of yourself, girl.
What would Maddy think if she could see Katrin now? Maddy had always teased her about her prudishness. It was easy to make Katrin blush with a sex joke or a tease about which guy at the bar she should go hit on.And now here I am, sharing a house and a bed with a giant, tattooed biker with the hottest body I’ve ever seen. He’s helping me cook for God’s sake. He may be a criminal; he may be a reminder of the corner my dad’s got me backed into, but goddamn. Maddy, I need to share this with you.
For a second, she fantasized about texting Maddy. She’d gotten a couple of texts from her in the weeks since the wedding. But she always replied with only vague details about how she was doing.I should call her. Message her. Something.
But if she asks, it’ll be too tempting to tell her what’s going on. And if my dad finds out I’m getting in touch with old friends…
She felt queasy again. Her father had never explicitly stated what would happen if she went against his wishes. But it didn’t take much imagination.
I’ll get out of this. I will.
She heard Pistol whistling in the kitchen, the tune loud enough to be heard over the sizzling of the stir-fry.
What if I don’t entirely want out?
What if there is some good in this whole mess?
She pictured Pistol’s dirty socks n their bedroom. The way he spent hours a day sometimes tending to his bike. Her resolve hardened once more.
Just because he’s hot as hell doesn’t mean we’re at all compatible. I’ll be out of here at the first opportunity. I’m not going to stay and get fuckingbred to him.
She wiped her face on the hand towel and left the bathroom.