“I was tired.” It was the easiest explanation, easier to explain than existential angst.
“I figured as much. I’m cooking up dinner if you’re hungry.”
“Okay.” The answer was a resounding yes. I was starving. “Should I do something?” I asked the question like we were a pair of old friends. Or a couple cooking dinner together.
“Nope. There’s wine on the table though, if you want it. I don’t know much about wine, but I thought you might be more of a wine girl than a beer girl.” It was another little dig at me and my upbringing. Wine was exactly what I needed right now, having to deal with him.
I poured a glass, grateful for the distraction. It was awkward having a conversation with your kidnapper. Correction - my protection detail.
A little sex might cut the tension, though. I pushed the thought out of my mind, irritated with myself for even entertaining the idea.
Walking around the living room with my glass of wine, I perused the bookshelves. “You have a lot of books.”
“Yeah, I read a little bit.”
I peered close to the shelves, reading the spines. Homer, Faulkner, Buddha, Sun Tzu. “This isn’t really biker reading.” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realized how snotty they sounded.
In the kitchen, Blaze laughed. “What exactly is biker reading?”
“I don’t know. ‘10 Steps to Drug Running’?” Damn it. I was trying to be funny, but it fell flat.
“I guess I’m not your stereotypical biker, then.” Blaze set two plates on the table. “Now, sit. Eat. I’ve seen what you can pack away when you’re hungry.”
We made casual conversation in between lots of silence, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as I expected. Maybe being confined here with him for a few days wouldn’t be as awkward and horrible as I thought. I told myself I could get through it.
“So how did you get into doing this anyway?” I curled up on the sofa, my feet tucked under my legs, watching Blaze from across the room as he cleaned up. With food and half a bottle of wine in my stomach, I was feeling more relaxed and at ease.
“Your father wanted someone he could trust to watch you. Someone outside his regular security group.”
“Oh, no-I could guess how you were the one roped into watching me,” I said. “I meant how did you end up being an outlaw biker? Didn’t you ever want to do anything else?”
Blaze grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat across from me. “I didn’t have many other options. After a couple years in juvie, I came out with nothing. Bikes were my thing. It was the natural order of the universe.”
“But you’re obviously sm -” I started to say it, but realized it sounded completely pretentious.
“Smart?” Blaze laughed bitterly. “Yeah, bikers can’t be smart, right?”
“That’s not what I was saying.” I was, but the larger question was how he had been so stupid as to get in bed with my father. That was the one I wanted answered.
“You didn’t have to say it. I knew what you meant.”
We sat in silence, the room filled with tension. Then Blaze stood and brought the wine bottle over, refilling my glass.
“Trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?” The words came out more accusatory than teasing, and I regretted saying them as soon as they left my mouth.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “Business and pleasure don’t mix, no matter how much you want them to.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I wasn’t suggesting anything. Once was more than enough.”
“It was more than once, if you remember correctly.”
I did. I remembered it vividly. It was burned on my brain. I couldn’t get the thoughts of him out of my head, the way had me rough on top of the car, then tenderly at the hotel. How could I forget? I wanted to forget. It would be easier to hate him.
Blaze spoke after a few minutes, breaking the tension. “So you’re Guillermo Arias’ daughter. Seeing you at the house was a real kick in the nuts.”
“You mean you didn’t know?” What if he knew who I was the whole time? How could he not know, working for my father?
“Know what? That you were his kid?” He stopped. “You think I somehow engineered things so that you would run out of gas on the side of the road? What, so that I could sleep with you and then bring you here?” He was angry. No, not quite angry. Disappointed? As soon as he said, I knew it had not happened that way.
“How would you not know, working for him?” I spit the word out like poison.
“I haven’t been working for him,” he said. “This is our first job.”
“Oh.” I sipped my wine. “Oh.” Holy shit. My head was flooded with thoughts, faster and faster as I tried to piece things together. “This is your club’s first job for my father.”