Hostage (a One Direction story)

Chapter Twenty Three

Jae's P.O.V.

A particularly violent bump finally wakes me up as my head, already aching, bounces painfully on a cracked leather seat. I lie still for a moment, struggling to recollect how I ended up falling asleep in a car - a moving car, at that! - when realization hits me. I sit jolt upright with a piercing scream that even startles me. Marc, who is driving, jumps and swerves the car, causing a loud orchestra of honks to rise up from angry cabbies. Spewing a string of curses, Marc whirls around to glare at me.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" he demands, running a hand through his disheveled brown hair.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK IT WAS FOR, DINGBAT?!" I shriek, unable to contain myself. "Here you are, the guy that, may I remind you, FUCKING KIDNAPPED ME, and then I go into shock because your partner tried to rape me and then I pass out and now I'm in your car driving somewhere and you expect me not to scream?!"

My voice gets higher with each word until I'm screaming again, and, judging by the confused looks Marc's car is attracting, people are starting to notice. With another curse, he pulls the car over into a McDonalds parking lot and hits the brakes, throwing me against the front of the seat. 

Fuming, I straighten myself, scraping my scraggly, tangled hair into some semblance of a bun. "So what do you want with me, huh? Another ransom? Maybe you'll sell me into a child slavery market? Or you'll keep me yourself, as a sex slave? Oooh, or maybe you can torture me again, hmm? That was fun, wasn't it? Ahh, it just brings me back to the good old days." I spit sarcastically, my anger bubbling through into my words.

Marc sighs frustratedly, but I catch a hint of guilt in his expression as he twists around in his seat to face me. "I guess...I guess you deserve an explanation."

"Damn right I do!" Marc sighs again, and then starts to get out of the car, beckoning for me to follow.

In a split second, I run through all of my possibilities.

1. Jump out now and run away screaming. Get Marc arrested, go back to America and never see the boys again.

2. Punch Marc in the face and steal his car. Except...I probably wouldn't be able to hit him hard enough and I don't know how to drive and I don't know where I am...

3. Go with Marc and hear his explanation.

I barely hesitate, my natural curiousity getting the better of me as I choose number three and hop out of the car, drawing Marc's black leather jacket tightly around me to ward out the faint chill in the air. Inside the McDonalds, the stale, air conditioned air smells deliciously like fried food, and my stomach growls. Marc raises an eyebrow at me and smiles, somewhat cautiously, and motions to the counter.

"Want something to eat?" he asks politely.

I shouldn't be accepting favors from him...that's the first step to trust. Don't say yes, don't say yes! My brain chants, but my stomach decides for me. "Definitely."

He nods and orders me a burger and fries while I find a table in the corner, as isolated as possible from the other customers. When he returns with the food, I start eating ravenously, ignoring his amused smirk. 

"So. For starters, what did you do to Nate?" I ask, almost fearing the answer.

Marc raises an eyebrow at my forwardness, but responds. "Just knocked him out. I figured I would just get some of my stuff from his house and leave, but then I found you."

"Some of your stuff?" I repeat curiously.

Marc nods. "We had a...a falling out. He wanted to keep after you even after you involved the police, and I bailed. We both said some...things that weren't exactly easily forgivable."

I carefully file away the information for later. "You do know that the police are after you, right?"

He nods again, looking resigned. I shrug and ask my next question. "Why me? Out of all the One Direction fans, a lot of which are in London - you wouldn't have had to pay to transport me - why me?"

Marc takes a deep breath and looks at me with...something akin to sympathy. "It was Nate. A personal problem."

He seems content to leave it at that, but I don't let him. "A personal problem? I'd never met him in my life before that night!"

"Nate's parents had an uneasy marriage. His father was an alcoholic and abusive, and his mother was kind and sweet, but she didn't have it in her to stand up to her husband. When Nate was nine, his mom died in a car accident - a couple driving home with a newly born little girl, who was in the back seat at the time, had a brake failure, and their car crashed directly into Nate's mother's. Both the couple and Nate's mother died quickly, but the little girl in the back seat, Jae Rivers, survived."

I freeze. Me. He's talking about me. My parents, who died right after I was born, who I never knew. My heart twists painfully as he continues. 

"Nate blamed it all on your parents, even though it was nobody's fault. He was left alone with an abusive drunkard of a father who beat him regularly. He's always harbored a deep hate for your parents, Jae, but they were already dead - what could he do for revenge?

Finally, he found out about you. Jae Rivers, sixteen years old, skipping between foster families. No connections, no ties - it was perfect. By then, me and Nate were...shall we say...Partners In Crime. Literally. Nate wanted to just rape you and kill you, but I convinced him to let us use you - I found out that you were a fan of that band and figured that we could play with that a bit. It was his idea to kill them and hack their bank accounts."

Horrified, I stare at Marc, struggling to process the flood of information. "But...why are you telling me this?" I manage, blinking away tears as I try to remain business-like.

A flash of sadness passes over his features. "My mother. She was 53. She died, a couple days back. And she died knowing that her eldest son was a wanted criminal, a disgrace to the family. I didn't make it up to her while she was alive, but I can do it now. I'm...I'm trying to mend my ways."

Woah. Okay. A whole bunch of shit went down. I think, scrambling for something to say.

"I'm sorry." I say meekly. "Marc...you know I'm going to have to tell the police, right? They have to know."

He smiles weakly, the gesture never reaching his eyes. "I know. I'm gonna leave the country, change my name...lie low for a while."

I nod, surprised by the friendliness in my smile. 

Nope.

No.

I cannot start to trust Marc.

No way, José. 

He beat me to near death.

TWICE!

And I'm starting to think of him as a nice person.

Well, fuck. 

******