“Tie him up,” the man says to me, indicating a length of rope and my best friend.
It’s strategic since Landon is bigger and clearly the one who’s going to be more trouble for him.
“Make it tight or I’ll just fucking shoot him.”
“You’re fucked in the head if—”
Another round of incoherent mumbles comes from Sophia, and I can see the pleading for Landon to comply in her eyes.
It takes a moment for Landon to get with the program, and I feel the tenseness in his muscles as I urge his arms behind his back.
“Please,” I beg him when he pulls his wrist free from the knot I’m trying to make at his wrists.
He settles some, like a caged panther pacing the length of its cage, waiting for a single chance to seek revenge on the person brazen enough to close the door.
“Take a fucking seat. Today isn’t the day to be a hero. If I get what I want, you’ll all be fine. You, come here.”
I inch closer to him, trying not to focus on Landon’s legs as they flex when I move away from him.
Stupidly, my heart wants to imagine him telling this man that I’m the love of his life and hurting a single hair on my head would mean his demise, but Landon keeps his mouth clamped shut.
“Try to be a cowboy, and I’ll shoot them both,” the man says as he twirls the gun, an indication for me to put my back to him.
My feet won’t get with the program, and I stumble a little as I do his bidding.
I find Landon’s eyes, and the terror I see in them is like a knife to the chest. He’s scared. I’ve known him long enough to see through the false bravado.
Tears burn my eyes. He’s supposed to be the brave one. If he thinks all hope is lost, then that must be the case. I want to make my confession right now. I want to tell him everything in my heart, that I love him the way lovers do, that he infiltrates my dreams. I need him to know my truth before the man at my back pulls the trigger.
My mouth opens, the words right there on the tip of my tongue, but at the last moment, the second after my first tear falls, I snap my lips closed, rolling them between my teeth until I feel the pain from my efforts.
It would be insensitive to tell him all these things right before I die. It would leave him with too many questions, too much to sort through, and I’d never aim to cause him pain.
I jolt, my body jostled by the man behind me, and the movement brings me back into the moment.
He doesn’t shoot me like I thought, but rather he ties my hands behind my back before shoving me forward.
“Sit the fuck down,” he snarls.
Landon tries to reach for me, the bend of his right arm sliding out as much as possible in his restraints, and he seems to settle some when I press my side to his.
Despite the fear racing through my veins, the warmth of his body against mine offers some level of solace.
Landon scoots forward an inch or so, as if he’s ready to jump in front of me, willing to take the brunt of this guy’s anger if it comes to that. He’d protect me with his own life. I get lost in my head, imagining all the scenarios where I’m willing to do the very same.
I don’t have a brother, but Landon is the closest I’ve ever come.
That is until those feelings I can’t seem to control began to creep inside of me, taking over every thought like cancer.
I can’t recall many memories from childhood where he isn’t standing center stage, commanding my attention.
Even when my ex-boyfriend Seth and I got jumped by a couple of guys outside of the movie theater a few years back, I remember how Landon took over, gathering a group of our friends to go seek justice. Thankfully, he called one of the guys from the club that was mature enough to talk him down, so none of them ended up in jail alongside our assailants, but he was ready to burn the world down for me.
Seth and I broke up not long after that, my ex blaming my obsession with my best friend. Although I argued the point, I didn’t try to talk him out of leaving me. Maybe it was then that the shift happened, that I allowed the perception of my best friend to change.
“Get out of your head,” Landon hisses. “I need you to focus.”
I grind my teeth, wanting to tell him to fuck right off. I could argue that I’d much rather die with happy thoughts of him in my head than whimpering like a baby and begging for my life. I’m not sobbing, despite the tears streaking down my cheeks, but that could change at any moment.