Locked up with the Badboy.

I take a seat on the floor in front of him, "What?"

He combs a hand through his dark hair and sighs, "This is a maximum security prison, the people here have killed babies, shot up schools , killed multiple partners and run crime rings and you, are saying that I'm mean? "


27. Nefarious

“Sorry about burning the stir-fry,” Ben says as he uses a knife to scrape the charred remains of what was to be a stir-fry from the bottom of a pan.

I laugh as I poke the dark- green gunk, “It’s fine, I shouldn’t of distracted you.”

He laughs too, then leans over and kisses my lips. It’s crazy, only half a kiss yet somehow it’s the most romantic thing ever. I have to try very hard not to burst out into either tears or giggles. A baked carrot helps me to focus.

We eat, leave our dishes for the morning and watch a drama on the box office. It’s a little over-acted but has a simple enough plotline that I can sneak kisses from Ben and still understand it. Resting my head on Ben’s chest and snuggled into him I fall asleep.

On the verge of dawn, a loud crashing fills my ears. Rubbing a tired forehead I sit up. “Hey Ben?” He’s still breathing softly on the couch, with his mouth open, drooling.

I laugh determined to mock him about it in the daylight, a series of metal on metal *bangs* from outside cause him to stir “Clara, what ya doing?” he mumbles, rolling onto the floor.

Drawing back the curtain of our window I see three guys in skull-shaped masks smashing the wing-mirrors, engine and fuel tank of my bike with crow-bars. “Jerks,” I whisper to Ben as he leans over my shoulder, “Ovo.” He nods in agreement.

Neither of us have to give orders, we both know what we have to do. Getting out of the room as quick as we can. Luckily there’s not much to pack, that’s because we left everything in the motorbike.

As we make our way down the stairs, I see one of them hold a lighter to the petrol tank. The bike goes up in flames, “Crap,” I say to no-one, wanting to chuck a brick at their heads as they loom like bullies over my poor, defenceless motorbike.

Ben and I pass reception, where the lady looks at us puzzled, “Not leaving already are ya, you’ve barely stayed four hours?”

Ben points behind her, to where  the three O’vo laugh. The moment she turns her head we gap it out the door. We run about three metres before we discover that outside is probably a hell of a worse place then inside.

“They’re coming!” We duck under a Suzuki swift as the three O’vo enter reception, glass breaks, one of then shouts. A train engine passes behind the hotel. While one of the guys interrogates the receptionist the rest run up the stairs, guns drawn.

Ben crouches, “Clara, follow me, we’re going to get on the train.”

“But what about my bike-“ he breaks into a sprint for the railway lines, I don’t even think. I follow. The sound of more glass smashing comes from the hotel. In one of the rooms an O’vo lies a burley logger out cold. Jumping the barrier arm Ben and I rush to meet the carriages that trawl behind the train.

“We have to get out of here,”

Ben matches his pace to the carriges, swinging himself up onto one of the footholds and opening the freighter door. The train picks up speed as it leaves the town behind. I attempt a jump for the carriage, catching onto a handhold but missing the foothold.

“Ben,” I call out as I drop onto the hard pointy stones beside the railway tracks. As I push myself up three carriages pass me by and I can see the end of the train’s tail. “Clara, run.” Ben calls, poking his head out of the distant carriage.

“Ben.” The sounds in the hotel have stopped, I begin to get scared, very scared. The type of scared that makes me want to look behind me to check if someone’s following. But there’s no time, I stand up qnd bite back a scream as the pain receptors in my leg rub against fresh wounds. “Ben.” I call again as I try to match my pace with the train, it’s too fast I know I can’t keep up. Blindly my legs compress and I find myself jumping. A bar from the train hits me, knocking the breath out of my lungs. Mercifully it also provides me with something to hold onto. My feet find the steel of a foot-well and suddenly I’m on the train. I want to cry.

As the carriges round a corner and my grip on the bar begins to slacken I hear the shouts of the O’vo and give them a middle fingered salute.

I climb into the carriage, using my sleeve to knock out a few of the tears that try to form in my eyes because I’ve been crying too much lately and I need to become a little harder. Inside the railway-car are stacks of boxes of all shapes and sizes. Maybe someone who’s moving? I sit on one, a hardwood military-style case that seems pretty solid. I wonder what Ben’s doing.

After a while I  get cold and open the box beneath me. Inside are military fatigues as well as a pair of trousers a few sizes too  big for me. Pulling them on and feeling like some sort of war hero I settle into a curled up position and rest my head. The train keeps rolling, it’s wheels jittering and gradually lulling me into a meditation like state.

I almost miss the bang on my door. It comes again, someone lands a loud *bang* on the door of my carriage. “Clara, are you there?” 

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...