Skylar isn't interesting enough to be in a hostage situation.
All of the people he knows have just graduated college when a bag is put over his head and he's pushed into the boot of a car. Correction: all of his friends left him in the dust once Skylar wasn't accepted for any scholarships, had no desire to attend community college, and became another 'burn out' like his mother. It's been four years, though—it's been four years of having his passport on standby ready to make an escape, shovelling money into a college fund for his younger sister, pretending that he has no responsibilities at a place he's supposed to call home.
Home. A foreign concept that doesn't carry with it the weight it should. Home is where the heart is? Home is where he lies his head to sleep until it's time to get moving. America hadn't been a home of Skylar's since he turned eighteen and got out of the piece of shit town that gave him no reasons to stay or to not be resentful. The same town which turned his mother inside out, working three jobs to look after two kids that no one else would spit on, working three jobs to please people that hated her anyway.
It'd never been in Skylar's nature to be bitter—to feel as though the world was conspiring against him, but meeting Pax had conditioned him into this way of thinking. He doesn't want to blame Pax, though, neither of them had known what they'd be walking into when they'd fucked after meeting on a night out. Skylar never planned on meeting people interesting enough to want to stick around—and he'd managed a good job for three years, flitting through the states until he could stomach the thought of crossing to the other side of the pond indefinitely. Faye hadn't been pleased about that decision.
The morning after what was supposed to be a one night stand was a thing that Skylar had never had to deal with before. The burns on Stas' face still manage to make him pause, he'd jumped out of the bed when he'd opened his eyes to her standing at the foot of the bed, a gun aimed right at his head. "Fuck!" It had startled Pax awake, jumping out of his sleep and smashing the glass on the night stand—falling back with a sigh once he realised what was really happening.
"Stas," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose—in this lighting Skylar realised he had a face tattoo which was actually kind of hot, "put the gun away."
"Do you have any idea who this guy is?" She asked, moving the gun to wave at Skylar where he stood with the sheets to his crotch. "If I shoot him now we can claim the bounty and get out of here, Pax."
"Pax?" Skylar asked, judging the situation well enough to face the guy from last night. "You said your name was Tyler." Saying it out loud, Pax didn't look like a Tyler, not with the lean build to his body, the coarse beard that left red marks on Skylar's—very pale in comparison—chest, or the tattoos going up both of his arms.
"Now isn't the time to get smart, Skylar," Stas sneered, adjusting her grip on the gun, ready to squeeze the trigger.
He took a large step back, pressed against the wall and trying to regulate his breathing. "How do you know my name?"
"You're Skylar Becker—"
"—Stas, put the gun down n—"
"—that isn't even my name!"
"Stop talking!" Stas ordered, large eyes narrowed on him. "There's a bounty of ten grand on your head—save me the trouble of lying about who you are."
"My name isn't Becker!" Skylar cried, wanting to take a step forward but liking the thought of staying alive long enough to get out of here and maybe try going to Scotland instead. "It's Beckett," he stressed, "I don't have any idea what you're even talking about."
