I looked toward the kitchen and saw Roberto duck back inside. He wasn’t jealous, or heartbroken. He was terrified.
I looked to the table with the cartel members, and one of them was looking at me. He grinned and then turned away, dismissing me as yesterday’s news.
They knew. They found out.
I looked to my guest, Kane, who seemed not to be able to tell I was trembling with mortal fear. I looked at his hand, and realized I had never seen his right one. Only his left. His right was in his lap. I slipped the ring on, and bent to return my bag, bending further this time, enough to look under the table and see his right hand in his lap, covered with a deep blood cloth napkin. He had a gun in his hand. The barrel was far too long, suggesting a silencer.
I sat up, with the only thought in my mind, being I’M DEAD.
I’m sitting here, breathing and with a magical ring on my finger, but I’m dead. My life is over. Nothing I had planned or dreamed or wished will ever happen. I. Am. Dead.
***
Kane smiled a warm smile. “I truly like that ring on you.”
I took a sip of the wine. “I’m sorry, I’ll never take it off again.”
Yes, I was begging. Yes, I was selling myself to live. Terror was the only emotion. It was no aphrodisiac, but it would do in a pinch if you didn’t have one, and it wanted me to do that thing with the twist like I meant it — but, I didn’t even know what that thing was. I didn’t care what it was as far as my pride or humility at this point — and I craved to know what was. God fucking damn it I wanted to know. But I did not ‘girl-talk’ at college. It was beneath me to learn the slut moves and throat play.
What a farce. Beneath me? Was I that fucking out of touch with myself? Yes. Yes I was, because here I am across the table from my death ready to do and be anything he wanted me to be, just to let me live another week, or day, or hour.
Yes. Yes I was.
“That’s good,” he said, and his voice was so easy and clean; as if nothing had changed. He had to know I figured it out by now.
“Now, you must try that mousse.”
I looked at the desert, and at my fork, “I… I don’t think I can.”
He looked sympathetic. “I knew that was too much for you, but to see you eat was worth the risk, but that strawberry… What a perfect strawberry, don’t you think? It reminds me of the Strawberry story. Do you remember that tale?”
“The, Strawberry story?” I asked, honestly lost. “No,” my answer soft as I wondered if I had missed something. What he just said seemed so non-sequitur.
Pay attention! You at least know how to do that. You have a college degree in paying attention, right?
“The Strawberry story?” I asked, reaching over and pulling the mousse bowl a little closer, then lifting my eyes to him, offering, everything.
“You never heard the Strawberry story? Hmm. Seems a bit dull next to that dish,” he smiled, “Well, can't have you walking around ignorant of strawberries.
“There was a man, in Africa, or someplace wild. And he was being chased by murderous thieves. He ran as fast as he could, and used every trick he knew, but still the band of thieves were after him. And then, he miss-stepped and fell off a cliff, but on the way down he reached out and caught a branch of a small tree, growing out of the side of the cliff.”
Kane took a sip of his wine, “So there he was, hanging from this branch. The man looked down below him, and saw that not only was the drop far enough down that he would definitely injure himself and possibly die, there was also a pride of lions down there. Right below him, resting in the shade. Above him, he could hear the murderous thieves coming in his direction, and he knew that they would spot him very easily from above. If all of this was not enough, the branch he was holding onto, began to crack, and it would soon break.”
I had picked up a spoon to try the mousse, as he suggested, but his story had my full attention. I wanted to know how the man got out of this one, because I found myself in a very similar position at the moment.
“So,” Kane continued, “with death above him, and death below him, he looked around, and there, right beside him, was a strawberry plant, with one strawberry growing from it. A perfect, red strawberry; freshly ripened by the sun that day. And he took the strawberry, plucking it lovingly from the bush, and he ate it, chewing it, and tasting it with every part of his tongue, and he said, 'That, was the best strawberry I ever had.” He set his wine down. “And that, my dear, is the Strawberry story.”
I looked down at the strawberry, set lovingly into the chocolate mousse, and returned my eyes to Kane. A single tear rolled out of the side of my eye, and down my cheek.
I understood the story, and the man on the side of the cliff. Yesterday, if he had told me that story, standing in the mall, I would not have understood. I would have thought he was a little weird for remembering such a pointless story. But, it just so happened I was different right now.
I looked back to the strawberry, “I guess, you really need to be on the side of a cliff to understand that story,” I said, softly spooning from the dish the red fresh fruit. “It is, a very good story.”
The terror was gone. I wasn't even afraid.
I ate the strawberry, and sucked at the slice, letting the aromatic chocolate fill my mouth, and then licked my lips.
It really was a very good strawberry.
The men at the Cartel table, had gotten up during the end of his story, and were walking toward the door. I watched them as they passed, with calm eyes.
“Thank you,” I said, Then I looked deep into his blue eyes of age and life, letting him know that the game was over. He won.
Kane tilted his head slightly to the right, and nodded, as if agreeing. “There is a man at the table near the door, sitting with three others. His name is Anthony Gomez.” His voice had changed. His tone was no longer easy, or fun. There was strength in his voice, power. Power that could berate a storm, or command a god. And though he still spoke softly, I listened, in awe that such power could be contained in a human being. “He is going to kill you in about 10 seconds. Please don't move, my love. I need to know exactly where you are, so that I can save your life.”
I swear, right then, I heard a branch break.
Wounds of Blood
It was easy to see the table of four men he described. They were the only other group in the room: us, the Cartel members, and those four. Everyone else had left, and the doors of the restaurant were closed. I wondered if, from the outside, the doors were locked. There were never many people in the restaurant at this time anyway.
I turned my attention back to Kane, and that's when the gun fire started.
Gun fire inside a closed space, like the restaurant, is amazingly loud. It isn't like in the movies, where people are able to say witty lines as they blow chunks of flesh off each other. It’s loud. So loud the noise could make you pass out, or drop you to the floor.
The Cartel members were firing small square things that were blasting out streams of bullets in fox-tails of flame. I had never seen anything like it, and I only saw it for the briefest of moments.
Kane swept his hand across the table, pulling the table cloth to his right and pushing up with his left hand to throw it to the side. The table reared and landed with a crash. Without a pause in his flowing movement, he was spinning his body to the left, his right leg catching my chair leg, pulling me toward him, close enough that he could catch me around the waist, and curl me to the floor, protecting my body with his.
His grip on me pressed my forearms into my breasts. My hands folded under my chin, my face held tightly against him, his arms around me, his hand holding the back of my neck. I could hear his breathing and smell the wine he drank with me. Then I heard something pound into him, like a hard punch hitting a training bag. His right shoulder jerked forward, then his left side. He made no sound, nor seemed to notice.
The gunfire only lasted for 10 seconds, if that, even though it felt much longer.
Then
suddenly, there was the kind of calm in the restaurant that certainly comes after a storm. And a storm it was.
Kane held me still, remaining in the same position. I couldn't see anything around his wide chest. He was taller than me by several inches, and much wider. I felt like a little girl held like this by him.
I looked up, to where I was sitting just seconds ago. Bullet holes tore apart the plaster wall where my head was only a short time ago. He wasn't lying. Had Kane not thrown me to the floor, I would be dead, but how did he know?
I knew that he had set up our meeting; the ring, and the game. Did he set up the fear as well? Did he want me to feel the terror I felt when I thought there was a contract on my life, and he was its owner?
All of the ambient clues, leading my imagination down the rabbit hole into darkness and death — hanging me from the side of a cliff. Was that all planned as well?
Who was this guy? And what did he want from me? Why save me?
I didn't know, but I was grateful. I wasn't quite sure how much of my soul I owed to him, or what he wanted. And somehow those two questions didn’t ring as humorous in my mind. With the doubts of intent, those questions actually had a level of dread to them.
If he planned the terror, then he also planned its cure. I was terrified, and begging to be a whore -- and he gave me my humanity back, my dignity, and took away the terror.
If he was after something nefarious, he would have taken me when I was a willing sex slave, a whore, a begging puppet.
I don't care what he wants; if it’s in my power to give it to him, I will. I will give it to him as a woman, and a human being. His woman. The ring stays on, until he divorces me. “This I swear to God,” I said softly into his heartbeat. I heard no objection from God, so I considered the matter settled.
I rubbed my cheek into his chest, snuggling. His chest felt wet, and a little sticky, and there was a strong scent of iron. Pulling back my cheek, I rubbed at it with my hand, and my fingers came away bloody.
“Oh god! Kane?” I cried, trying to squirm out of his arms. “Kane!”
“I'm fine, quit struggling. You’re hurting my shoulder,” he said calmly, his dark voice rumbling in his chest. I relaxed hearing him. “Those are mini-uzis,” he told me, his voice instructive, and caring. “They fire seventeen rounds a second. The other guns are called street-sweepers — a semi-automatic shotgun. Did you really expect me to get you out of this mess without one of those bullets hitting you or me? That’s a lot of lead flying around. To be honest, I'm rather surprised we’re both alive at the moment.”
“I know this is rather sudden,” I said, after a moment, “But I've been doing some serious soul searching in the last few microseconds.”
“Really?” he offered.
““Yes, and I want you to know that while we haven’t crossed paths until now and
as a result I have neglected to fulfill your every desire, our entire lives — and I haven’t even bothered to look for you at all, or frankly even care if you even existed; that I planon making it up to you. I just want you to know that.”
“That,” he pondered, “Is probably the most romantic thing I have ever heard.”
I smiled, and snuggled his bloody chest again. “Good, because I like romance.”
“Well, I like living,” he said.
“Oh, oh me too. I really like that.”
“Good, so let’s get out of here now. They should be out of the parking lot by this time, and the police will be here in moments. I don't want to be listed as a witness at this juncture of our relationship.”
I sighed, “You think of everything don't you?”
“Let's hope so,” he mumbled.
***
We left through the kitchen, which was empty of people. I didn’t see any blood splatters so my little Latin lovers got out alright, I hoped.
Once in the alley, we were covered from direct line of sight from the two streets by large trash bins. Kane took me by the hand and walked with a purpose. Even with my long legs it was an effort to keep up with him without being dragged.
Near the mouth of the alley he stopped at a trash bin, threw back the lid, grabbed a large luggage bag and turned us around, heading back toward the main street.
When we reached the middle, near the back door of the restaurant, he stopped and I got a look at the front of his shirt. I nearly screamed. “You have holes, Kane! We have to get you to the hospital, now!”
“No, that’s not what we have to do. We need to get you off the street, and keep you alive.” He handed me a plastic canister of moist wipes, and a jacket which matched the dress I was wearing. “Clean up quickly. Doesn’t have to be perfect. Just get the major blotches off your face, and neck, then put on the jacket. We only have to walk a block, then up an elevator.”
“Where are we going?” I asked, popping the lid. If getting there faster meant getting him looked at by a doctor sooner, I wasn’t going to waste his blood arguing with him in an alley. But if he passed out, all bets were off.
“Across the street to the Omni. Room on the 10th floor. Key is in my back pocket. Whatever happens, and I don’t care what it is, you are to get into that room.”
“Kane, I love the hero stuff, I really do, but you’re scaring me!” My voice was a feather of a whisper and I held his gaze, slipping on the jacket.
“Guys with guns are scary too,” he countered, checking down the alley as if he expected them to turn the corner any moment.
“But the guys with the guns weren’t after me,” I complained. He handed me a San Diego Padres jacket and I helped to slip it over his shoulders, covering up the bloody shirt.
“Yes, they were. And they will return,” he corrected.
“What?” I asked, stepping back. “Then why… do you mean… the hit on the cartel men was a cover to kill me? Why?”
“So I wouldn’t know who, and believe it was an accident. That you were killed as an innocent bystander. I can’t explain right now. I need to get into the shower up there, and heal. Can we do that first? Can you trust me that long?”
“Yes,” I said, instantly, and wrapped my arm around his waist. “Tenth floor, Omni. Got it, and I got the key. Nice ass by the way.”
“Thanks,” he grinned.
Life or death
We got into the room with little problem. There was one woman on the elevator getting out when we got on, but she was wrapped up in her own world like and didn’t notice the six foot six man with bullet holes in him. Probably because I was wrapped around him and glaring at her. We, as women, tend not to challenge situations like that, normally. There’s always a bitch in the crowd, sure. But generally, we wait until the woman goes to the powder room before swooping down for the first pass at a taken man.
Once in the room I began to feel panic. Kane took off his jacket, with my help. His white shirt looked like it was red with stains of white now. He got that off and my knees went weak. Three holes in his back. How the hell was he walking around?
“Misty, I need to get into the shower, hot as it will go.”
“You need more than body odor control,” I complained, but helped him into the bathroom, and then helped to get him out of his pants.
I wanted to be the purposeful nurse, with my head in the game, but when his cock popped out of his pants, I wanted nothing more than to swallow it right there. Angry at myself I turned away, and got the water running full steam. Kane stepped into the scorch without a wince or hesitation. There was a folding seat that came down off the wall and I pulled it out. He gave me a grateful grin as he sat down, letting the steaming stream course down his back and head.
“This one needs to be cut out,” he said, fingering a lump in the front of his right shoulder. “The others will manage on their own.”
Manage on their own? What the hell was he trying to say? I thought, but only asked, “What can I do?”
He looked up to me, but then dropped his eyes, and I noticed the wince he was attempting to hide. “There’s a spor
ts bag out by the dresser. Inside is a green canvas medical kit with some surgical knives inside. Bring that, please.”
“Alright,” I said, sounding calmer than I felt.
Out in the room I began to freak out. I don’t care what the appropriate definition of a wife is, but I had this man’s ring on my finger and I didn’t want to be a widow. Not now, not later. Not like this.
I looked at the phone in the room, and then at the bag beside the dresser. He would be mad, but he would be alive.
Another part of me stepped through the events of the day so far. The strawberry, the ring, the moment of the attack. He knew who. He knew where. He knew he would be shot. He told me he knew that while we were laying on the floor, and he put his body between me and the bullets in his back. He had this room ready. He specifically said, the shower. He could have sat on the bed and asked for the med kit only a couple of feet away, but he said to take him to the shower. Then he asked for other things.
He knows what he’s doing, Misty. Do what he says, for now. If he passes out, then you’re on your own. Do what you think is best from that point. Right now, do what he says.
That made sense. It wasn’t panic or fear, just good clear thinking. Something I had some talent with. Snatching out the med kit, I kicked my shoes off and stripped out of my dress, then ran back into the bathroom. I opened the kit as I ran, and knelt in front of him, rolling it out on the floor.
“What do I do?” I asked him.
He sized me up, then nodded. “Just make a cut, vertical, across the lump, deep as you can, so we can get it out of there. Then we’ll use that tube of clear glue in the kit to seal the wound. Alright?”
“Can we do that with the holes too?” I asked, sliding out a long short bladed scalpel, only to have him point at one with a longer blade.
“No,” he said. “When the bullet went in, cloth and other things got pushed into the wound. Most gunshot wounds aren’t lethal. What kills the victims are infection. This one, however, will be clean, so we can close it up.”
Five Immortal Hearts Page 2