by Stella Noir
Dammit, I might need medical attention with this shit.
I take a few steps back, keeping my eyes on Christian, who now slowly starts to get up himself. He is still in fear of me.
Good.
A faint gasp, very similar to the one I heard on the rooftop a few weeks back, is coming from behind me. It causes me to turn my eyes away from him, and when I turn around I see her standing there, barefoot, in her cute sexy dress and her hair wilder than ever. Nike stares at me in disbelief.
“Mars,” she says, before she darts forward. “Watch out!”
I react quickly, but not quick enough. Christian jumps at me from behind, knocking the damn gun out of my hand before he manages to tackle me in a similar fashion as I tackled him just a few minutes before.
We both fall to the ground, but this time he is on top of me, crying out with a wild shriek as he starts punching my face. Surprise got the better of me and when his first hit lands on my temple, I see stars and a dangerous darkness descending upon me.
Fuck! Nike!
I try to get a hold of his arms, but the guy is surprisingly strong, displaying a power that I never expected coming from him. Still, he is not a good fighter and has very little experience with a situation like this—a lot of his punches don’t land properly or hit nothing but air. Even this performance remains pathetic.
All of a sudden, he stops.
He freezes mid-motion, his face distorted in a grimace of pain and surprise, before his eyes roll back into his head and he collapses on top of me.
What the hell?
I am fighting unconsciousness, still processing the blows against my head and the pain at my side. It’s hard to focus, but as my vision sharpens, I see her standing there. The goddess of victory, wild hair and dark eyes looking down on us. My witness—and now, my accomplice.
Nike is standing there, holding the gun at the barrel, breathing heavily.
She is smiling.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Mars
It’s bright, so fucking bright. I barely manage to open my eyes, the light that hits me is blinding.
Squinting, I try to find my bearings. The blinding brightness and the unfamiliar environment make it hard to comprehend my situation.
Where the fuck am I? This can hardly be heaven.
Of course, it’s not, but there is an angel sitting next to me. Wild, light brown hair surrounds her pale and heart shaped face. Her dark eyes are on me and a faint smile graces her face when I look at her.
I lay in what appears to be a hospital bed. White and light green everywhere, stiff and clean sheet hugging my tortured body, a machine beeping next to me, and IV in my right arm.
“What the…,” I say, but my voice is hoarse and barely audible.
Nike jumps up from her chair and reaches over to a table next to the bed. Moments later, I am presented with a glass of water with a straw in it.
“Drink,” she says. “The doctor said your throat would be dry when you wake up.”
I furl my eyebrows. I don’t like this.
“I’m not dead,” I try to protest, but she just moves the straw closer to my mouth and beckons me to drink.
“I know,” she says. “That’s why you have to drink.”
I give in and take a few sips from the straw, like a fucking baby. But she’s right, my throat is dry and I feel instantly better after finishing the entire glass.
“Better?” she wants to know as she puts the glass away.
I nod reluctantly. “Thank you.”
Nike smiles and sits back down. She is wearing jeans and a dark sweater that compliments her slim frame. Very casual. I don’t think I have ever seen her in clothes like this. Her make-up is less obvious, too. She always looked so different for the dates we’ve had, so dolled up, dressed nice and fancy and painted like an actress. Now she just looks like… herself.
Fucking beautiful.
“You look better,” she says, as if she heard what I was thinking. “Finally getting some color in your cheeks.”
“Don’t talk about me as if I’m a baby,” I complain. “What happened? Why am I here?”
She tilts her head back
“You don’t remember?” she asks. “You passed out.”
Oh, I do. I remember her running away from me, because she somehow figured out that I was the guy who she saw shooting another guy a few weeks ago. And I remember catching her, and almost losing her when that idiot Christian showed up and decided to take a shot at me, at us. I remember chasing after him, I remember tackling him, I remember getting back up, and…
That last part of the story just hits me.
“You knocked him out,” I say, the amazement apparent in my voice.
Nike smiles and nods.
“Yes, I did,” she says with pride. “He was attacking you, and you were already wounded! I took his gun and hit him with the barrel, because I didn’t dare to shoot.”
“You didn’t dare, huh,” I say.
She nods, now looking at me with a serious face. “I have never shot a gun in my life before, Mars.”
She clears her voice and checks the door behind herself, before she continues to speak.
“But I know you have,” she adds, now whispering. “I know you killed a guy. Many even. You know I saw you that night—”
“I know,” I interrupt her.
I look at her, mirroring her serious expression. “I have known from the beginning, Nike.”
She inhales audibly, clearly stressed now.
“I didn’t tell anybody,” she assures. “No one. Not even Amanda.”
“I know you didn’t,” I say.
“No, I mean, even now,” she adds. “Even after what happened last night. I didn’t tell anybody anything.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“But you must have called an ambulance,” I say. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
She nods.
“I did,” she says. “And the police, I called them, too.”
My heart stops for a moment. She called the cops?!
“What the fuck were you th—”
“Don’t worry,” she interrupts me, raising her hand to beckon me to stop speaking. “I told you, I didn’t tell them anything.”
“But what did you tell them?” I ask. I’m worried out of my mind. If the was police was there, that means they have Christian—and with the state he was in that night, I can be certain that he talked.
“It was easy, really,” she says, shrugging. “Self-defense. He shot at us first—with a gun that he owns illegally, by the way—and when you tried to confront him, he attacked you and I knocked him out so he would let go of you.”
“Where is he?” I want to know.
“In the hospital as well, but under strict watch,” she says. “That was quite a blow to his head. He has a concussion. They are waiting for him to get better until they can arrest him.”
“Arrest him?” I repeat. “He’ll talk. He’ll talk for sure.”
Our eyes meet, and a cold shiver runs down my spine when Nike nods.
“He already did talk,” she says. “But he was uttering nonsense for all they care. He said things about you being a mobster and a threat to him, and me, and… well, everybody.”
She pauses and looks at me in anticipation.
What am I supposed to say to that? I don’t want to lie to her, and I am sure she knows that most of what Christian said is true anyway.
“They didn’t believe him,” she continues. “Because he was drunk and confused.”
“Do you believe him?” I ask.
Nike swallows hard and looks at me with hurt, dark eyes.
“I may have been unaware all this time,” she says. “But I’m not stupid, Mars. I told you: I know.”
“Yes, you did,” I admit. “But—”
“Tell me,” she interrupts. “Tell me who you are.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Just what I said,” she retorts. “Tell me who you a
re. I know I cannot trust your words from before. You’re not just a stockbroker, a good and innocent man who uses his money to act as a patron for charity projects.”
I chuckle.
“Well, I try to be. I want to be,” I say. “A good man.”
She nods. “Okay. But I still want to hear your story. Full disclosure.”
What choice do I have? She already knows too much. My hands are tied—and so is my heart. It’s better for her to know all of it instead of relying on the superficial knowledge she has now.
And it’s best if she hears it from me.
So I tell her. All of it. About my deadbeat father, my careless mother, about Joseph and his guys, about my talent and about me working my way out of a terrible situation by doing terrible things. I tell her about the mob and my relationship to it, and I tell her about Joseph’s death and my plan to leave this life and what I had to do to get out.
“What you witnessed was my last hit,” I finish my tale. “The last guy I had to eradicate to be free.”
“Mhm,” she mumbles.
“You don’t believe me?”
She makes me wait for a few painful moments before she shakes her head.
“I do believe you. I want to,” she says. “I heard you talking to him. I heard what you said about being done with it, about not wanting to kill ‘anymore’ and about not wanting to kill him.”
She pauses for a moment and gathers herself.
“And I heard what you said about me,” she says. “About not wanting me to get hurt…”
She looks down in her lap where she is playing with her fingers nervously.
“Well,” I say. “He shot at us. He has terrible aim. He could have killed you.”
“Yeah, but,” she says, choking. “Wouldn’t that have made things easier for you?”
Her voice breaks and her eyes are tearing up, while she tries to suppress the urge to cry.
“I mean,” she utters. “I saw you. I know. I am a reliable witness. I could talk. It’s why you stuck around, no? To make sure you know what I am up to, what I am thinking and doing—and to kill me if I turned out to be a danger to you.”
“Why haven’t you?” I ask.
“Huh?”
“Why haven’t you talked?” I clarify. “You had plenty of time—and a perfect chance last night, to come clean. Tell the police everything. Help them solve that mobster murder. Get me arrested. Be safe from me.”
She shakes her head.
“I couldn’t,” she says. “I was too shocked, confused… I didn’t know what to tell them.”
“Now you do,” I interject. “You know who did it. You knew last night. Why didn’t you tell them?”
She looks up, tears are streaming down her beautiful cheeks, and I hate that I am the reason for them.
“I wanted to talk to you first,” she says. “I wanted to hear it from you.”
“Well, now you have,” I say, sounding harsher than I intended. “Yes, I did it. I killed that guy. He was a terrible man, working for the mob his entire life. He killed dozens of people, just like everybody else on my list. I worked as a hitman for them. That’s how I got my money in the first place, that’s how I was able to gather enough to invest and become even richer.”
“And get out,” she says. “You said you were done with it? You wanted to get out.”
“Yes, I did. I still do,” I agree. “I told you, that guy, the night you saw me. He was the last on my list, the last guy I had to get rid of before I could leave and forever be done with it.”
“And that Christian guy?” she asks. “How come you didn’t want to kill him?”
“Because I thought he was harmless,” I reply. “He is, really. He was roped into it even more than I was. I never expected him to freak out like this.”
“And… me?” she asks next. “How come you didn’t kill me?”
I look at her. She has stopped crying and meets my eyes with a serene preparedness.
“I wanted to,” I admit. “But I couldn’t.”
“Why?” she wants to know.
I growl. Is she really making me say it now?
“You messed up that plan,” I say.
“Oh, yeah?” she asks, now tilting her head to the side with amusement. “How?”
“By being you,” I say. It comes out more angry than sweet.
But Nike nods.
“So, you have no intention of killing me anymore?” she wants to know.
I shake my head. “No, that would mean I’d lose you. And if you heard what I said to Christian, you know that’s something I don’t want.”
I look at her. “I want you. I want you in my life. Close.”
Her face is unreadable, pale, with dried up tears that messed up her subtle makeup.
“I want that, too,” she whispers. “That’s why I didn’t tell them. I don’t want to lose you.”
“You are insane,” I say.
“Maybe,” she agrees. “But so are you.”
She gets up from her chair and fills the glass with some more water.
“Besides,” she says as she brings the straw close to my mouth again. “It was kind of satisfying. Knocking that guy out. I felt so strong and powerful. Like a lioness.”
I chuckle and almost choke on the water.
“There will be no more of that, though,” I say after she retrieved the straw. “No more violence. No more shootings.”
She shrugs. “Yes, I think I’d prefer that, too.”
“However, Christian might repeat what he said,” I argue. “He will say it again and again, sober and well aware. They will start to believe him then.”
“Maybe,” she admits. “But if what you told me is true—wouldn’t he get himself in trouble as well? I mean, how does he know about all that mobster stuff, if he wasn’t involved in it himself? They would get him for that, too. Years and years of helping those guys to hide in his place? He helped to cover up tons of crimes. Murders, too! He’d be in a lot more trouble then. If he just sticks to this one argument with you, saying that he snapped under the influence, he could get away easy.”
She may be right about that. I just wonder if Christian sees it the same way. It’s not like his recent behavior suggests that he can deal with these things reasonably.
“I have to go,” Nike announces. She puts the glass back on the table. “But I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Tell me one more thing,” I demand.
“Yes?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.
“What tipped you off?” I ask. “Where did that sudden realization come from?”
“The song,” she says. “You whistled a song just before you shot the guy—and then you whistled the exact same song yesterday after we had sex.”
I look at her, opening my mouth with disbelief. “I did?”
“Yes,” she says, sounding surprised. “You don’t remember?”
“Not really,” I admit.
She leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek, something she has never done before.
“It’s very distinctive,” she says. “One day you’ll have to tell me what song that is.”
I nod. “One day.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Nike / Epilogue
I tried to get away from this darkness. Drug dealers, murderers, the scary part of this town. The scary part of life. I grew up in a dump surrounded by all of this.
Just like Mars, I worked my way out of it, but unlike him I didn’t crawl out of this misery by doing atrocious deeds. There was very little my parents could and would do to help me achieve a better life, but at least they weren’t destructive.
I worked my way out by being the good girl, the diligent girl who worked hard, who earned a scholarship and fled to college. I made it, even though I had trouble letting go of my past.
And now I fell in love with a hitman. A murderer.
I couldn’t help it. Apparently, that darkness from my upbringing never let go of me. I cannot deny that his past is part of the
insane attraction I feel for this man. In a way, it makes me feel more connected to him, especially considering the little run-in we had with this Christian guy. Mars is wounded, dark and troubled—and he wanted out. He may have chosen the wrong path at a young age, but he has worked hard to become the good man he is today.
We were lucky. Christian came to his senses and realized that the smartest thing for him to do would be to shut his mouth about that whole mobster connection between him and Mars. He got away with criminal assault and won’t lose his business or his life over all of this. Getting Mars arrested—especially after he spared Christian in a situation where he could have easily killed him—and having to reveal his own relation with the mob would have made things worse for himself. A lot worse.
He is locked away, but not for long. I don’t know how I feel about him getting out eventually. He might threaten us again.
But what I do know is that I am in safe hands with Mars. His past may be rotten, but he is living straight now. I feel safe with him.
Mars is sitting next to me, his strong arm around my shoulder, as we scan the city below us. The view that unfolds in front of our eyes is a lot more beautiful than the ones I have been used to before. We picked a different rooftop. A new one, for a fresh start.
“So,” he says, squeezing me lovingly. “What is with you and rooftops? You never told me what that is all about?”
I sigh. I have postponed having to answer this question again and again. It has been more than three months since our encounter with Christian and Mars worked hard in earning my trust during those weeks.
I guess it is time to reciprocate.
“They make me feel safe,” I begin. “Which is why it’s such an irony that I had to witness… that, that night.”
“You have no idea how sorry I am for that,” he says. “I wish for nothing more than for you to be left out of this.”
He pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath.
“We could have started like a normal couple, meeting a week later,” he continues. “You stumbling into me with that cute, nervous smile on your face.”