Battle of the Bulge

by Pamfiloff, Mimi Jean

  “No. I mean…what are we doing?”

  I blink and stare into those hypnotic eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “You can’t be here. You can’t protect me,” he says with a sadness so deep it instantly weighs me down.

  “But I can, Mitch,” I say softly. “I already have.”

  His eyes flicker with emotion. “Yes. But what if you’re not so lucky next time?” He reaches out and runs a rough thumb over my bottom lip. “This is my battle. Not yours.”

  His concern for me only makes me more determined to save him. “Mitch, we’re leaving. And if you’re the man I think you are, the good man my gut tells me you are, then you’ll realize this is a team event, not an individual heat or a battle of the sexes. So when these doors open, you will move that tight ass, because by my estimates, whoever electrified that pool knows the job wasn’t done, and we only have a few minutes before they figure out how to get into the penthouse.” I press my hand to his stubbled cheek. “I know you’re strong. I know you’re determined and proud. But for once in your life, listen to a woman who has a knack for protecting the people she loves.”

  The elevator doors slide open to the penthouse floor, and his lips part with hesitation.

  “What?” I bark.

  “Woman, be my bodyguard. Because I wouldn’t trust anyone else to protect all this awesomeness.”

  I smile, and it comes from deep inside. “Smartass. Come on.” I take his hand, and we charge into his suite. It’s truly impressive with a partial view of the ocean and hotel strip. If we weren’t about to die, I’d be snapping off selfies.

  “Hurry,” I say. “You need shoes, pants, and any cash you’ve got.”

  “Just carrying a few hundred.”

  “Then we’ll have to stop and get more on the way to…to…I don’t know where we’re going, but I’ll call Sam.” He’ll know where we can hide and how to get there without leaving a paper trail.

  “Abi?” Mitch looks at me as he gathers his stuff, shoving it into a small carry-on.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. It’s always been my dream to save a world-famous swimmer from drowning in his own stupidity.”

  “No. I really mean it. Thank you for everything. As insane as it sounds for a guy like me to say, I don’t see myself surviving this without you.”

  My heart swells with emotion. I hate that this is happening to him—to us—but part of me is crazy happy. He’s alive. I’m alive. We’re going to get through this together. “Can you promise to say that again when we’re safe? Otherwise, I might not remember it and I kinda want to.”

  “I’m not done. If we don’t make it, you should know how sorry I am for the way I treated you. I thought if you were near me, it would make me weak. You’d get hurt.” He looks down at the black shirt wadded in his hands. “I feel responsible for the people in my life. I can’t help it.”

  Oh. No. You did not just say that. “Stop it! Stop being so perfect, or I swear…” I shake my head to gather my emotions. “I swear I’ll fall in love with you, and then where would that leave you, huh? You’d have a bodyguard who leaves drool puddles everywhere. So embarrassing.”

  A hint of a smile cracks his lips, but he says nothing.

  “Let’s go.” We head toward the door. I look through the peephole to confirm the small lobby, leading to the elevator and stairwell, is vacant. “We take the stairs, get a few blocks away, and then grab a taxi. We’ll stop in an hour to call Sam from a payphone if those even exist anymore. I’m not really sure, but we’ll just have to figure that out. Ready?” Because my heart sure isn’t. I feel like I’m going to have one of those awesome panic attacks again and pass out.

  “Abi?”

  “Yes?”

  “Just one last thing.” Mitch grabs me and presses his soft lips to mine. My heart goes from panicked to a serious pitter. Or patter? Who cares. I only know that kissing him feels like the best drug in the world. It’s sensual and delicious, but more than anything, it feels so right. Kissing him fills a hole in my heart I didn’t know I had.

  He pulls away and rubs the tip of his nose against mine. “I’m ready.”

  Good. Because if I’m right, it’s going to take a miracle for us to get out alive. He jerks open the door, and we both freeze. A large blond man is standing there with a gun in his hand.

  “’Ello, mate.” The man grins sadistically.

  “Ash?” Mitch frowns. “Please tell me you’re not part of this.”

  “A million cryptos, brother. For a friend who left me the minute he got famous. In my opinion, I’m being overpaid, but I’ll take the money anyway.”

  “Ash, I didn’t leave you.” Mitch’s voice is low and calm, but he sounds devastated. “You had a drug problem and wouldn’t deal with it no matter how hard I tried to convince you. I was happier than fuck when you called and said you’d dealt with it.”

  I watch the two men having this debate, but it’s clear Ash is mental. His hand is shaking. His face is pale and sweaty. Call it women’s intuition, but I know he’s about to shoot that gun.

  Okay. Okay. What did the instructor teach me in bootcamp? Think. Think! There was that whole kung fu slap-the-barrel trick, but I wasn’t very good at it. Then there was the lunge, lift, and thrust technique, where you grab the gun with both hands and lift so the barrel points upward. Then you go in close and give the old nuts a little hug with your kneecap.

  No, Ash is too far away. There are four feet between us. The only other thing I can think of is—

  A sinister twitch in Ash’s eyes triggers me to jump in front of Mitch just as a loud noise cracks through the air. Something slams into my chest, sending me flying back. At the same time, Mitch lunges forward and hammers Ash’s face, knocking him out.

  I lie there, completely confused, while Mitch grabs the gun and rushes to my side.

  “Abi!” Mitch’s eyes fill with terror. “Just hold still. Don’t move, okay? I’m calling for help.”

  I can’t breathe. The pressure in my chest is mixed with the worst kind of pain imaginable.

  “Mitch,” I croak. “Mitch?”

  “I’m here! I’m here. Just stay calm, okay. They’re coming.”

  “Mitch, this is all your fault. You’re such a stubborn assbag.”

  He gives me a strange look, like he’s unsure if I’m joking. Which I am. In any case, he doesn’t seem to appreciate my humor.

  I decide to double down. “If I die, I’m going to haunt you for the rest of your life.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Mitch

  “Any news on Abi Carter? Is she going to be all right?” I ask the nurse who whizzes past me in the ER, intent on ignoring me or anyone else who gets in her way. But after one hour of zero news, I’m at the end of my rope.

  I follow her down the brightly lit hallway, ready to use whatever charms I’ve got. “’Scuze me, miss.” I tap her shoulder, and she stops.

  “Oh. It’s you again. Like I said, you’re not immediate family. I can’t tell you anything.”

  “How about two free tickets to the 2020 Olympics in Tokyo? All expenses paid, eh?” I ramp up the accent, hoping it will buy me some points. American sheilas love the accent.

  Her face lights up. “Ohmygod! You’re that swimmer guy.”

  I smile proudly and straighten my spine. “Yes. I’m Mitch Hofer.”

  Her expression turns stone cold. “The answer is still no.” She turns to leave, but I grab her hand. I will do whatever it takes to find out what’s happening with Abi. I owe that woman my life. I owe her everything.

  “Right. Well, you either tell me how she is, or I’ll go right outside to that mob of reporters and tell them how heartless you are. My sweet, loving…fiancée might be dead and you won’t give me the time of day. The press will hound you the rest of your life,” I glance at her name badge, “Ruth K.”

  “Fine.” She crosses her arms. “Go ahead. You think you scare me?”

&nbs
p; Damned woman! “Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind? Anything at all?” I reach out and make a little circle with the pad of my thumb on her arm.

  A coy smile crawls across her lips, and her eyes slowly move downtown. “On second thought, I think we can work something out.”

  Abi

  I’m lying on the gurney in the ER, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world from all of the painkillers they’ve pumped into me, when Mitch enters the small curtained cubicle. His face is all hard lines and frownies. “Mitchipoo! Where you been, baby?”

  He grunts something unintelligible.

  “Uh-oh, is my little polliwog cranky? Did someone forget to feed you a fly?” I crack up.

  “What the hell did they give you?” He sounds displeased.

  What a buzzkill. “Hey! I’m having fun here, so shoo, baby frog. Shoo! Because I’m a big hungry owl,” I stretch out my powerful talons, “and I’m going to eat you legs first so I can see the expression on your face.”

  “I just had to show some nurse my cock so I could hear that you’re perfectly fine. Then I had to let her touch it so I could get in here and yell at you. Why the bloody fuck did you jump in front of that bullet? You could have gotten yourself killed!”

  “I dunno.”

  “And why didn’t you tell me you were wearing a vest, eh?”

  “Oops! No blood.” I don’t know why, but I can’t stop laughing. Mitch, on the other hand, only seems to be getting angrier.

  “I was worried, Abi. Genuinely worried. They took you in the ambo, and I thought for sure you’d kicked the bucket.”

  “I only kick swimmers. Come closer.”

  He shakes his head, those incredible sex-lips tightening into an angry little snarl. “Stop acting childish and listen to me.”

  I suddenly don’t feel like laughing anymore. God. He’s being so mean. I’m in here because of him and… Why isn’t he kissing me? He should be kissing me and telling me he loves me. But he’s not. And now… What was I thinking? Oh. That I’m mad at him. “Nope. I’m not going to listen to you. And you and your big old bearded clam hammer, zipper burrito, meat rocket, cocktopus, one-eyed crotch dragon can just…suck it.” Damn. These drugs make me so creative!

  “Such a vulgar little thing.” He folds his thick arms over his broad chest. “And just when I was starting to like you.”

  “Really? You were? Because I liked you, Mitchipoo. I really did. And then you turned out to be a slack-jawed knuckle-dragger.”

  “Wow. That hurts.”

  “Not as bad as this.” I yank on the neck of my gown to give him a lookie-see of the giant red mark on my chest that’s turning purple. “It’s like a mood ring. On my tit. And right now, my tit is sad, Mitch. So sad.”

  “Stop that.” He pulls up my gown and covers what appears to be my entire boob hanging out. “Bloody hell. When will the meds wear off?”

  “Hopefully never, because this is the first time in months that I’ve felt…weeee! Happy! I don’t even care about my mom and me losing our house or the fact she’s going to be closing her business because some prick made her decorate his house in a Rambo theme and then wanted his money back. I don’t even care that I can’t afford my final semester of college and that the job Sam gave me would have made it all…better.” I toss my hands in the air. “Don’t care! See!” I giggle.

  Mitch shakes his head remorsefully, though I’m unsure why. “You should’ve told me. I would have helped you.”

  “You? Help me? You kicked my ass to the curb like a…an old armchair all covered in crusty boogers and cigarette burns.”

  “So descriptive.” He grimaces. “Well, I said I was sorry, Abi. You know I had my reasons. Your life being one of them. I found out that someone had been caught with a knife hiding in a closet the morning after the party. The security team let him get away before the police showed up, which is why I ended up hiring Sam. But it was a red flag. I couldn’t risk you getting hurt.”

  “Really? Awww… You’re so sweet.” I mean it. He smells like a Tootsie Roll. I wiggle my nose, wondering if I’m imagining it.

  “No. I’m not sweet, but I am going to make things right. Like I should’ve from the get-go.”

  “Okeydokey. I’m just going to take a nap now. Could you call my mom? Tell her I’m on drugs and realllly happy, okay?” My eyes feel like two lead weights are pulling them closed. “Phone is over there. My password is ‘I hate Mitch.’”

  “Of course it is.”

  When I wake several hours later, I find I’ve been moved from the ER into another room. The TV is on and Georgie is sitting by my bedside.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” I mumble, scrubbing my face with my hands. My head feels like I’ve been doing Benadryl shots. So fuzzy.

  “Oh, you’re awake!” She springs from the chair and hugs me. “Your mom’s plane just landed. She’s on her way, okay?”

  “Owww…” I groan from the pressure of the embrace.

  “Oh. Sorry. I’m just so happy you’re okay.” She releases me and slaps the top of my head.

  “Hey.” I rub the spot.

  “Do you know how lucky you are, Abi? What were you thinking coming to Miami alone?”

  “Why does everyone keep yelling? Mitch is alive because of me.”

  “I can’t speak for whoever this ‘everyone’ is, but as far as I go, it’s because I love you. Mitch, not so much.”

  “He’s not as bad as we thought, Georgie.”

  She grumbles something that sounds like “Dirtybas­tardclownfucker,” but I can’t be sure.

  “Where’s Mitch now?” I mumble.

  “He skedaddled the minute I showed up. Something to do with an interview or his Weeno party.” She pauses. “Damn, I hate that name. Sounds like I’m two years old, trying to say ‘wiener party.’”

  I’d smile, but I’m too disappointed. I somehow believed that things between Mitch and I had changed, but if that were true, he’d be here right now.

  Why do I always get my hopes up like this? It’s ridiculous, frankly.

  “Hey. No long faces,” Georgie says. “You get to go home. You’re alive. In fact, the doctor said your X-rays were all clear—no cracked ribs or anything—so it’s just lots of rest and fancy painkillers for you.”

  I’m about to remind her how much I hate taking pills when something, or should I say someone, catches my eye. “Ohmygod. That’s Mitch on the TV. Turn it up.”

  “Huh?” Georgie glances at the screen. “What the hell is he doing?” She grabs the remote on the little side table, which I hadn’t seen.

  With dozens of microphones shoved in his face, Mitch is discussing his uncle’s death. “…his murder is public knowledge; however, the details surrounding the motives are not.”

  “Why?” one reporter yells out. “Why are you coming forward now?”

  “The authorities asked me to keep the details quiet given the ongoing investigation, but the truth is I didn’t want any of this going public either. After my uncle Albert was shot, I only thought about myself. How much I missed him, how angry I felt, and how I would do everything in my power not to let the assh—bleep!—destroy my career.” Mitch draws a solemn breath. “But to answer the question, I’m finally coming forward because there’s a woman inside this hospital who took a bullet for me, all because I didn’t want to place myself in the middle of a scandal that would detract from my professional career. But it’s time to get the full story out there. I don’t care if this starts a PR war with these people or opens me up to defamation lawsuits due to the lack of solid proof.”

  Mitch goes on to tell the press about the WWII photos implicating Ralf Kemmler of war crimes and how the man in jail for murdering his uncle is really a hit man. “The Kemmlers hired Kristoff Bones because they didn’t want their family’s past to hurt their profits, something I’m sure they’ll deny doing. But what they can’t lie about are the photos.”

  “Are you one hundred percent sure you saw Ralf Kemmler in the
photos?” a female reporter yells out.

  Mitch nods. “Yes, he is the man in the pictures, but I think it would be easier if everyone took a look for themselves. I kept digital copies of the photos and just now posted them on my Instagram and Twitter accounts.”

  The press starts buzzing, but Mitch ignores them and looks right at the camera. “I’m sorry, Abi, for what I said about chicks. You are the best bodyguard a big, strong, totally-secure-with-himself guy could ever ask for. But more importantly, you are an amazing woman. I’m lucky to have met you.” He winks.

  I tear up. In my eyes, he’s validated what my heart was trying to tell me all along. Mitch was worth saving. I only wish he’d come out with all this sooner. It makes it really difficult for the Kemmlers to kill him since the world would know they’re behind it. I also wish he’d said all of that nice stuff about me to my face. It’s what I’d do if someone saved my life.

  “Wow. That really was sweet.” Georgie quickly grabs her phone, making lots of taps. “Ohmygod. Look!” She shows me the screen. There’s an old black-and-white photo of a bunch of sad, wet, grimy-looking Nazi soldiers standing in formation and saluting some super-duper short guy with an eye patch and the world’s biggest handlebar mustache.

  “Yikes. That’s Ralf Kemmler? I can’t believe he murdered a bunch of people and then moved on to write Valentine’s cards.” The worst part is that the vintage ones are everyone’s favorite Kemmler cards. “Now every time I see one that says You’re sweet enough to eat, I’m going to get the willies.” I shudder.

  “Yeah. Kind of puts a damper on their black-and-white Cutie Kittens cards, too. Makes you wonder what happened to them after the photoshoot.”

  We both sit in silence for a moment, pondering the ick factor of the situation.

  “Abi! Abi!” My mother bursts into the room, her face stained with tears and her ponytail lopsided.

  “I’m okay, Mom.”

  She bends down to give me a quick hug and then gets to the finger shaking. “I don’t care if you’re twenty-one. You are so grounded, little girl. What were you thinking playing bodyguard? Huh?” She swats the top of my head.