6
The gun pointed to her head was warm, and it burned her skin. She wanted to scream, but it was like rocks were lodged in her throat, making it impossible to do anything but stare in horror as her life was about to be taken from her.
Marra would be snuffed out like a candle, and there wouldn’t be anyone that would care if she was gone. But then that fear was made real by the warm coating of blood on her face, and the intensity of the situation slammed into her. She could smell it: metallic, tangy, and rancid.
Marra shot up, her head throbbing, pounding like a drum was inside of her skull, and then her stomach roiled. She could still smell the blood, could feel it on her skin and hair. She rolled to her side and emptied her stomach.
Taking her shirt she lifted the edge to wipe her mouth. She felt marginally better, but the night’s events played through her mind like a broken record on repeat.
“You thirsty?” The deep voice came from the shadows.
Marra pushed herself up, and realized she wasn’t in that back alley, but on a bed. Swallowing hard, and feeling like razor blades were in her throat, she glanced around the room quickly. A large window showed the city right outside, and judging by the light of the tops of the skyscrapers and the night sky, she knew she was high up in an apartment.
The lights were off, but the light from the city came through and showed her a massive room with the standard bedroom décor: dresser, mirror, end tables, bed, and the bathroom off to the side. But the furnishings looked posh and expensive.
“Where am I?” she asked and stared at the massive form that made up Joey. He leaned forward in his seat and rested his forearms on his thighs. He stared at her, and this sinister air surrounded him, crawled forward, and tried to wrap itself around her, too. And then light illuminated the room, and she closed her eyes momentarily at the harshness of it.
When she opened her eyes again it was to see that he had turned on the lamp that sat on the small table beside him. He held her gaze with his own, didn’t show any emotion at all, and she felt the chill in the room intensify.
“Well, where am I and what happened?” She swallowed, seeing visions in her head of what had happened, but also finding these black holes in her memory. Maybe it was from the shock, or from the trauma, or from the entire screwed up situation.
“If you’re thirsty I put a water bottle by the bed.” He stood and walked over to the dresser.
She glanced at the table beside her, saw the bottle of water and a bottle of aspirin, and immediately turned her focus back on Joey. He was undoing his cuffs, and then rolling them up his thick, muscular forearms. He then went to remove his tie, set it on the dresser, and undid the buttons of his shirt at the collar. But he was watching her through the reflection in the mirror. His focus was hard, unrelenting, but most of all unreadable.
“Your head has to be hurting.” He turned around and leaned against the dresser, and crossed his arms over his chest. His biceps flexed when he did the act, and she could see the definition under the white material. “Drink the water and take the aspirin, and then I’ll answer your questions.” His tone brooked no argument, but her head and wrist were killing her, so she didn’t bother saying anything in retaliation to his domineering attitude.
She looked down at her wrist that she had landed on and saw the black and blue bruise that crept out from under the bandage he’d clearly wrapped it in while she was out. “You did this?” She held up her hand. It was more of a statement than a question, because obviously he had been the one to do it.
He cocked an eyebrow. “It isn’t broken, so you’re very lucky. But it’ll hurt like a motherfucker for a while.”
“And that man, you killed him, too.” She stated it. All of this she knew, but she also knew she needed to get her head clear, and with the pounding in the back of her skull, the blood that covered her, and her wrist feeling like it was run over by a semi, she wanted to hear him say all of this.
“What surprises you more, that I took the time to help someone out because I can feel a semblance of compassion, or that I killed someone that was about to put a bullet through your head?”
Her pulse started to beat rapidly. No blood marred his body, and his tanned, firm flesh could be seen at the junction where his shirt collar gaped open. Marra swallowed and turned to grab the pills and water. She took a few, and washed them down, but one sip wasn’t enough. It was like she was starved for the water, and guzzled half of the bottle in a matter of seconds.
When she was finished she looked at him again, knowing that Joey would continue to ask her that question. Taking a deep breath, she stared at her hands in her lap, and then ran her hand over the bandage. The silence stretched between them, but Marra knew a man like Joey, one that dealt with death in his chosen “profession”, had an abundance of patience.
She stared at him and finally answered. “Your compassion, Joey. I’m surprised by the time you took to save me, to bring me to wherever it is that I am at, and to care enough about my life to even save me.” Sweat was beading between her breasts and down her spine, and the longer he stared at her, not speaking, the more she grew warm and uncomfortable by the situation.
Joey exhaled and then pushed away from the dresser and moved back over to the chair he had been previously sitting on. “Right now you’re at my apartment in the city.”
She glanced out the window. “But why?”
He exhaled again and ran his hand over his face. He looked exhausted, and those two things were not something she had ever seen in Joey Bacelli before. He was always in control. He dropped his hand back to rest on his thigh and leaned back. His muscular thighs were spread slightly in a relaxed position, and he rested an arm over the back of the chair. “Is it so fucking hard to believe that I wouldn’t want anyone to hurt you, Marra?” he said evenly, calmly. “Is it a damn mystery that I would want to interact with you on more than just a sexual level?”
She didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know what to say to any of that. She had assumed Joey wanted her as a piece of ass, and because she kept refusing his advances he got more adamant on having her. It was like he wanted her more because he couldn’t have her, and Joey Bacelli was used to getting what he wanted. “Yes, Joey, it is a little surprising, given the fact you are…” She licked her lips, not sure if it was smart to say what she had been about to say out loud.
He leaned forward once more, now looking very interested in this conversation. “Say it, Marra. The fact that I’m what?”
“That you run the Bacelli crime family,” she said quickly and on a long breath.
He smirked and leaned back in his seat. “So because I chose to live my life a certain way means I would let an innocent woman die?”
Marra stayed still, and when she didn’t answer and he stood and walked toward her, she finally found the strength to push back against the headboard. The scent of him filled her nose as he came closer, and it was the same spicy, potent cologne she smelled on him every time he came into the café.
It was subtle, yet dark and dangerous. And when he sat on the edge of the bed and she felt the heat from his body surround her, she started to feel lightheaded. Joey reached out and brushed a piece of hair away from her face.