by Clara Capp
I hope the person who shot him didn’t stick around.
“You still have blood on you.” I sit next to him and use a washcloth to clean his face. “You’re a bit of a mess, you know that?”
His eyes are no longer filled with spite for me. They’ve softened since I stitched him up, and I’m drawn to their beautiful color once more.
I wipe the blood off his face, running the washcloth along his defined cheekbones. Great. Not only does this criminal have a hot body, but he looks like a model too.
Ugh. I need to stop checking this felon out.
“I know. Aren’t you a bit naïve to be touching a man you’ve never met before?” He puts his hand under my chin, and I stumble backwards.
“I just, just—”
He lets out a cackle then grasps the side of his stomach in pain. “Sorry. You seem easy to mess with.”
Maybe I should have let him bleed out. Ungrateful jerk. And yes, I am easy to mess with.
“What now?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Where are you going from here?”
He pauses for a moment. “I guess I’ll rest for a while then get back to the car. Wait, fuck.”
“What?”
“Mike had the keys.”
“Why don’t you call Mike then?”
He gives me a look and I realize Mike is dead. Whatever this man was up to is far worse than I’m imagining. I should go. I don’t want to be caught in the crossfire if the person who shot him is still here.
“I…should go,” I say.
“Can you give me a ride?” he asks.
The look on my face must tell him the answer. There’s no way in hell I’m getting in a vehicle with this possible murderer, or at minimum accessory to murder. I know for sure Mike is gone.
“Sweetheart, you know I’m not asking. I’m just being kind enough to phrase it that way.”
* * *
Thirty minutes around this man and I’ve done some of the worst deeds of my life. First, I chose not to call the cops even though I know he’s up to illegal activity. Then, I checked him out even though he’s a criminal. Now I’m pushing him towards my car in a stolen wheelchair.
“I can probably bring this back, right?” I fret as he loads himself in my passenger seat. “It’s not stealing.”
“Look at the blood I left on it.”
I fold it up and throw it in the back of my car. I’ll just pay for it later.
“I’m going to jail for helping you, aren’t I?” Tears pool up in my eyes as I sit behind steering wheel.
“The county is on my payroll; You aren’t going anywhere. Now shut up for two seconds.”
The county is on his payroll? I didn’t get involved with just any felon. Whoever this man is extremely high up in organized crime. If he wants to get rid of me, it’ll be easy. Cops will see my name on the file and say, ‘case closed.’
“Finally, service,” he mutters. He goes scrolls through the contacts of his phone and calls someone. “Taime?”
He’s raging mad and is hissing Italian into the phone at a hundred miles an hour, taking it out on this ‘Taime’ person. Joke is on Stranger, though. I took a few years of Italian in high school and college, and I’m shit at speaking it, but understand it well.
The man is talking in a low, furious tone, about how Eduardo—whoever that is—double crossed them and he is going to pay. He goes into a little too much detail, and I learn that not only did Mike die, some guy named Gianni did too. Or is it Giuseppe?
He’s definitely one of the biggest criminals in LA. And the fact he’s raging in Italian tells me he works for the Mafia. I am so, so screwed. I’m going to end up in a dumpster a few blocks away from wherever I drop him off.
This is all my father’s fault. If he would have found someone else to inspect that warehouse, I wouldn’t be here.
He stabs the end button. “We’re going to 25th and E.”
“I don’t know how…”
“I’ll tell you.”
“How far is it?” I squeak.
“About twenty minutes. Maybe longer, with LA traffic.”
I have to harbor this criminal for another twenty minutes. What if the LAPD pulls me over? I really hope they’re on his payroll if that’s the case.
I need to ask the question that’s been eating at me. “Are you…going to kill me?”
“Fortunately, Sweetheart, I’ve decided to let you go. A life for a life.”
I can only hope he’s telling the truth.
“Thanks.”
The twenty minutes feels more like a lifetime. He only talks when he gives me directions. The entire car ride, he’s having a furious texting conversation with someone, and almost forgets to tell me to turn a few times.
25th and E is an abandoned shopping plaza. There’s no one around, and I wonder if he lied to me about choosing to keep me alive. It would be a smart move for him.
“Right here,” he says.
There’s a blonde man waiting for him, who looks more like an angel than a criminal. He has shoulder length blonde hair that’s been pulled into a bun, and even though we’re ten feet away, I can see his blue eyes glistening. His high cheekbones and defined jaw seal the angelic deal.
My opinion quickly changes as he sees me in the front seat and narrows his eyes at me. It’s the most terrifying look anyone has given me.
“Listen to me,” the stranger grabs my chin and has me look him in the eyes. “You saw nothing today. You’ve never met me. For whatever reason you were supposed to be at the docks, say you never showed up.”
“O-ok.”
The blonde man doesn’t even bother asking if he can take the wheelchair. He rips open my backdoor and transfers it to the trunk of his car.
“Thanks for today.” The stranger leans in and kisses my neck, and I gasp as he gently nibbles on the delicate flesh. “Bye, Sweetheart.”
His blonde friend helps him out of my car, and they drive off.
What just happened?
Stephanie
I can’t stop thinking about what happened Saturday. What was I thinking? I helped a criminal escape. And from the little we talked about, I’m pretty sure he’s a big time mob boss. I kept watching the news for information about the shooting, but nothing ever showed up.
I thought about going to the police, but I remembered how scary the stranger looked when I first laid eyes on him. I don’t think he was lying when he said the county on his payroll. So, I chose to operate under that assumption.
I lied and told my Dad I didn’t go to the docks. He yelled at me for not going to the inspection, but I’d rather him yell at me for that than giving a crime lord stitches. The inspection would be miniscule in comparison to that.
But most of all, I can’t stop thinking about the kiss he gave me, and every time I look in the mirror I’m reminded of it. He marked me. The nibble was so gentle but it left a deep red mark, a silent signal branding me as his. I shake my head. He’s never coming back; I’m not branded as his. I just got kissed by a hot stranger.
I hate that I liked it.
I curse him as I cover up the bite with more foundation. It’s Monday, and I can’t be walking around work like this. I shove my compact in my purse and grumble as I make my way back to my cubicle.
“Don’t look so down, Stephanie.” Donovan pops his head out from his cubicle, which is directly across from mine.
“I’m not down.”
“I think a boy has got you down.”
“There’s no boy,” I blurt.
“Uh huh. That’s why you’ve been putting foundation on your neck all day.” Donovan cackles.
I turn bright red. “It’s not like that!”
“Uh huh. Either way, don’t let men get you down. They’re not worth it.”
If anyone would know it’s Donovan. I hear him in Ms. Lane’s office all the time, crying about his boy problems.
“…fine.”
I whirl back to my computer. Stupid ho
t stranger. He got further than any of my previous boyfriends had. There are admittedly only two of them, but still. They never stuck around because I wasn’t ready to have sex yet.
I need to push him out of my mind. I have work to do today.
My workplace, Flux Productions, recently had an acquisition. In the process most of the invoices for the acquired company got lost, and I’ve been in the process of locating them. It normally makes the day go by quickly, but today has passed agonizingly slow. When five o’clock rolls around I nearly run to the elevator.
I hate LA traffic, with a passion. I can’t stand being stuck in my car, burning gas, with nothing to do. So, I take the trolley to work. People watching is fun, and there’s no lack of characters on public transport. There are no transfers, and the walk isn’t too bad, so it works out.
I finally reach my stop and start walking to my apartment, which is in a bit of an awkward spot. It’s a small complex nestled behind a ton of industrial buildings. It’s the only apartment in the area, and it’s extremely out of place.
The trolley stop lets me off in the industrial area, populated with warehouses and blue-collar workers. It’s always very quiet, because the only people that need to get off at this stop are the workers.
I have to walk about a mile to get home. It’s not bad, because I like the low whir of machinery as I pass through. It’s like industrial ASMR.
I smile when I see Tony, an older man, out front of his workplace. He’s some sort of security guard, but he always will talk to me as I pass by.
“Hi Tony,” I say.
“Ms. Stephanie. How was your day?”
I launch into a five-minute speech about Flux’s acquisition. Tony doesn’t know what I’m talking about when I use accounting jargon, but he always seems to care, and that’s what matters to me.
“Sounds rough,” he says.
“It is. Sorry, I’ve been rambling. How’s your day?”
Tony starts to talk about his day right as someone slams open the door to his workplace. I glance up and see none other than hot stranger. What are the chances?
Heat rushes to my face as I remember how he looked right as he leaned in to kiss my neck. It quickly dissipates when I see the angry look on his face.
“What are you doing here?” he hisses.
“This is my way home,” I say meekly.
This is bad. I was never supposed to see him again. Per our conversation in the car, we never met at the docks. Now that I have seen him, he may change his mind about keeping me alive.
“Oh really?” He walks down the stairs and brings his body uncomfortably close to mine. “What are the chances of that?”
“I swear.” Tears start to prickle at the corner of my eyes. “I live in the apartment building three blocks over.”
I have trouble holding his gaze because it’s so intense. “So, your presence at the docks was just a coincidence?”
“Y-yes.” The tears are no longer prickling and have started to fall.
He towers over me, and it terrifies me. I just want to put this all behind me. I wish one of the puzzle pieces were out of place. My presence at the docks, my apartment location, the fact I choose to walk home.
“Hey,” Tony puts his hand on the stranger’s back. “Stephanie has lived here for a year. I’ve seen her every Monday through Friday since then.”
He turns around and glares at Tony, who promptly shuts his mouth. The stranger rests his lips against my ear and whispers, “If you’re lying to me, very bad things will happen.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Good.” He gives my earlobe a gentle nip before pulling away. “I want you to walk on the other side of the street from now on. Don’t bother Tony.”
“But…”
The other side of the street doesn’t have a sidewalk. It’s an empty, overgrown lot, and there’s chain link fence surrounding it. I’ll either have to squeeze between the cars parallel parked and balance on the curb or walk in the street.
“Be a good girl and do what I say.”
“Yes. Goodbye, then.” I rub the tears that have fallen out of my eyes and run to the other side of the street.
Stranger is hot and mean. He must’ve been being tolerable to me on Saturday because of the severe blood loss. Now I can’t talk to Tony anymore because he’s such a jerk.
I hate myself that I enjoyed when he bit my earlobe.
I’m still cursing him as I approach my apartment building. There’s a girl I haven’t seen before who’s struggling to pull a large piece of poster board from her hatchback.
“Um…do you need help?” I ask.
She turns and looks at me. “Yeah! If you have the time.”
There are multiple pieces of poster board, which caused it to stick in her small hatchback. The two of us work carefully to wiggle the pieces out without denting them.
“Thank you!” she says. “My name is Rina. I just moved into unit eight.”
Rina has a strong midwestern accent, which compliments the bubbly way she speaks.
“I’m Stephanie. I live in unit three.” I glance at her board and see what appear to be cartoon drawings on them. “Are you an art student?”
She laughs. “Not anymore. I make storyboards for movies at Flux Productions. I need to finish this one up at home.” Rina glances at the board and realizes she’s showing a movie we haven’t announced yet. She tries to hide what’s on it but gives up because the board is too big. “I mean, shoot. Please don’t tell anyone you saw!”
I laugh. “I work at Flux, too. Just in the accounting department, though. But I still won’t give away company secrets.”
Rina sighs in relief. “Hey! That’s cool we work together. The Admin building is right next to ours; we should get lunch together sometime.”
She’s very outgoing, so, the opposite of me. I’ve always been an introvert and have had trouble making friends. Rina and I have talked for two minutes and she’s ready to be my friend.
“Sure…” I say.
I help her carry her storyboards to the second floor and admire the intricacy on the way. Storyboards are normally black and white scribbles. Rina’s are still black and white but have so much detail to them.
“You’re very talented,” I say.
“Thank you.” She smiles and looks down at her boards. “I’ve only had one other person tell me that. Other than my boss, I mean.”
“Other people are clueless, I guess.”
Rina gives me her phone number. “Drop by whenever. This is my first time not having roommates, and I’m getting a little lonely.”
“Definitely…” I wave goodbye and walk downstairs to my apartment.
“Hi, Slippers,” I greet my cat, who meows back in response. “I wish I would have never met him. But I mean, I probably won’t see him again, right?”
Slippers doesn’t care. He just wants Friskies.
Shu
I never thought I’d see the beautiful auburn-haired girl again. But here she is, walking by my new office.
I moved my office from our other location after the Eduardo situation. He knows where it is, and I have a feeling we’re going to have many disagreements soon. So, I packed up and moved to this building.
Her presence is too much of a coincidence. No person, let alone a girl as hot as her, would be in the same area as a Mafia underboss in the span of two days.
I storm towards her and demand an explanation. Tears well in her eyes as she says that she lives in the apartment down the street. Tony verifies the information and says she’s been there for a year. I’ll accept it…for now.
“Good,” I say.
I can’t help myself. I nibble the delicate flesh of her ear to taste her.
I couldn’t help myself the day we met, either. When she looks at me it’s a combination of fear and desire. The conflicting emotions and the fact she’s drop dead gorgeous set me off. When I left Saturday, I needed to taste her tan skin, which was so, so sweet, and I wanted more the moment I
left.
So, I took a bite today.
As she runs off with tears in her eyes, I know I’m in for a huge problem. If she’s not working for Eduardo, she’s going to consume my thoughts until I have her. And if she’s not working for him, I will take her.
But right now, it seems the most likely situation is she’s colluding with him, or another enemy. I spin to Tony.
“Tell me everything you know about her.”
“Right. Her name is Stephanie Hawthorne, and she works at Flux Productions…”
I listen to Tony talk about her life, from her accomplishments to her cat named Slippers, and take notes on my phone. From the ridiculous things he’s saying, Eduardo’s either an idiot or genius for choosing her to spy on me. Who the hell names their cat Slippers?
He pauses. “She’s a nice girl, Shudevil. She stitched you up without even knowing you, right? I really think it’s a coincidence.”
I’ll believe when I see the receipts. If any of this doesn’t corroborate with a background check, we’re in for trouble.
“Yeah, we’ll see.”
I spin right back into the office instead of leaving. I reach my office and stab Taime’s number into the phone.
“Hey,” he says.
“Taime. I need you to find information about a girl ASAP.”
“Alright. Just give me her name.”
I give him all relevant info then slam the phone back in the cradle. I don’t want to deal with this today. I already have too much Eduardo bullshit going on, and I don’t want to add anymore to the plate.
Who is Stephanie Hawthorne, and why am I torn between fucking her or killing her?
* * *
It’s the next morning when Taime gets back to me.
“You’re not going to believe this,” he says.
“She’s working for them, isn’t she?” I slam my fist on my office desk. “Shit.”
“Well, no. Stephanie Hawthorne is the daughter of Gary Hawthorne.”
“The owner of Hawthorne Medical Supplies? No, it must be a coincidence. Her father probably has the same name.”
“That’s what I thought too,” Taime says. “But I kept going. I have years of family photos of them together.”
