Best Laid Plans

by Stylo Fantome

  Almost …

  “You okay?” Marc asked as they stood in the lobby of a cheap hotel. She nodded, rubbing her fingertips across her forehead. Kingsley was at the front desk, smooth talking the lady clerk into a good deal.

  “Yeah, just … got some images that’ll be burned into my brain forever,” she joked. He frowned at her.

  “We don’t have to stay here,” he assured her. “We can go straight to the airport, put you on a plane to wherever you want to go.”

  You … you … so singular. What happened to “us”?

  “No, I want to take a shower. Just … is it really safe?” she asked for the millionth time, glancing around them. She felt jittery, on edge. Her mind knew the worst was behind them. Her body was still on high alert. It was having a weird polarizing effect on her brain.

  “Safer than we were on the drive over here,” he joked. She glared at him and he cleared his throat. “I honestly don’t know. Stankovski took out the hit on you, not Ivanov – that’s why Ivanov came rushing to Tangier. He wanted to get to you, get to those diamonds, before anyone else. I think that was Stankovski’s ploy all along, I think he’d figured out Ivanov’s little scheme and he wanted to draw the man out. By now, Stankovski probably knows that Ivanov’s dead. No one knows where we are, but I’m sure he’d like to know where his diamonds are, so … you’re as safe as you can be, in this situation.”

  Not. Helpful.

  If anything, Lily felt worse.

  Those diamonds are the only thing anyone wants – saving me was just a side note.

  “Shower. I just want to shower.”

  Marc got them a room together and she didn’t argue. Just stripped as she walked across the suite, then filled up the bath as high as she could, shloshing water over the sides as she climbed into the tub. Then she stayed in there for two hours, her bandaged arm hanging over the side.

  “You gonna sleep in there!?” Marc called out, banging on the door. Lily let her head roll to the side, looking across the room.

  “Thinking about it!” she yelled back before picking up a sponge.

  “We’re starving, let’s go eat!”

  “You guys go ahead!”

  “You have ten minutes, then I’m coming in to get you.”

  “Alright!”

  It was tough, washing her hair without getting her bandage wet. Eventually she took it off, cringing as the hot water stung against her stitches. Then she finished scrubbing every inch of her body, moaning and groaning with each new bruise she found.

  “You washing up in there, or having sex!?”

  Lily rolled her eyes and climbed out of the tub. She put her clothes back on, then towel dried her hair. She was attempting to put her bandage back on when Marc finally burst into the room.

  “Jesus, it’s been twenty minutes since I told you to get out!” he snapped, stomping over to her.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, fighting with the material. He yanked her arm towards himself, then deftly wrapped the bandage tightly around her wound. He secured it in place, then let her go.

  “Are you mad about something?” he asked in a blunt voice.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You seem upset. Almost … angry at me. I did my best, I don’t know what more you want,” he stated. She laughed.

  “God, you’re pigheaded. No, it’s not about any of that. I’m glad you showed up, really. I’d be dead right now if you hadn’t.”

  “Then what’s the problem? Dead guys? I told you, you can’t think -”

  “Ivanov deserved to die. I would’ve done it myself, if my hands hadn’t been cuffed,” she snapped. “And as for everyone else, it was them or us. I choose us. I’m pissed off because I still get the feeling that the only reason you two came back was for a baggie full of rocks.”

  Marc laughed, long and loud. She continued to glare at him, even as he placed his hands on either side of her face.

  “You are too much, sweetheart,” he chuckled, backing her up so she was pressed against the sink.

  “You’re too much.”

  “Entirely. It’s what you love about me.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “I came back,” he started, his voice taking on a serious note. “Because I felt miserable leaving you. I hated it. I worried about you, every minute. Every second. Not because I don’t think you can handle yourself, but because I want to handle everything for you. The thought of someone hurting you, makes me want to commit murder. Double homicide. Genocide. But the worst thing of all? The worst thought? Was that I might never see you again. That a goodbye kiss in some dusty parking lot would be our last moment together. And that I just could not handle. Everything else was secondary, just an excuse. I would’ve come back. Even if you’d pulled your plan off without a problem and Ivanov took the diamonds. I would’ve come back for you.”

  Lily laughed at him. In five years, she had cried a handful of times.

  Once, at her sister’s funeral.

  Another time, when she’d done her first kill.

  And now again, when the infamous mercenary Marcelle De Sant told her that he couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing her again.

  Who needs diamonds when you have such precious words?

  Before things could get any heavier, Kingsley pounded on their door before letting himself into the room. Marc smiled at her, wiped away her tears, then strode into the main room, laughing at the British man. Lily quickly cleaned up her face, fanning her eyes to make the redness go away.

  “I look crazy, like I got dragged behind a car,” she commented when she finally came out of the room. She still had fading bruises from her journey with Marc, and now she had added a bandage covering almost her whole forearm, and various other cuts and marks. Thankfully, her face had escaped the majority of it, but still. She didn’t exactly look like a top model.

  “But a very sexy kind of crazy, I assure you,” Kingsley teased, before grabbing her hand and kissing it.

  They went to a nice, open air restaurant. Kingsley’s treat – he’d managed to steal a wallet earlier in the day, and it turned out the mark had been rather well off. He even got them a bottle of champagne.

  “Is this normal?” Lily asked, flinching as the cork flew past her.

  “What do you mean?” Marc asked.

  “Well, like a day ago, we were practically blowing up a building and killing a shit ton of people. Now we’re sitting down to champagne and pan seared scallops?” she pointed out. Kingsley laughed.

  “Yes. You get kind of used to it. All in a day’s work. Granted, this was slightly more stressful. I don’t think I’ve ever pulled off such a last minute mission,” he commented. Marc shook his head.

  “Me, neither.”

  “But we can’t dwell on it. What’s done is done, always move forward!” Kingsley proclaimed.

  “So that’s what your life is like? Just … surviving, one job to the next?” she summarized it.

  “Darling, isn’t that all anyone is doing? A liquor store clerk gets up in the morning, does his best to make it through the day, then goes home at night, where maybe he gets to have a celebratory cocktail, all before doing it again the next day. There is nothing different in what we’re doing now,” he broke it down.

  “Dwelling on it would negate the whole purpose of the job,” Marc added. She glanced at him. “Why do something you hate? This is an entirely voluntary job. No one becomes a mercenary or a hitman just to pay the bills. You have to seek it out. What would be the point, if I went home and cried every night? I do it because I enjoy it, and I like the payout. So yeah, after killing a bunch of people, I come home, I have a nice meal, and I’m thankful I’m alive.”

  The logic still seemed wrong to her, but so was the whole situation, so Lily toasted her champagne glass, and they all drank.

  During the car ride to Casablanca, they’d spent a lot of time talking about what had happened. Piecing together Ivanov and Stankovski’s plans. Going over what had happened in the
building. Loosely discussing their next steps.

  By an unspoken agreement, no one talked about those things at dinner. Kingsley talked about what it had been like to go to an all boys Catholic school in England. Lily talked about the first transport gig she’d ever done, hauling a van full of stolen furs from the Bronx to Newark. Marc recited, in French, entire portions of Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven”. Lily had never heard him speak French at length before; it was pretty hot.

  “I should’ve eaten more,” Lily sighed. Marc burst out laughing.

  “I’m pretty sure you ate the restaurant out of shrimp,” he pointed out, gesturing to the array of plates in front of her.

  “Yeah, but I’m really feeling that champagne,” she chuckled. Now it was Kingsley’s turn to snort.

  “Oh, really? And maybe also the four beers you decided to chase it down with?” he questioned.

  “Hey. It’s been a stressful week.”

  “Whatever you say, love.”

  They paid their tab and made their way back out onto the street. Kingsley wandered a little ways ahead of them, smoking one of his cigarettes. He was walking leisurely enough, but he kept peering down alleyways, as if he was looking for someone or something.

  “What is he doing?” Lily finally asked.

  “Just watch. You drank to unwind. I babbled poetry. Now you get to see Law’s method,” Marc told her.

  They went for a couple more blocks, then Kingsley stopped and stared down an alley. Smiled and stubbed out his cigarette, then called out in French.

  “What is he saying?” Lily whispered. Marc frowned.

  “Nothing polite.”

  “I just stabbed a guy in the stomach – I can handle whatever he’s saying,” she snapped.

  “He’s asking if her pussy is as good as her tits,” Marc translated.

  “Wow. Classy guy.”

  “Told you. In case you wanted to know, she said yes, and that’s she’s wet and ready for him to -”

  “Sometimes I’m not sure why I talk to you.”

  “Righty-o,” Kingsley turned towards them. “I’m off! I’ll meet you in the morning. You know how to reach me if anything goes wrong?”

  “Yeah. If shit goes down and we need to bail, meet up in Dakhla,” Marc added.

  “Ah, Dakhla. Beginning to feel like a second home. How depressing. Cheers,” he said as a farewell before charging off down the alley.

  “So, sweetheart, can I ply you with more alcohol? Or are you ready to go to bed?” Marc asked.

  “No, no more alcohol, I feel spinny enough as it is. Hotel, please,” she replied. He laughed, and she was shocked when she felt his hand curl around hers, his fingers lacing with her own.

  “Spinny. I like it. C’mon, let’s go home.”

  Home.

  He held her hand the whole way, and between that and the alcohol, she could feel her temperature going through the roof. Her cheeks were hot, and no doubt red, and she was glad that it was dark out. Nothing like blushing over hand holding to make a woman feel all of thirteen.

  You just helped kill a bajillion people. You’re gonna blush over hand holding!?

  “Maybe I should chop all my hair off,” Lily blurted out the first thought in her head as soon as they entered their room.

  “Excuse me!?” Marc exclaimed, turning to face her.

  “My hair,” she reiterated as she stumbled around, pulling off her shoes. “You pulled it. Kingsley pulled it. Ivanov pulled it. Great big handfuls. That shit hurts, I’d almost rather get stabbed again. Maybe I should just cut it off.”

  Marc was in her face in a second, backing her into a wall. His eyes wandered over the top of her head, his hand raising to finger the end of her ponytail.

  “If you ever cut your hair off, I will shoot first and ask questions later,” he informed her. She laughed at him.

  “Stop. I could be bald and you probably wouldn’t care,” she snickered, pushing at his chest. He refused to budge.

  “Are you joking? The first thing I ever noticed about you was your hair. It’s the first thing I look for when I lose sight of you. The hair stays,” he stated.

  “Alright. If you feel so strongly about it, alright,” she replied.

  He didn’t move, just kept glaring down at her. She stared back at him, holding her breath. She’d never been scared of Marc, not really. She’d tracked him down the first time they’d slept together. The second time, in the house they’d broken into, she certainly hadn’t resisted him. And even right after they’d stolen the Explorer, it had definitely been a mutual thing. Sex was easy and natural between them. Like a playing a game, and she had always felt like his equal.

  But now, for some reason, she was nervous. Scared, and she couldn’t place why. Not necessarily of him, but of what he represented. A future she wasn’t sure she was ready for. A man she was positive she wanted. A beginning she couldn’t see an ending to.

  His mouth crashed into hers, and if she hadn’t known any better, she would’ve thought he was a little scared, too. He kissed her like he was afraid she was going to disappear. Like he’d move his lips for a moment, and she’d get taken away.

  I’m not going anywhere.

  She started pulling at his t-shirt and he grabbed her by the wrists, pinning her arms above her head. She hissed at the pain; her left arm was tender. But she ignored it, and so did he, his free hand moving to press against her chest, then slipping over her breasts.

  “You were incredible, you know that, right?” he asked, his lips sliding across her cheek.

  “No. I was scared. I thought I was all alone. I thought I was going to die,” she panted, straining her hips towards him.

  “You’re never alone,” he whispered. “I’d never let you die.”

  He let go of her wrists finally and both their hands flew to her shorts, yanking them open and pulling them down. While she kicked them free of her feet, he pulled apart his own belt and worked his pants down. Then he was back against her, forcing her flat again.

  His hands went to the back of her thighs and he gripped her there, lifting her off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his waist and braced her arms on top of his shoulders.

  “Why does this feel different?” she moaned, barely aware that she was talking out loud.

  “Because we’re different,” he surprised her by answering.

  His hand was sliding between their bodies, pulling at the side of her underwear, following the seam between her legs. She gasped when his warm hand was flat against her, the heel of his palm pressing down, two of his fingers sliding inside of her. She rocked her hips forward, seeking more from him, wanting more from him.

  He’d always been able to read her body language like it had been written in a code just for him, and he pulled his hand free. It was a bit of a struggle, working the crotch of her panties to the side while also holding her up and pushing his hard on inside of her, but they both refused to slow down and step away. Marc was nothing if not determined, and soon enough she was groaning as she slid into place over him.

  “Please, please,” she started whispering. He moaned and she felt his fingers tightening on her hips.

  “Fuck, I don’t think I can be gentle. I’ve been dying for this,” he whispered back. She actually laughed at him.

  “Is this a joke? No one asked you to be gentle,” she teased, trying to wiggle her body against him.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” his voice sounded strained.

  “Gee, I wish you’d felt that way a week ago, when you gave me a concussion.”

  “You were being a bitch then.”

  “Should I be a bitch now?”

  “Lily,” he growled her in name in warning. She started panting as she shifted around in his arms; he was so hard, so large inside of her, that it was beginning to make breathing difficult.

  “You can’t hurt me. I just survived hell. I want you to make me feel good. Please, Marc. Make me feel good,” she begged.

  Begging was always his undoing
, and he finally pulled back and thrust into her. She gasped, then shrieked as he started pumping away. She scrambled to keep her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, all his while his hips slammed her into the wall.

  “Fuck, this never stops feeling like the best thing ever,” he groaned, one of his hands moving to cup the underside of her ass.

  “Mmmm hmmm,” she agreed, lacing her fingers together behind his neck and pulling his head forward so she could kiss him. His other hand gripped the top her thigh, painfully so, then actually moved between her thigh and his hip. With the hand under her ass, he jerked her forward sharply, and then his free hand was under her leg. He hooked his arm under her knee and yanked her leg up, giving him even deeper access.

  “Goddamn, where did you come from,” he hissed, breaking free of the hold on his neck and leaning away so he could look down the length of her torso.

  “I don’t know,” she managed to respond, holding onto his shoulders as she slid down the wall a little, her hips jutting out. He pounded harder.

  “How did I find you? How did I get so fucking lucky?” he kept asking, stretching her leg away from their bodies.

  “Marc! Marc …,” she cried out his name.

  He came back to her, dropping her leg as he kissed her hard. Using the hand under her ass, he kept her against him and he turned them around, carrying her across the room to the bed, stepping out of his pants as he went. He dropped her on the mattress, then knelt between her legs. When he leaned away to pull off his t-shirt, she copied his actions, yanking her own tank top off. As she went to toss it across the room, she felt his hands sliding around her rib cage, making their way slowly to her spine, where they unhooked her bra. While she worked the straps down her arm, he tugged and pulled at her underwear, working the material out from under her butt and dragging them down her legs.