Last First Kiss

by Sidney Halston

  “I’m going to make some calls. Keep your phone on you and keep me posted.”

  He slid back inside the suite just as he heard the shower turn off. Three minutes later he got a text from Joey: Ben is taking over until I get there. Don’t let her out of the suite.

  Jesus, she was never going to forgive him. This was a direct betrayal. But it was because he was genuinely worried. How would he break the news?

  As he was mulling that over, her phone rang. He couldn’t hear the conversation over the phone but when she threw the door open, the knob hitting the wall with a bang, he presumed Joey had gone ahead and explained things to her.

  “You asshole! You got me fired!” she said, her eyes round balls of fury. “You called my brother? You sonofabitch!”

  He took a step toward her but she moved back. “Do not touch me.”

  “I was worried. I didn’t think he’d take you out, I just wasn’t sure how to handle you.”

  “Handle me?”

  “Take care of you. I’m not sure how to . . .”

  “And you thought Joey would know?” Her eyes welled up and she took a step forward until she was pinning him with those hazel eyes full of sorrow. “I’ve told you more in the month that we’ve known each other than I’ve told anyone. I trusted you. Not only with all the things I’d gone through but with my fears. If anyone should get it, get why I’m all over the fucking place trying to make you safe, it’s you.” Her eyes watered and his heart broke. Tears. He was unprepared for tears.

  “Annie, please don’t—”

  She turned around and slammed the bedroom door closed. “Fuck!” he yelled. How the hell was he going to fix this?

  An hour passed and she would not unlock the bedroom door or talk to him. With no other choice, he left for the shoot. Thank God it was the final day.

  * * *

  She had bared her soul to the man. This is who she was, and he couldn’t accept it. He knew how important it was that she prove herself, yet he’d gone and gotten her fired. The tears fell freely from her eyes and she refused to let him see her this way. It wasn’t until she heard the door close that she left the bedroom.

  Wiping her eyes, she paced around the room. She was no longer needed. Joey had commanded her to sleep and eat. As if she was a little girl. She’d then had a text from Leo, her oldest brother, asking if she was okay—and also demanding that she sleep. If it wasn’t that the other two were somewhere on a mission, she’d probably get the same messages from them. She hated for them to think her weak, and she cursed Rocco for doing this to her.

  Annoyed, she went to the bedroom, took out her luggage, and started to throw her clothes inside. She was out of there. Fuck them all. This time she really was going to quit ICS and find another job. She didn’t want to be under her brothers’ thumb one more second.

  Once she had everything packed, she went to the other room to put her computers away. One of the queries had finished. She couldn’t help but look at it. She scrolled down and it was a chat room. A lot of it was in Spanish with the words “Americano” and “Rocco” on it over and over again. She didn’t understand, but then she saw a photo of a weapon. An AK-47, an older model, exactly the same as the one used in the brawl with Mendoza and the one replicated on the set. Wherever she had stumbled on, it was inside this particular chat room where the answer lay.

  Her curiosity started to pique as she continued to scroll. The most verbal person, the one who seemed to be funding and instructing everyone, had a handle called matador070765. Interestingly, though, someone had slipped and referred to him as Julio.

  She wrote it down on a paper and then started a new query. Julio Matador. Matador translated to killer. Julio the killer. That was of no help. She searched for the numbers when it hit her, the date of the brawl. When had it happened? With a quick search it came out that it had occurred on October 4, 1965. So, what was 0707?

  The date must have had some sort of significance. She continued to run queries, acknowledging that perhaps she was going insane. But now it was a puzzle she needed to solve. What was the connection between Julio and Matador and 070765? She deleted all her queries and started a new one. All births in Villavincencio on July 7, 1965 of children named Julio. The system ran, the black screen telling her that it would take an hour.

  She let it run as she continued to research on the other laptop. She’d done extensive research on Mendoza and on his wife Victoria, but not on all the players of the story. She decided to search the captain, Joaquin Diaz, who held the alleged vendetta. It was a dead end. Nothing worthwhile came up.

  She pulled her hair up into a messy bun, cracked her knuckles, sipped some more Red Bull, and searched Hilda Diaz. It was a fairly common name, but she found information right away about her elaborate wedding to Joaquin. Apparently Hilda was a local socialite and their wedding was a big deal to the villagers of Villavincencio. There were photos of the happy couple dancing, of the wedding dress, even of the invite. She read everything she could find and learned that Hilda died at the shootout at Ilusiones, “childless.” Then, when she zoomed in on the invitation, something stuck out. Hilda Maria Mata. Her maiden name was Mata. The translation of Mata was Kill.

  Matador.

  Mata.

  Too many coincidences. She began a new query, putting in the same parameters as the other one but adding the last name: Julio Mata, births in Villavincencio on July 7, 1965.

  And there it was. Almost immediately. Hilda Diaz had a baby. A woman who had died “childless” had had a baby on July 7, 1965 and the baby’s name was Julio Mata.

  The rumors were true. Hilda had had the illegitimate child of Mendoza. And even though most of the players of the event had died on that bloody day, or from old age, Julio Mata could possibly still be alive.

  She grabbed her phone and her laptop and ran downstairs to hail a cab. She needed to go on set. This was big. Julio Mata could possibly hold a grudge against his father or against the making of this film that portrayed his father in a bad light. Or shit, a love story about his father with another woman. The reasons why Mata might be upset were endless.

  The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Something was off and she couldn’t pinpoint what it was, exactly.

  As soon as she arrived at the set, she threw money at the cab driver and ran out of the car. She needed her wits about her. Running onto the set yelling and screaming about something—she still didn’t exactly know what—wouldn’t help. They were in the middle of a scene, but Rocco’s sad and concerned eyes quickly met hers. She ignored him and sat at her usual table, loading up her laptop but also looking around.

  What were they planning? The prop guys were in their area polishing their imitation guns and setting everything up for the shoot. The costume designer was sewing an extra into his costume, and the makeup artist was patting Julia’s forehead with powder. Everything looked as it should.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Spelling hollered over his shoulder. “I need you to consult on something for us. Would you mind?”

  Her eyebrows furrowed and she shrugged. “Okay.”

  “We have these photos of the crime scene. What would it take to re-create this? Where would the shot have come from? I don’t like how it’s looking.” He rewound some of the scenes that were already shot.

  They spoke quietly while the cast took a break. An hour later she felt confident in how she’d described the way she thought the shooting occurred.

  “You’re good at this. Have you ever considered consulting for a living?”

  “Really? I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

  “Sure is. We always hire one but because of the short notice and the danger and budget cuts, we had to make do. You’ve been a real asset. I’m looking forward to sitting down and talking to you when this project is over. I have two films that require an expert and I’d love it to be you.”

  “I’d love that,” she admitted. And it was true. That sounded thrilling. Traveling. Being on set. Not having to w
ork with Joey. Not having to work behind a desk. Yes. This excited her.

  Spelling explained to all the extras how the scene would go—where they would all stand and where they would all end up. He also placed Rocco and Julia where he needed them to be. Once everyone was clear the prop department handed them their weapons, the makeup artist retouched the scratches, blood, etc. and they were ready to shoot.

  Annie sat back to watch the magic happen.

  Looking around, just out of habit, something caught her eye. Something familiar. She did a double take before she realized what it was. One of the prop guys had a tattoo semi-hidden underneath his watch. A yellow, blue, and red circle.

  “Action!” Spelling yelled.

  Everything happened at once. “Ben! Don’t let him leave,” she yelled over her shoulder, pointing to the prop guy. Then she leaped into the middle of the set. Rocco was closer than the man playing Joaquin. She immediately ran and tackled him as the gun from Joaquin’s hand went off, the sound ricocheting off the wall in a loud bang.

  Julia screamed as blood spurted around her.

  There was complete mayhem and confusion.

  “Annabelle!” she heard from somewhere behind her.

  She knew she had been shot because of the warm painful burning sensation in her shoulder.

  “Oh my God! Was that a real bullet?” the Joaquin actor yelled, his voice shaky as he dropped the weapon.

  “Yes.” She carefully tried to stand and almost fell from the pain and wooziness.

  “Fuck! Annie, you’re shot!” Rocco lifted her up onto his lap. “Someone call an ambulance now!”

  “Ben,” she tried to say, but it hurt even to speak. “He’s Mendoza’s bastard son. He’s been the one planning all of this. Julio Mata. Tattoo on his wrist.” She tried to get it all out.

  “No one will see this movie. It is all lies!” Julio yelled and then there was an umph sound as Ben held his arms up higher, kneeing his back.

  “Shut the fuck up.” Ben grunted. “I got this, kid. Apply pressure to her shoulder, Monroe.”

  Rocco pulled out some nearby cloth napkins and held them firmly against the wound, causing Annie to cry out in pain. “Don’t . . . call,” she moaned through the pain, “ . . . me . . . kid.” And that was the last thing she remembered before blackness overtook her.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The attempted murder of El Traficante star Rocco Monroe was thwarted by his girlfriend, Annabelle Clad, who jumped in front of a bullet for him. Now that’s true love, folks! Reports say she is in critical care at a hospital in Villavincencio, Colombia. Julio Mata, the bastard son of Mendoza, planted real bullets in a prop weapon in order to have Monroe killed. The threat to the actors’ safety seems to be contained now that Mata is in jail. It is uncertain when filming will resume since Rocco refuses to leave his girlfriend’s side.

  Rocco sat next to the hospital bed, holding Annabelle’s hand. The bullet had hit a major artery and she had just undergone emergency surgery, but the doctors explained that she would be all right. He’d never been more scared in his life. All he’d seen was a blur of strawberry blond hair leap across the set and push him full force against a table, and then blood. So much fucking blood wetting her shirt, he thought it had been coming from her heart, not her shoulder. Then she’d passed out, and he’d almost lost it.

  Commotion from outside the room made him look up as the door swung roughly open and Joey stalked inside.

  “Shit,” Rocco mumbled under his breath.

  “You were supposed to keep her safe in the room,” Joey growled. “I changed Ben to security and she should have been resting.”

  Rocco stood up. “Have you met your sister? She doesn’t listen to anyone. I fucked up though, you’re right.” And then an oomph escaped him as Joey swung at his face, fist closed.

  “Yeah, you fucked up!”

  Rocco wouldn’t hit her brother, even if he deserved it. This was partially his fault too. “I fucked up by calling you, motherfucker. Not by letting her out of the suite.”

  “Come again?” he growled.

  “I should’ve never called you. I know her better than anyone. I should have known that you’d try to make her stay away. But even more than that, I should have known she wouldn’t. Nothing that you can do will make me feel worse!” he said, using the top of his shirt to wipe away the blood dripping from underneath his throbbing eye.

  “What’s the prognosis?” Joey asked gruffly, ignoring the fact he’d just hit Rocco.

  “She just got out of surgery. They repaired the hole which caused the bleeding, the bullet went straight through. She should wake up soon.”

  “I want her back home,” Joey declared.

  “I’ve already made all the arrangements. But we can’t move her yet. I have a private plane waiting for clearance from the doctors.”

  “I don’t like you, Monroe,” Joey said, dragging a chair across the room and placing it next to the bed across from Rocco.

  “Well, you’re not my favorite either.”

  After some time of silence, Rocco spoke. “Any word on Julio?”

  “Jax is here too. He and Ben are down at the police station now figuring it out. We’re going to try to see if extradition is possible since it was during the filming. The likelihood isn’t promising.”

  “But he’ll serve time here, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Rocco felt a small squeeze around his hand and quickly looked down.

  “What happened to your face?” A raspy whisper came out of Annie’s lips and Rocco’s standoff with her brother was put in the back burner.

  “My fist,” Joey replied.

  She turned, her eyes hazy and her look confused. “Where am I?”

  “You’re at the hospital, kid. You were shot.”

  She turned her head to look at Rocco.

  “You took a bullet for me, crazy.”

  “That’s what badass bodyguards do,” she said in a low, barely there voice.

  “You had to have surgery on your shoulder. You’ll have to be in badass bodyguard R&R for about six weeks.” Rocco said.

  She looked back at her brother. “Why did you punch him?”

  “Because he got you hurt?”

  “You can’t go around punching my boyfriends. And he didn’t get me hurt,” she said, and the fact she still wanted to be with him even after everything set his heart beating wildly.

  “I don’t know if I even want to say this, since I don’t want to encourage you getting hurt, but you did a real good job, kid. Proud of you. You scared the ever-loving shit out of me, but you did good. Julio’s in jail and no one died. That’s always a good day.”

  “Thank you, Joey.”

  “I’ll leave you two alone. I have to go to the police station and deal with Mata. I also have to call Ma. She’s worried sick.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Joey.”

  “I love you, Annabelle.”

  Her eyes watered. Her brothers never said things like that. “I love you too, Joey.”

  Once they were alone, Rocco sat back and rubbed his throbbing cheek. “When you feel better, I need some good instructions on how to do a right cross like Joey’s.”

  She laughed but then winced.

  “Am I forgiven for calling your brother?”

  “Probably not.”

  He took her hand in his and carefully moved some of the stray hairs off her face. “I was so scared. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, Annie. I know it’s fast, but I’ve never felt more alive, more complete in my life than since I met you. And if to have you it means that I have to deal with your job, I’ll deal. I promise to never bring it up again. It’s really one of the reasons I fell for you. Your strong confidence. I love you, Annie, and I’ll take you any way I can get you.”

  The tears came out faster now.

  “Didn’t you hear?” she sniffled. “I’m going to be a movie consultant. I have a meeting with NHN when the movie wraps up. But that means you may still have me ar
ound while you work—if I’m hired for a project you’re working on, that is.”

  “Will you throw snarky jealous fits when a co-star flirts with me?”

  “Fuck, yes.”

  “Then I can’t wait.” He moved close and kissed her forehead. “By the way, you’re moving in with me.”

  With her good arm she raised her hand and gave him the finger. But she had a big smile as she did it. “I love you too, Monroe.”

  * * *

  Two weeks later . . .

  “Hurry up, Tiger! We’re going to be late,” he yelled from the front door.

  “Hold your fucking horses, Monroe. I’ll be right down.” Annie’s arm was still in a sling but she was healing quickly. Today they were going to go her apartment to move her out.

  “The moving truck will be there in a few minutes. I just need you to sit and point to what you’re taking and what you’re leaving.”

  She jogged down the stairs, right past him, looking at the watercolor canvas of a tiger on the wall that had been delivered to the house a few days ago. It was her favorite gift ever, she had said. “Okay, let’s go.”

  “Wait!” he yelled, and she stopped in her tracks.

  “What? What happened?”

  “Nothing, just wanted to kiss you, is all.” He kissed her sweetly on the lips but then she pressed her body against his, a low moan escaping her lips.

  “Love you, crazy,” he said, locking up the house and walking her to the car.

  * * *

  After the movers left, Xander, Rocco, and Annie sat at the dining room table eating pizza. “I’ll miss you,” Xander said.

  “I’ll miss you too.”

  “My little girl, all grown up and moving in with a boy!” he said dramatically, causing Rocco to laugh.

  “The rest of the year is paid for, by the way.”

  “What?” Both Annie and Xander yelled.

  “I’m loaded. It’s not a big deal. I didn’t want you worrying about leaving Xander without a roommate and the entire rent. So I just paid the year.”