“Of course, I will help you as you will help me,” Nico says, and his throat catches. He sputters a few coughs.
I want to be annoyed at his directive, but his cough stops me. I wait until he quiets. “Granted,” I say. I am unconcerned with what he would ask for. I am powerful in my own right. It is more than likely why we have left each other alone. After dealing with the Council, I know better than to do business with one such as Nico Fortini.
Except right now.
“I’ll get right on it,” he wheezes out the last word, and the coughing fit that seems to overtake his body is loud through the speaker. And as I listen to him, I hear the pain in his body. Once he quiets, I tell him of her last location, and he chuckles, ending up in a cough. “Perhaps, soon, we can discuss this—the favor I request.”
I hadn’t expected it so soon. But then, he might not have very long if what I hear over the phone is true. Mostly, I leave the humans alone to do their own thing and do not get involved. I would never, typically, do any business with Mr. Fortini, but I do not wish to get any of my people involved. There would be too many questions asked. Sometimes it’s better to have an outside source.
“Thank you, Nico. I would be happy to discuss anything with you once Marina is safe with me.” And there is my promise to him. The deal is struck, and I know he believes in honor. I, too, consider myself to be honorable, and I will keep up my end of the bargain. After all, he only wishes to speak to me.
“You care for her,” Nico whispers, and then a cough racks his body.
I almost drop the phone. I stay quiet since it’s true. Her spirit intrigued me when I first met her, but I did not want to frighten her. I kept tabs, hiding in the shadows, watching her, making sure she was safe. Making sure the two of them didn’t know about her and exact their revenge. Three years past, I did not take her with me that day in her father’s office because of her age. I wanted her to grow, to get away from the life that held her down. I wanted her to come into herself. To heal. Instead, she split. She evaded even my staff, whom I had keep watch over her when I was unavailable to do so.
“I just want her safe,” I tell him, and he chuckles once again.
“It’s more than that, I’d wager. I will see what I can find out for you,” Nico finally says, and we ring off.
Marina
THE MOTEL DOESN’T LOOK too terrible, but it still can’t hide the fact that it needs a facelift.
I hoof it from the last bus station that dropped me off just shy of the border in some rinky-dink town that shows no promise of ever expanding or growing. And it looks shady as hell. My heart rate jumps a bit, but I keep walking, hitching my bag more comfortably on my shoulder. There’s a rundown motel, with about twelve rooms in the shape of a boomerang, just shy of the bus stop. It’s all one level, paint peeling off the walls, and at least one door looks like it doesn’t fit in its frame. I shudder, but I have no choice. I am not walking around in the dark and need to lie low.
I find the office, a tiny room with half a counter, a bright fluorescent light illuminating the ghastly décor. Two men stand outside of the office, off to the side, holding the wall up. They eye me as I pass by them, and I see the dark-haired one tap his friend, who has light hair, to get his attention. I expect some crude remark, but I hear nothing and breathe out a sigh of relief for not having to deal with them. I push open the glass door with the jagged crack across the lower half covered with silver tape and the chime of a bell rings overhead.
The clerk behind the counter is thin, wears clothes at least a size too big, has straggly and greasy hair, and has a toothpick sticking out of his mouth. I can also smell him, and I try to keep the disgust off my face. He looks me up and down, appraising me. I’ve seen that look enough to know he likes what he sees, and I glare at him.
“Just one,” he says, unimpressed with my glare.
“What?” He catches me off guard, and I have no clue what he means. My glare falters as my brows come together. If I didn’t need a room, I would never choose this place.
“A room. Just one,” he explains blandly and acts as if I am ruining his afternoon by being here and making him talk to me.
“Uh, yeah, that’s what I want. One.” I glance over my shoulder. The two men are still outside, holding up the side of the wall, and one of them now has a cigarette in his mouth. They are looking away, out at the parking lot.
“No.” He chews on the toothpick and moves it from one side to the other as he looks me up and down again, assessing me yet again. “That’s all I got. And it’s needin’ fixin’. Pipes leak a bit.”
“I’ll take it.” I hope I’m not making a mistake. This guy creeps me out. If I owned a car, I would have just slept at a rest stop.
“Your neck,” he shrugs, moving that toothpick again, and then tells me the amount.
I slap some bills down, wondering what he means by that, and he hands me a key that may have been gold at one point. I palm the key and push open the door. The two men look me over but otherwise leave me alone. Still, I don’t like their looks, and they make me edgy and nervous. I peer over at the building and find the room I paid for. The number is upside down, and I sigh out as I work the key for what seems like forever. The doorknob jiggles as I work the key to get the teeth centered just right. After forever and a couple of swears, I finally get it to unlock and reach in for the light first.
Once the lone bulb in the middle of the room flickers on and buzzes at me, I enter and shut the door, locking it behind me. I reach for the chain lock and see there is only a chain hanging from the bolt in the wall, and it hangs there uselessly. Looping my finger under it, I note the sliding bolt is missing from the end, rendering it ineffective. I exhale in annoyance and look around for a chair, so I can jam it under the doorknob, but I do not see one in the shabby room.
This place is a shit hole. I mean, I thought the other place where I had stayed the other day was bad. This one is not even worth the money I slapped down. I gaze around the room. The bed sags in the middle, and the yellow covers look questionable. Are the coverlets the color yellow—or were they stained yellow? The laminated floor is peeling away on some squares. The TV, well, I haven’t seen one so small—ever. There is one side table, with a tiny lamp and an even a tinier clock, and the table leans to the side. I set my bag on the bed, and it rolls to the middle. I pull it back and try to balance it.
I tell the bag to ‘stay’ and move to the bathroom. Flicking the light, the one fluorescent bulb over the sink sends a ghoulish glow over the toilet and shower. The shower curtain is stained, and two of the rings are missing, making it sag. Flipping back the curtain shows me a tarnished yellow tub from a constant drip, and the water plinks as it hits the metal stopper. I exit and flick off the light once again.
The thin chain on the tiny lamp jumps from my fingers as I pull, and a faded, yellow light glows out from under the smashed-in shade. I turn off the overhead light and am pretty much plunged into darkness. Stretching my neck, I move over to sit on the edge of the bed and pull my feet up. There is no way I’ll be sleeping tonight. I should have saved my money, but I really couldn’t be walking around at night, and there was no place else but this one to keep me out of the elements.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I rummage through my bag, pulling out my last granola bar and a bottle of water. I eat slowly, staring at nothing and letting my mind go blank for a bit. The drip in the bathroom seems to echo through to where I sit, and I make a face. I do note that it is not too terribly hot in here, which is good because I do not want to run the small air unit under the window. It probably doesn’t work anyway—like everything else in this place.
As I stare at nothing, I think of the man who is trying to find me. He always had before—even when I moved. Not that I moved very far away, nor did I really cover my tracks. Even so, he had been persistent. I was angry the first time I saw him, about a year after leaving the restaurant and my father behind. I had seen him on and off throughout the years but pretended
not to, always hoping he’d forget about me. I think he was keeping tabs on me, and that irritated me. I only said yes that day because I had to go. I never thought he would take it seriously. But then, I’ve always considered myself to be a person of my word, and apparently, he did too.
I guess the attention would flatter most, but I’m not like that and his presence only served as a reminder that number one, he hadn’t forgotten, and number two, I’d never be able to. But I had learned to be resilient as I lived on my own. I worked on healing myself and even went to some counseling sessions—at least when I could afford it. I learned some coping methods, how to think differently and not let my past influence my future. From this I gained strength and in dealing with my past trauma, it made me realize that: One, I am stronger than I think. Two, I need to take charge of my life. And three, I need to be in charge of it and to hell with everyone else.
Yet, here I am running—because the fear had taken over and didn’t allow me to think things through.
I should just face him and tell him to go to hell. But I know I won’t do that. Instead, I’m hiding and pretending that I am taking charge of my life when, in fact, I am still letting some man dictate my life choices. Why couldn’t I have just stayed where I was and dealt with him there? But, no, I ran and discovered only two days in that he was on my heels and very close. I can only hope I ditched those tails when I hopped on a different bus to this shit hole of a town.
At some point during my self-reflection, I had lain back on the disgusting bed and dozed off. So, I’m not entirely sure what first makes me wake. My arm is asleep from the odd angle I laid on it as I rolled to the middle of the bed. Cautiously, I push up and shake my arm out as the pins and needles prickle and sting. I hold my arm out, flexing my fingers and shaking my hand. As the feeling comes back, I hear the noise again. It’s coming from the door.
I pause, arm out. It was so quiet, I almost missed it.
I cock my head to the side, holding my breath to hear better. The doorknob jiggles again, and I stretch out my hand to clutch my bag, searching for the strap. I never take my eyes off the door. I feel the strap and wrap it around my hand, curling my fingers around it. The clock on the nightstand shows me it is nearly midnight, the darkest part of the night. My heart beats faster, and I slowly lower my feet to the floor to stand. I can’t believe he’s found me!
But then I hear whispering outside the door and realize it is not him. Someone else is outside, and there are two of them as I hear them whispering back and forth. I stand and hold my bag, ready to smack anyone who dares to come inside.
“Just kick it in,” I hear the hushed whisper.
“Then she will wake up,” the other voice says.
Both voices are stage whispering, just loud enough to be heard. The doorknob jiggles again, and my heart is in my throat. The chain lock jiggles against the frame, slightly bumping the wood as the two outside aggravate the door. I should have tried to figure out how to make it work. At the very least, it would have provided some extra time. I have one chance at this, and it will have to surprise them.
“He said she was alone,” the first voice says.
“Easy pickings,” the other voice seems to smile.
I edge back around the bed and look around for anything else I can throw or hit them with. There is nothing in this tiny room. I edge back to the bathroom and feel around the door to the knob. There is no lock. Even if there was, I’m not sure it would keep anyone out, and there is no window in that room. I move back to the bed just as the doorknob jerks and the door opens. It hits the wall, and I see two silhouettes.
Two men stand there. The lights from outside back-light them, and I cannot see their faces. However, I can tell that one has light hair and one has dark hair and I recognize them as the men I saw earlier, and I know they see me. I tighten my grip on my bag even as I wonder if it will be enough to get around them and get out.
“Ah, come on now, pretty thing,” the light-haired one says.
I press my lips together and try to breathe. I know I will need a steady hand and level head as I prepare to do this. But I feel the beginning pricks of a panic attack, and the sharp flashes of memories jolt through my brain.
“Get out,” I say as forcefully as I can. My heart is beating erratically.
“Aw, come on, honey,” the dark-haired one grins. “We’re just lookin’ for some fun.”
“It’s not here,” I tell them, trying to lower my voice to sound threatening. I feel the blood rushing in my ears. It’s difficult to breathe. If they both run at me, they will overpower me. I pull up my bag a bit so I can swing it if I need to.
“What’cha got in there?” the light-haired one says.
“Billy, who cares?” the dark-haired one says. “I wanna see what she’s got in there.” He points at my body.
“I’m warning you, I can fight.” But my voice is weak, and even I think I sound lame.
I hear them laugh. “Hey, Kip, she can fight! I bet she’s gonna tell us she has a black belt next,” Billy laughs.
I take a steadying breath, and Kip steps forward. “I’ll—” I begin, a tremor in my voice.
“What? Scream?” Billy asks again.
He’s trouble. Well, they both are, but it appears Billy is more aggressive. Kip moves inside, and so does Billy. I’m stuck where I am for now. I might lose my bag, but I could still get out—I hope.
They both take another step, and I lick my lips, trying to calm my heart. Then Kip lunges, and I swing my bag. It smacks him square in the face, and he falls onto the bed. But the momentum carries me to the side, and Billy sees his chance to body slams me. We land next to Kip, who is scrambling up. The breath is knocked out of me, and I’m stunned for a moment as his weight lies on my side, pressing down on me and holding me immobile.
Then I start screaming and flailing. Billy is strong, and he soon pins me, his body over mine, my hands over my head, wrists crossed in his one hand. Kip rights himself and stands to the side, holding the side of his face.
“Damn bitch! She hit me with her bag!” He flings the bag against the opposite wall.
“Shut up and help me with her,” Billy says, struggling with my arms as he pins me down with this body.
I twist and writhe, and it seems to excite both of them. Kip tells Billy to get me to the floor, and soon the breath is knocked out of me once again as they slam me to the floor on my back. My panic attack comes at me full force then, and I scream for all I’m worth. I twist and kick and hear them ‘oomph’ in response, but they still keep me pinned, and I hear my shirt rip.
My brain freezes, and I’m locked in time. I’m locked at that moment when I was powerless and weak and unable to stop him. I could not fight back, and he was stronger.
The room zooms back to the present when I hear a crash. Billy is thrown against the wall, his head cracking against it. He crumples to the baseboards. Kip is thrown to the other wall in the same manner, and I scramble back against the wall near the door, drawing myself up into a ball against the hard wall. They had torn my shirt, but my jeans are still on, and the tight fabric pulls across my knees as I draw them up to my chest, trying to make myself small. Through a haze, I notice two men near Billy and Kip and one standing, his back to me as if shielding me with his body. I soon hear Billy and Kip screaming, and it draws my gaze over to them.
The two dark-suited men hold Kip and Billy up in the air by their shirts, their feet dangling. But another man crouches down before me, concern on his face. Slowly, I drag my eyes from the four at the wall and to the man in front of me. His blue eyes are visible in the dark and it seems to calm me for a moment and my breath returns.
“Marina? Are you okay?” His voice is calm, melodic.
“Hey, Boss. We’re hungry.”
My gaze slides to the two suited men. They are tall, strong, and as the one angles his face over his shoulder, there is an eerie light in his eyes. Kip and Billy are in a stupefied terror and liquid drips from their shoes to puddle on t
he floor. I pull my gaze from them and back to the man in front of me, knowing instantly that his men are not quite what they first appear to be.
And neither is this man before me.
“Yeah, keep it clean, though, okay?” His tone is harsh, and his eyes never leave mine.
The flash of anger that crosses his features makes me cringe and jerk, pressing my back into the wall. But then, as quickly as it appeared, his face is serene and compassionate once again. He puts a hand on my shoulder and I feel the strength in his fingers. His eyes find mine, bringing me to the present—to the man before me.
“Sure thing, Boss.”
The two new men take their charges out, carrying them by their shirts as if they weigh nothing. I hear Billy and Kip shout and scream, but their voices fade out after a time as if they are disappearing into the distance. My eyes focus on the man in front of me.
“Are you hurt?” His voice is still melodic and calm.
“I’m—” The answer dies in my throat. My heart is still pounding, but I don’t hear it in my ears any longer.
All my running. All my staying one step ahead, and he’s found me. But he’s crouched before me, in his expensive dark suit, concern etched on his face as he looks me over, waiting for me to respond.
“Marina!”
I jerk my eyes to his and slowly shake my head. I’m not, really. I might have some bruises later, but those two hadn’t done to me what they had planned. The man before me had interrupted them. He stands and extends his powerful hand to me. I just sit, huddled on the floor, staring at it. If I take it, what am I accepting? I can’t do it.
But I can’t do this anymore, either. I have no choice anymore. I’ve made my play and tried to run away, tried to stay one step ahead. I thought I was good at it, but he is better, and I should have known I didn’t stand a chance.
Blake Harland found me.
Chapter Three
Marina
A Vampire's Love Page 3
