Guns For Angels

by Viviana MacKade

  Damned lights. Was the group climbing the stairs? Why would they go up to the office?

  Mark frowned. Something was off, but he couldn’t place his finger on it.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  Mark inched up his eyes on the man pointing at Ann’s chair. His first instinct was to tell him to get the hell away, but the man shared the glam of the couples that had troubled him before. He looked like new money, filthy rich, and judging by his red face he might be tipsy enough to be of some help.

  “Go ahead,” Mark shouted, hoping Ann would stay in the restroom for the rest of the night. He plastered a smile on his face. “Great night, right?”

  “Ah, man, this place is like a fucking Eden.” He plopped on the chair. “So, are you here for a single?”

  “Are you?”

  “I sure am.” He moved closer to be heard over the music. “A single’s a single, if you know what I mean.”

  Mark really didn’t, and hated that this prick knew more than he did. He nodded and clicked his glass with the man’s. “Yeah, I’m with you, bro. I only wish I had one.”

  “A single? You only have to ask, Mary’s very agreeable.” He took down his half glass of brown liquid in one swallow. “And when she told me snow wasn’t available, well, the alternative looked just fine.”

  Mary and snow in the same sentence were enough for Mark to pay even more attention. “Yeah, it would have sucked otherwise,” he commented.

  For some reason, the man found the comment hysterical. He burst into a boisterous laugh, shaking his head up and down without letting go of his glass and banging the free palm on the table. Mark never took his eyes off of the man, working hard on the muscles of his face to conceal his contempt.

  “My only hope is that now that Mary retired, things won’t change,” the man said when he managed to speak again. “There aren’t many places like this in town.”

  Mark willed his muscles to relax and sported an easy smile. “She retired?”

  “Yep. Last week, or something like that. That woman was a real dream. Not that I ever tried first hand – too expensive, never even asked. But you can’t keep doing this forever. I mean, she’s thirty-five, not prime meat anymore.”

  Mark stretched a fake smile. He didn’t like what he’d started thinking. Snow, Mary’s goods, people disappearing to her office. Damn.

  He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder, tensed even more when he realized it was Ann’s.

  “Oh,” the man said. “So you are in for something frisky after all. Man, I wish my wife would come with me. Maybe we can talk her into a nice night all together.” He winked at Ann. “What do you say, honey?”

  Mark snatched her away before he twisted the son of a bitch’s neck. He stomped through the crowd, through the music that pumped at the rhythm of his forming headache. He couldn’t have said if she’d tried to stop him on their way out, or even talked to him. His world had narrowed down to the exit.

  He was sweating when they got outside, but not for the heat.

  “What’s going on?” Ann tried to ask, but it didn’t stop his stride.

  “You’re going back.”

  “Why? Did you find out something?”

  “You can’t stay here. I’m not discussing this, Ann. I’m taking you back and that’s it.”

  No way in hell he would allow her to stay. There was still a chance he misunderstood, and he had to be sure before breaking the news to her. And he wanted to be the one to tell her the truth in the comfort of their room, where she will take the news as she needed.

  “Stop, Mark. Stop!” She jerked her hand away, managed to run in front of him and shove her palms on his chest. “If you know something, I want to hear it.”

  He didn’t waste time to answer. He opened the car door and pushed her inside before getting behind the wheel.

  “We’re talking about my sister. I have a right to know.”

  He hit the gas. “Not now.”

  “You can’t cut me off.”

  He was right, because he had sworn to protect her at any cost, but sadly, so was she. He couldn’t shield her from the truth. “I need some time,” he said. “I’m taking you to the hotel and I’ll go back. If my suspicion’s correct, we’ll talk. Now be quiet.”

  If his hunch turned out to be more, they would have to rehash all the conversations they had about Mary and Mouse’s involvement.

  He stopped at the hotel, made sure the room was clear from any unwanted visitors and hurried out again before she asked anything.

  Chapter 12

  Alone, Ann spread her arms and let her body fall on the soft cloud of the bedspread, hoping to find Mark’s scent on the pillowcase. She could use any kind of reassurance right now, even something as feeble as a scent – his. Every voice in the hallway pulled at her strained nerves, every door shut burned like a slap of fear. But the pillow didn’t carry any memory of him, and she pushed it away.

  What did Mark find out? She usually made him hear what she had to say despite his temper, one way or the other. In the club, there had been no room for anything but his will of taking her away. Was it that bad? Even worse, he didn’t have his weapon.

  She curled up, a motionless ball of dread.

  Without him, she would be dead at least a couple of times already. She’d gotten used to the picture of her body dumped somewhere. An alligators-filled swamp sounded familiar. She didn’t like it, but it was part of the game.

  After all, her number was supposed to be up that night in New York, then again at the Inn. Mark never let it win.

  But he couldn’t win forever, especially if something happened while she sat on a comfortable bed, several miles away from him.

  That thought made her soul tremble: Mark’s still body, all the strength she’d touched, the tenderness she’d seen, his fierce passion dried out from him.

  She rubbed her trembling hands over her eyes trying to delete that image.

  Gratitude had a little to do with it, she had to accept that. What they shared went deeper. She was an open window learning how to deal with darkness. He was a black drape learning how to allow some light in.

  If she believed in soul mates and in the magic sparkling when two lost spirits united in a perfect whole, she would be sure she’d found her other half. She smiled, a little frightened. She believed in all that crap, as he would say.

  So there she was, falling in love when her life had crumbled into chaos. She’d drifted over emotions her whole existence, only stroked their surface. Now they flooded her, and in the chaos, she was complete.

  Too happy for the realization and too worried for him, Ann grabbed his t-shirt and hit the shower.

  Her own philosophy had taught her that nothing can be forced, either a man loved her back, or he didn’t. Faithful to that belief, she’d never tried to win someone’s heart. Under the pulsating jets of the shower, she closed her eyes. It had been so easy to live with her rules before she met Mark.

  Now she would do something, she vowed rubbing her skin with energy.

  Mark taught her that some feelings were natural, human. Hatred for those who killed Mary; fear for her life; the need to have this man loving her.

  She wrapped a towel around herself, looked at her face in the mirror and made a promise: she would fight, for Mary and for him.

  * * * * *

  Facing the brown door of their room with the magnetic key in his hand, Mark tried to quell his hammering heart with long breaths.

  He was about to scrape off some more innocence from Ann. He would sit at her side and tear down the made-up world she knew. Mary lied, and it was his duty tell Ann so.

  Still, he lingered at the door until temper whipped him through it.

  He had a glimpse of her sitting on the bed, but she jumped on her feet before the door closed. As she ran to him with messy hair and his T-shirt draped over her, Mark anticipated the pleasure of holding her, almost felt her small body in his arms.

  He had to t
hink again. As if pulled by an invisible leash, she stopped in front of him.

  Frustration tasted like crap.

  She lowered her eyes, a faint blush flourished on her neck as her fingertips brushed his arm. “I was worried,” she said.

  He didn’t buy it, something felt different. She rubbed her hands up and down her thighs, bit her lips. She looked nervous, and that was understandable, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes and a flush colored her cheeks. He’d say she was shy.

  That didn’t help him. He would face the hippy version of her and fight with the angry one. With difficulties, he could deal with the seducer.

  But a shy and delicate Ann cut right through his shield. It made him want to cover the bed with petals of white roses, lay her there, peel off the T-shirt and bury himself in her.

  He cleared his throat against a sudden dryness. White fucking roses? Was he kidding?

  “Well, I’m here,” he murmured, pushing past her. “I need to take a shower, then we’ll talk.”

  He’d seen goldfish braver than him. Disgusted, Mark dashed off. The coward's way, damned it, but he needed a minute to step away from idiocy and lust to find the best way to tell her news he didn’t want to tell.

  With fussy care, he scrubbed away the sickening smell of too much perfume, smoke, and the revolting knowledge churning in his stomach. He made sure he was completely dry and his crew cut combed. He shaved, cut his jaw, nursed it.

  When self-loathing skimmed the unbearable, he walked in the bedroom.

  He told her to sit with a nod of his head, took a place at her side and studied her. Her eyes ate up her whole face, and her breathing was too quick. She was holding onto her nerves with her teeth, and he hadn’t even talked yet.

  “Mark?” she spurred him.

  Here we go, he thought bracing himself. Quick’s always painless. He filled his lungs with air and shot. “The club’s a cover for a whorehouse.”

  She stared at him. Blinked. Then chuckled as she briefly looked away. Her arms folded over her stomach when she spoke. “No, it’s not. Yes, some girls dressed in a questionable way and, of course, there were strippers, but come on.”

  She got up, walked to the desk and leaned against it staring at him with pleading eyes – tell me it’s a lie.

  “Have you ever been to the second floor?” he asked.

  “There’s nothing on the second floor but Mary’s office.”

  “Have you ever been there?”

  “No.”

  “There are rooms. In the small ones there are girls. Or boys. The bigger ones are rented by couples, many of them. They share the room, and each other.”

  “Why are you doing this?” The grip on the desk tightened but her voice never quivered, never rose. “Why are you lying? My sister was an honest person.”

  He pushed to his feet, pawed a hand through his hair as he paced the room. The guilt for what he had to tell her and the anger for the truth of it tore him apart.

  He leaned on the window at the other side of the room, started playing with some change in his pockets but he stopped. The jingle was happy, out of tune with reality. Silence carried his words, inflated them with the merciless power of honesty. “Your sister was an honest whore.”

  Mark saw it coming. Ominous, like lightning flashing in the clouds. Unavoidable, like a summer hurricane. She slowly walked in front of him, trembling, eyes glistening. Cold, blue fury bore into his eyes for a long instant. Quicker than a whip, the blow cracked upon his face with all the strength of her pain. It burned his skin like his words had burned his heart.

  He could have avoided it, stopped her with just one hand. Instead he took the blow and her hurt, praying it would help her to get rid of pain faster. He would have gladly worked as a punching bag for her.

  “Don’t ever–ever–say that about my sister,” she hissed between clenched teeth and tight fists. “She wouldn’t have lied to me. She was honest and hard working and she…” Her voice trailed off before breaking, and a shaking hand pressed over her mouth.

  He didn’t hesitate, took her hand and pulled her into his arms.

  Her body was a piece of hostile steel, but her writhing was weak, the hits on his chest not sincere. “You’re a liar!” she cried, drumming at his heart with her fists, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I won’t believe it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  When she looked into his eyes and saw nothing but the devastating truth, she lowered her head. If the first tear soaked his shirt, the first sob tightened the unfamiliar lump in his chest.

  His hands, so used to the cold metal of a gun, soothed her soft hair. His voice, so used to barking orders, crooned silly words of endearment.

  When the worst passed, he led her to the bed, and cradled her on his lap. He pushed away her hair with his mouth and found the warm skin of her temple. She moved into the contact, brought it to her wet cheek, dangerously close to her mouth.

  The air in the room changed, electrified. He felt it in the quickening of his blood and the tightening of his stomach and closed his eyes. He wanted, needed, to be the guy who chased away the hurt, even for just a moment.

  Words wouldn’t do, the wound cut too deep and her need burned too hot. So he leaned down and kissed her.

  When he deepened it, he swore it was only to wipe sadness off of her. When she pushed into him, he stayed because she needed comfort. He knew he lied.

  Her hands threaded into his hair, his arms pulled her harder against him. The more she asked, the more he needed. He laid her down, tracing her face with his lips, burning where her hands ran on his back.

  Stop, he had to stop before the frail thread to reason snapped. “Ann–”

  “I don’t want to talk,” she whispered in his ear unbuttoning his shirt.

  His breath stopped in his throat when she scratched the hot skin of his neck with her teeth, shooting a surge of desire through his body.

  He’d never done anything remotely as hard as putting his hand on hers to stop her. “We have to,” he heaved.

  They lay like that, eye to eye, until the veil of hunger dropped from her fogged eyes, until he breathed at a normal rate again. She nodded, wiggled away and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Chapter 13

  “I can’t make iced tea out of this,” Mark said holding a steaming glass by its rim, careful not to brush his fingers over hers as he passed it on. “But if you wait some, it’ll be warmish tea.” To be on the safe side, he steered clear of the bed and dragged a chair closer.

  As he’d expected, all those tears had ravaged her face. His blood ached to go back to her, lay her down and love away everything that had happened in the past days. He squirmed on the chair. “I understand how you feel now, but–”

  “Is your sister a whore, too?”

  Mark skated over her bite. Had it been his sister, he would be walking the whole Sunshine State territory hunting down the men who had touched her, killing them like the rabid dogs they were.

  Ann pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, lowered her eyes. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. I don’t even know if you have a sister.” She sipped, barely a nip at the brown brew. “I don’t care about what Mary did. It’s the lie that hurt.”

  “Can you blame her?”

  “Well, yeah!” she said with a vigorous nod. “Do you think I’d have cared about what she did for a living? Loved her less, respected her less?”

  “No.”

  “See the problem?” She sat the glass on the nightstand with so much emphasis it nearly spilled. “You’re sure about that after a week with me. My own sister, the person who raised me, the one closer to me than any other, didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

  Powerless, Mark recognized every shadow of hurt crossing her eyes, the anger in her fidgety fingers. But what tore at his heart was the bitter smile on her sweet lips.

  “I trusted her,” she said simply. “And she let me down. It’s kind of cliché, but now I can’t believe anything she’d ever told me. W
hat about all the stories about my parents? Were those real? I was too young when they passed away to have my own memories, I remember them through what she told me. It could be a lie.”

  “It wasn’t,” he said with an assertive voice.

  “She told me she was a business woman.”

  “She was, in a way.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t laugh,” she replied flatly.

  He moved closer, incapable to staying away from her but denying himself the relief of a contact. “Ann, your sister tried to protect you. For as glam as she’d made it, that place’s not safe, she wanted you as far from it as possible.” He took her hand, squeezed it, then ran away fast. “Why lie to you about your parents? Deception for her job, she had a reason. It doesn’t make her a liar all around.”

  “I’m losing her,” she whispered. “Every day I’m a little further away from what I thought she was.”

  “Your memories are pure, Ann. Real.”

  “Maybe. But all I’m left with is the present, where she’s a stranger and my memory can be fake. And who would listen to me, blabbering some memory that can, or cannot, be true? I’ll lose my parents, too.”

  He took her chin between his fingers, a confident gesture for the boyish insecurity of the words that followed. “I would.”

  The hesitant part of his heart warmed when her eyes filled with grateful tears.

  She took a long breath, looking at the ceiling to push tears back. “So, do you have a sister?”

  He nodded.

  “Then I’m sorry about what I said before. Are you two close?”

  He would have told her to leave him alone, that she had enough on her plate to think about his business, but he also wanted to take her mind off her misery. So he just shook his head, hoping she would let it go.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “I guess she wanted to protect me, too.”

  “How?”

  Mark sensed the danger, all the quiet warmth forgotten. His angel had the talent to trick him into spilling his guts.

  He slipped right into one of those moments when he felt like a wuss; the scars on his hands seemed like a good place to glue his eyes. “She was against my enlisting in the Marines.”