Night Fury: Second Act Part 5

Frankie gasps and her hand darts out, slapping my arm, "Shut. Up!" She gasps again, slower this time. "That's what the argument was about, wasn't it? That's why he lost it."

"Yep. That's why he ripped up my garden."

Frankie bursts into laughter. I glare at her. "What the h.e.l.l's so funny?"

She snorts. "Who knew a nun would lead such a soap opera life. And it's not even a good soap opera. It's a Z-grade soap opera." She turns to me and chortles, "And you're the star!"

"It's not funny, Frankie!"

Her face turns serious as she answers quietly, "You're right." She nods. "You're right, Cat." Her booming laughter fills the car. "It's f.u.c.king hilarious!"

I sigh and turn away, looking out the window, listening to Frankie laugh softly.

"I can't even. Like, I just- I can't even." Her laughter gets louder. "I can't even can right now. That's how funny this is. I literally can't even."

A smile twitches at my lips. I whisper, "You're an a.s.shole."

Her laughter is borderline hysterical as she yells, "And you're a f.u.c.king wh.o.r.e!"

A chuckle escapes me. "You're a rug muncher. A big one. With gorilla nipples."

She wheezes, unable to breath from hilarity. "Oh, my G.o.d, stop. Your ability to spot the obvious is going to make me pee."

My shoulders shake with silent laughter.

We both put in our earpieces and turn the radio devices on. Chuckling, I utter, "Night Fury and Moon Shadow are online."

The car slows and then comes to a stop. We park down the street, open the doors and exit. Clark stays in the car but Bob and Ari join us.

I put on a black silk mask that covers the bottom half of my face. I watch Ari put on her Marilyn Monroe mask as Frankie slips on a ski mask that has a skull printed on the front. Bob ties a bandana just under his eyes.

Unrecognizable, we remove our weapons.

My katana, Koneko, goes with me on every job. Ari removes a ten-inch hunting knife. Frankie wraps a thick chain tightly around her hands. Bob pulls out his .357 magnum.

Frankie approaches the door and whispers, "This is my last party for a while. Seems appropriate that I make an entrance, wouldn't you say?"

She steps back, ready to kick in the door. Just as she's about to let it rip, Bob clears his throat. He steps forwards and turns the k.n.o.b.

The door opens and we laugh as Frankie sighs, "Stupid motherf.u.c.kers."

She opens the door and we all enter. Three men immediately scurry through the back exit of the house leaving one haggard looking woman in the main room of the makes.h.i.+ft brothel.

I'm going to take a wild guess and say this is Margaret Pinot. The woman who is whoring out her thirteen and sixteen-year-old daughters.

High as a kite, she finally turns and blinks up at us. She slurs, "Who are you? What do you want?"

Frankie steps forward allowing the chain to drop by her side with a jingle. She greets our target perfectly.

"Evenin', Ms. Pinot." She pauses to smirk viciously. "We're the X-Men. And we're here to f.u.c.k s.h.i.+t up."

With lightning fast reflexes, she swings the chain out like a whip, bracing herself and extending her arm out gracefully.

Ms Pinot lets out a bloodcurdling scream while holding her now-b.l.o.o.d.y face. Adrenaline pumps through my system making me lightheaded with blood l.u.s.t. A cruel smile spreads behind my mask.

I love my job.

Chapter Eight.

I spend what seems like hours cleaning myself. It doesn't matter how many times I wash my hands, I see blood. I don't dare close my eyes. The images in my mind are much worse than just oozing red blood.

Floating in and out of my subconscious, I hear the growling, barking and cursing from Xavier as he tries to overcome his addiction. Sheets have been changed countlessly. He throws up and p.i.s.ses himself like a f.u.c.king puppy. He's constantly on the toilet or throwing up in it. Or throwing up on the ground. Or on the bed. Or wherever the h.e.l.l he's standing at the time.

He looks pale, and shakes, although his body is burning like a furnace. It's scary. I worry he'll die from withdrawal.

Bob a.s.sures me this is normal. Obviously, this did not placate me. With a sigh, Bob promised me that if he saw Xavier was taking a turn for the worst, he'd make sure he'd get him to someone who could help.

That sort of helped. I wondered just how much worse he could get before Bob considered him taking a turn for the worst. However, it is now close to three a.m. I am tired. I am sore. The adrenalin of the job has worn off and my mood turns grim.

When I hear a low keening cry from the end of the hall, my brow furrows and I have no choice but to investigate. I creep down the hall to the slightly open door and my heart aches. I listen in as Tomas hears his brother's pleas and cries; he's rocking hard and crying with him.

I don't step in, fearing I'll make things worse, but my blood boils. Turning, I head down the hall to the opposite direction, to the room at the very end of the hall. With every step I take, with every growl and grunt I hear, my anger is upped a notch. Without a word, I throw open the door, trying hard as I can to ignore the stench of bile and body odour and stomp over to the bed where Xavier's body convulses in obvious discomfort.

This should make me feel sorry for him. It doesn't. It makes me angrier.

I reach the edge of the bed, grip his filthy tank and pull him up by it. Startled, his bloodshot eyes open wide. I pull him to stand, rear my elbow back and punch him in the jaw, hard enough to hurt him, not hard enough to knock him out.

He lands on the bed, holding his jaw, looking up at me in shock.

I sweep my arm out to the hall and pant, "While you whine and scream and cry and feel sorry for yourself, your brother sits in his room listening to you cry." I pause and whisper, "And he's crying with you. For you."

My jaw steels as he continues to watch me through glazed eyes. I hiss, "You got yourself into this; you get yourself out of it. But I swear to G.o.d...If you hurt Tomas along the way, I will hunt you down like the sc.u.m you are and gut you like a fish." My heartbeat slows as I gain a bit of control. I sigh, "This is not just about you anymore. This is about Tomas, too. Stop being so selfish and think about him."

Xavier tries to stand but his knees give way. He sits on the bed shaking and s.h.i.+vering. His lip curls up at me. "You think I don't know that?" He roars, "What the f.u.c.k do you think I'm doing this for, you pretentious b.i.t.c.h?" He looks to the door and his face becomes pained. "I'm doing this for him. I love him. He's everything to me. You don't even know me. You have no right to judge me."

His jab burns me.

Am I pretentious?

My eyes void, I utter, "You're right. I shouldn't judge you, but I can't help it. When I see Tomas, I see a light. And the last few times I've seen him, the light has dimmed." His eyes fill with tears and I know I'm hitting him where it hurts, but he needs to know this. "You're dimming his light. Choking it. You're breaking him."

A tear slides down his cheek. Mouth quivering, he chokes out, "I'm trying to save him. I want to save him." He looks into my eyes, shrugs and asks a hushed, "How exactly do I do that?"

We stare at each other a little while and I find myself softening towards him. I bunch my nose. "You could start with a shower. And maybe brus.h.i.+ng your teeth."

He blinks and then barks out a surprised laugh. "Noted. And if I could stand on my own, I would. I know I stink. I smell myself and gag. Why do you think I keep throwing up?"

His body shaking lessens, and I wonder if this is all he needs to make it better. A distraction. It's three a.m. and I should be tired, but I'm suddenly smiling.

I step forward and hold out my hand to him. "C'mon. Let's get you bathed."

Without hesitation, he slips his shaking hand into mine and allows me to pull him up. He puts his arm around my shoulders and I slide my arm around his waist. His very thin waist.

"You need to eat something." As soon as I say it, I cringe.

His fisted hand comes up to his mouth and he gags.

I whisper through a grimace. "Sorry. I didn't think."

He shakes his head. "It's fine, just please don't mention food again."

As we walk down the hall, I nod. "Noted."

"Is this all right?"

From my place on the vanity, I look up from my book and peer over at Xavier with raised brows.

In the tub, with his underwear on, he spreads his arms out. "This. You're not going to get into trouble for being in here with me, are you?"

The hairs on the back of my neck p.r.i.c.kle.

s.h.i.+t.

I hadn't thought about that.

Sliding off the vanity, I walk over to the closed bathroom door and open it widely. I turn to Xavier and smile. "No problem." I walk back to my sitting place. "Besides, I think Father Robert would be kind of peeved with me if I let you drown."

His brows knit as he dips his hand into the water. "You don't act like a nun."

It's time for one of my brows to rise. "Oh, yeah? And how, pray tell, should a nun act?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. But they don't punch people or swear or threaten people with death."

I can't help but chuckle. "Well, this one does. I think you'll find we're not your typical church."

He nods and utters distractedly, "No. Not at all like a church."

I still.

What an odd thing to say.

We sit in silence a moment. I discreetly shake my head and put my paranoia down to Marco s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g us over. I'm questioning everything lately. It's a s.h.i.+tty feeling.

After our little conversation slash confrontation, I walked Xavier to the bathroom. I started the tub with lukewarm water, knowing he was burning up, and helped him dress down to his boxers. I held his hand as he stood on shaking legs and a.s.sisted him into the tub. As I moved to exit the room to place his clothes into the was.h.i.+ng machine, I thought better than to leave an exhausted, currently weak man to drown in the tub. In the vanity sink, I washed his sweats and tank using shampoo. Not ideal but it worked.

Now he's been soaking in the tub for around forty-five minutes and it's close to five a.m. He's made no move to wash his body with soap, or shampoo his hair and I'm beginning to get antsy.

I clear my throat. "The shampoo is right there in the green bottle."

He gives me a weak nod. His eyes blink sleepily. "I know. I'm just so tired. I can't lift my arms."

Oh.

Of course.

Slowly, I move down from my place and walk over to him with small steps. When I reach the side of the tub, I move over his immersed body and take hold of the shampoo. Without asking, I take the washcloth and dribble water over his too-long hair. He groans low in his throat. I put a little shampoo in my hand and work up a lather. As soon as my fingertips touch his hair, his head falls back and he groans louder.

I wash his hair in a slow but firm motion, scratching his scalp with my fingernails. His groan turns into a slow guttural growl.

Using the washcloth, I trickle water over his head, rinsing his hair.

Gripping the back of his head, I gently rest his neck on the rim of the tub and take hold of a bar of soap.

Xavier doesn't open his eyes as I lift one arm out of the water and go over it with the soapy cloth. I wash his arms and legs, his neck and as I reach his torso, my stomach clenches.

Geez. This is really intimate. This probably wasn't such a good idea.

I try hard as I can to keep this clinical, but the truth is, Xavier is an attractive man. I tell myself I'm unaffected.

Yep. Unaffected.

So unaffected.

Not even affected. Nope.

As the washcloth moves from his neck, down his chest, over his puckered nipples and down to his belly, his stomach clenches and I wonder if he's as unaffected as I am.

Dropping the cloth into the water, I stand, startled and rush out, "All done. Let's get you out." Like, now.

He stands and my gaze is immediately drawn to his wet boxers.

My eyes widen. My cheeks flush.

I stare openly at the crotch of his boxers. His tented boxers.

Turning, I take the towel and avoid eye contact as I hold it open for him. He takes it from me and wraps it around himself, pulling his boxers down his legs, dropping them into the bathwater.

He mutters quietly, embarra.s.sed, "Sorry. I'm sorry."