It was easy to see the table of four men he described. They were the only other group in the room: us, the Cartel members, and those four. Everyone else had left, and the doors of the restaurant were closed. I wondered if, from the outside, the doors were locked. There were never many people in the restaurant at this time anyway.
I turned my attention back to Kane, and that's when the gun fire started.
Gun fire inside a closed space, like the restaurant, is amazingly loud. It isn't like in the movies, where people are able to say witty lines as they blow chunks of flesh off each other. It’s loud. So loud the noise could make you pass out, or drop you to the floor.
The Cartel members were firing small square things that were blasting out streams of bullets in fox-tails of flame. I had never seen anything like it, and I only saw it for the briefest of moments.
Kane swept his hand across the table, pulling the table cloth to his right and pushing up with his left hand to throw it to the side. The table reared and landed with a crash. Without a pause in his flowing movement, he was spinning his body to the left, his right leg catching my chair leg, pulling me toward him, close enough that he could catch me around the waist, and curl me to the floor, protecting my body with his.
His grip on me pressed my forearms into my breasts. My hands folded under my chin, my face held tightly against him, his arms around me, his hand holding the back of my neck. I could hear his breathing and smell the wine he drank with me. Then I heard something pound into him, like a hard punch hitting a training bag. His right shoulder jerked forward, then his left side. He made no sound, nor seemed to notice.
The gunfire only lasted for 10 seconds, if that, even though it felt much longer.
Then suddenly, there was the kind of calm in the restaurant that certainly comes after a storm. And a storm it was.
Kane held me still, remaining in the same position. I couldn't see anything around his wide chest. He was taller than me by several inches, and much wider. I felt like a little girl held like this by him.
I looked up, to where I was sitting just seconds ago. Bullet holes tore apart the plaster wall where my head was only a short time ago. He wasn't lying. Had Kane not thrown me to the floor, I would be dead, but how did he know?
I knew that he had set up our meeting; the ring, and the game. Did he set up the fear as well? Did he want me to feel the terror I felt when I thought there was a contract on my life, and he was its owner?
All of the ambient clues, leading my imagination down the rabbit hole into darkness and death — hanging me from the side of a cliff. Was that all planned as well?
Who was this guy? And what did he want from me? Why save me?
I didn't know, but I was grateful. I wasn't quite sure how much of my soul I owed to him, or what he wanted. And somehow those two questions didn’t ring as humorous in my mind. With the doubts of intent, those questions actually had a level of dread to them.
If he planned the terror, then he also planned its cure. I was terrified, and begging to be a whore -- and he gave me my humanity back, my dignity, and took away the terror.
If he was after something nefarious, he would have taken me when I was a willing sex slave, a whore, a begging puppet.
I don't care what he wants; if it’s in my power to give it to him, I will. I will give it to him as a woman, and a human being. His woman. The ring stays on, until he divorces me. “This I swear to God,” I said softly into his heartbeat. I heard no objection from God, so I considered the matter settled.
I rubbed my cheek into his chest, snuggling. His chest felt wet, and a little sticky, and there was a strong scent of iron. Pulling back my cheek, I rubbed at it with my hand, and my fingers came away bloody.
“Oh god! Kane?” I cried, trying to squirm out of his arms. “Kane!”
“I'm fine, quit struggling. You’re hurting my shoulder,” he said calmly, his dark voice rumbling in his chest. I relaxed hearing him. “Those are mini-uzis,” he told me, his voice instructive, and caring. “They fire seventeen rounds a second. The other guns are called street-sweepers — a semi-automatic shotgun. Did you really expect me to get you out of this mess without one of those bullets hitting you or me? That’s a lot of lead flying around. To be honest, I'm rather surprised we’re both alive at the moment.”
“I know this is rather sudden,” I said, after a moment, “But I've been doing some serious soul searching in the last few microseconds.”
“Really?” he offered.
““Yes, and I want you to know that while we haven’t crossed paths until now and
as a result I have neglected to fulfill your every desire, our entire lives — and I haven’t even bothered to look for you at all, or frankly even care if you even existed; that I planon making it up to you. I just want you to know that.”
“That,” he pondered, “Is probably the most romantic thing I have ever heard.”
I smiled, and snuggled his bloody chest again. “Good, because I like romance.”
“Well, I like living,” he said.
“Oh, oh me too. I really like that.”
“Good, so let’s get out of here now. They should be out of the parking lot by this time, and the police will be here in moments. I don't want to be listed as a witness at this juncture of our relationship.”
I sighed, “You think of everything don't you?”
“Let's hope so,” he mumbled.
***
We left through the kitchen, which was empty of people. I didn’t see any blood splatters so my little Latin lovers got out alright, I hoped.
Once in the alley, we were covered from direct line of sight from the two streets by large trash bins. Kane took me by the hand and walked with a purpose. Even with my long legs it was an effort to keep up with him without being dragged.
Near the mouth of the alley he stopped at a trash bin, threw back the lid, grabbed a large luggage bag and turned us around, heading back toward the main street.
When we reached the middle, near the back door of the restaurant, he stopped and I got a look at the front of his shirt. I nearly screamed. “You have holes, Kane! We have to get you to the hospital, now!”
“No, that’s not what we have to do. We need to get you off the street, and keep you alive.” He handed me a plastic canister of moist wipes, and a jacket which matched the dress I was wearing. “Clean up quickly. Doesn’t have to be perfect. Just get the major blotches off your face, and neck, then put on the jacket. We only have to walk a block, then up an elevator.”
“Where are we going?” I asked, popping the lid. If getting there faster meant getting him looked at by a doctor sooner, I wasn’t going to waste his blood arguing with him in an alley. But if he passed out, all bets were off.
“Across the street to the Omni. Room on the 10th floor. Key is in my back pocket. Whatever happens, and I don’t care what it is, you are to get into that room.”
“Kane, I love the hero stuff, I really do, but you’re scaring me!” My voice was a feather of a whisper and I held his gaze, slipping on the jacket.
“Guys with guns are scary too,” he countered, checking down the alley as if he expected them to turn the corner any moment.
“But the guys with the guns weren’t after me,” I complained. He handed me a San Diego Padres jacket and I helped to slip it over his shoulders, covering up the bloody shirt.
“Yes, they were. And they will return,” he corrected.
“What?” I asked, stepping back. “Then why… do you mean… the hit on the cartel men was a cover to kill me? Why?”
“So I wouldn’t know who, and believe it was an accident. That you were killed as an innocent bystander. I can’t explain right now. I need to get into the shower up there, and heal. Can we do that first? Can you trust me that long?”
“Yes,” I said, instantly, and wrapped my arm around his waist. “Tenth floor, Omni. Got it, and I got the key. Nice ass by the way.”
“Thanks,” he grinned.