Page 13 of Sinister Savior

And I mean it too, because I’m a man of my word. And when I promised my brother that one day, Karma would come looking for him, I had no idea that I would be Karma’s instrument. But I intend to follow through. And now I’m ready for it.

9

ALICE

His arms drape over my body loosely as he snores in my ear. He’s a priest. He’s not supposed to do this, right, lock himself away in a motel room with a woman and have sex five times a day? That’s what men like Tom do, men like his boss, Paolo.

Mario is different, though. I pull his hand against my chest and kiss his knuckles. There are no calluses on his fingers or palms from a life of physical labor. If what he says is true about his past, he’s been out of that mess long enough to have allowed his skin to soften again. Except, thanks to me and my entrance into his life, he now has new scars, wounds on his fists to reveal how willing he is to fight for me.

But why?

Why has this Mafia bad boy turned priest chosen to fight for me, to come out of hiding where he was so soundly and safely tucked away in a peaceful life, and fight for a woman like me? I’m no saint. I haven’t told him, but I’m not perfect either. Tom and I had a good life, but it wasn’t always good. I wrote bad checks—fraud, they call it. I called it trying to get by in an economy that wasn’t survivable.

And there was that time before Tom and I were married, when I was still dating, that I went to a strip club and that stripper got a little handsy. I stopped him—believe me, I would never cheat on Tom—but not before his hands did things to my body that I fully regret. It’s how I knew Tom was the one—when another man made me come and I felt nothing but the release of sex afterward. But that was as far as it went, much to that man’s chagrin. He wanted more, but I was going to be a bride.

But me? Perfect? It’s laughable. And this man had an out. Mario… he had a way to leave his past behind him the way I left that mess behind me when Tom and I married. It went south for me because Tom wasn’t who he said he was, despite how much I loved him. My love would never rescue him or change him. He was always meant to fall by their hand.

Mario, however, doesn’t have to do this. He doesn’t have to run back into the fire to save me. But he wants to. And sadly, I want him to. I need him to, if for no other reason than I won’t survive without his help.

But these arms around me, they aren’t the hands of a would-be one-night-stand stripper. I kiss them again. These hands are the hands of a man who’s seen pain and hurt, who longs for belonging and purpose. A man whose heart is solid gold, forged in a fire of trauma and plunged repeatedly into the salt pot to harden the blade. He’s a perfect balance—strong but soft, determined but compassionate, sovereign but pliable. And for some reason, he’s set his sights on me.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, and I didn’t even know he was awake. It’s the wee hours of the morning. The room is dark, shrouded in shadows cast by the drapes with the background of street lights outside to silhouette their presence. I snuggle back into his chest and sigh.

I’m thinking of things that maybe I shouldn’t be. Maybe this man is only here to rescue me and then send me on my way. Maybe hisinsatiable appetite for my body has nothing to do with his wanting me and everything to do with his vow of celibacy which he has completely abandoned in the face of everything we’re facing. Maybe he’s going to hurt me, though he promised not to.

“Nothing,” I mumble, staring at the flicker of light on the carpet below the window. Mario doesn’t need to know what I’m truly thinking. I had my doubts with Tom too. Not at first. No, at first, I wholeheartedly trusted him. In a city the size of LA, it’s impossible to know who you’re dating when you just meet someone, but Tom seemed perfect. He had a good job, steady income, a good head on his shoulders. Or I thought he did. He also had a major drug problem which he hid from me. Of course, I never told him some of the things about me that I should have.

“You’re worried?” he asks, and it stirs my anxieties.

We’ve been in this room for days now. Some man named Ervine delivers food and water to us. He brought ibuprofen when I had a headache, and Mario insists that they talk outside. I try to eavesdrop on every conversation, but they’re secretive, speaking in code. I can already tell Mario is way deeper than Tom ever was, and it makes me hesitant to trust him, but how can I not?

This man whose arms I lie in has already killed for me. Maybe Tom killed for me too, I’ll never know, but I do know for a fact that’s a length to which Mario is willing to go. He holds me possessively every time we climb into this bed. He pleases me thoroughly every time we have sex. He’s not the same man as Tom. But he’s not a saint, or a priest like I thought.

“I am.” My statement should be obvious to him. Of course I’m worried. I have a full-ass crime syndicate hunting me. Two men have died pursuing me already. They’re not going to let that go easily. If it was just the money, maybe someday they’d forget if I got away, lived a secret life. But murder? Their men… They won’t forgive that.

“You have no reason to be, Alice.” Mario kisses the back of my shoulder, skin exposed after our romp earlier this evening. It makes my skin warm thinking about it. At least two orgasms every time we’ve had sex—complete with spanking, shoving his fist into my body, and biting my nipple so hard he drew blood—and that makes at least twelve orgasms. Probably more. I’ve lost count.

“I want to believe that, but the fear of the unknown gets me.” I say it because it’s true. Fear of what may happen next, fear of what he’s saying when he speaks to his friend Ervine, fear of what he may do to me. I don’t like to think it, but part of me even fears he’d trade my life to get his back. Give me to his brother to buy the man’s good graces. That thought makes me feel sick in my stomach.

“I’m not going to let anyone lay a finger on you. You’re mine now, do you understand that?” His teeth rake across my skin and tattoo me, brand my body with his mark, as if I were a belonging of his which needed his name written on it.

I stare at the spot on the floor where the light dances through the leaves of the tree growing right outside the door. It creates strange marks on the carpet and soothes me. Until a shadow passes, blocking the light entirely for a brief moment. I stiffen, and the hair on the back of my neck rises.

“Mario…” It could be anyone or anything. Lots of people rent at this motel. It doesn't have to be someone here to attack me. It’s probably a neighbor who walks past our window on the way to their room.

The doorknob jiggles, and before I can react, Mario is out of bed and his pants are on. “In the bathtub now. Lie down, say nothing. Don’t get up until I come to you.” He throws his T-shirt at me, and I hastily toss the covers back, whimpering as I grope for the shirt.

My feet carry me stumbling toward the bathroom. The light, left on with the door shut, blinds me as I walk in, but I shut it off instantly. My hands shake, and my heart feels like someone stabbed a knifethrough it. I’m so sick of the adrenaline rush of fight-or-flight mode when it kicks in. It seems to last longer each time.

I wrestle with the shower curtain before throwing myself into the bathtub. My knees are wet, my palms too, but I’m trembling and already starting to cry before the banging begins. I can’t see what’s happening, but I hear it. Every last fucking sound. Things are being smashed, curses are flying. Mario is enraged, his voice booming so loudly it shakes me like a clap of thunder.

“Motherfucker!” I hear a man say, and then I hear a thud, like he’s fallen. Like Mario dropped him or hurt him, and all I can picture is the way that man lay in a pool of blood on the sidewalk in the garden of the rectory at dawn less than a week ago.

“No, please, God,” I whine, plugging my ears, rocking back and forth. I’m not safe… I’m not safe… My mantra returns, pleading with whatever power may be out there watching me. “No… please, God, please…”

I rock and clamp my eyes shut. The sobs rack my body and tears drip on my knees. My head throbs. My stomach turns. All I see is blood, whether my eyes are open or closed. Tom’s blood splattered on the walls, that dead man’s blood on the mulch around the bushes, my blood if Mario isn’t successful.

“Alice,” I hear, but I don’t hear it. I block it out. I ignore it and keep rocking, keep my fingers in my ears buried as deep as they can go, pressing against my skull as firmly as I can. Until a hand touches me and I scream and shoot up, but it’s just Mario.

---