Page 28 of The Italian Reckoning
Who the fuck is this guy?
Chalk this up to another terrible decision that I’ve gotten on this stranger's bike without a thought and?—
Ah, shit.
My bag.
It fell from my shoulder when I was knocked to the ground and I didn’t get the chance to grab it.
I need to switch to one of those fanny packs.
It’s unclear how long we drive for, but when the bike finally begins to slow, I open my eyes and scan our surroundings. All of the buildings are faintly familiar, but it doesn’t fully click where we are until we finally stop in a small parking lot tucked away behind some trees. We’re actually not that far from my apartment because I recognize the nearby path and the blue bench where I’ve spent several summer evenings enjoying takeout from the nearby Korean place.
Excellent dumplings.
My mind wanders until the stranger turns off the bike and leans back into me. With his movement comes a jolt of reality and I immediately remove my arms from his waist and slide off the bike onto trembling legs.
“Holy shit.”
“Are you alright?” Motorcycle guy tilts his head as he looks at me, but all I can see is my own reflection highlighted by the single street light glowing above us. But it’s definitely the same guy. The red piping on his helmet is exactly like what was in my dream, and as I follow that with my eyes, I catch the red lipstick stain from where I kissed him.
Oh, God, I forgot I did that.
Why didn’t he wipe it off?
“I said,” says the deep, muffled voice once more, “are you okay?”
I nod quickly as my knees knock together and my racing heart races not from adrenaline, but from the realization that someone shot at me.
Someone tried tokillme.
“I’m fine.” My trembling voice doesn’t offer much confidence.
The man slides from his bike and suddenly, his leather-clad hand cups my cheek and forces my head to turn to the side. “You’re bleeding.”
“What? No, I’m fine, I’m just—ow!” Intent on correcting him, I lift my hand to my ear, but hot pain immediately pulses out from the touch and my fingertips come away sticky with blood. “Ow.”
Motorcycle guy remains silent, apparently content now that he’s pointed out my injury.
“I didn’t even feel it.” I tenderly dab at the area again and wince just as his hand falls away from my face. The wound feels small, just a small slice to the outer shell of my ear, but while I hope to get an answer from my savior, he’s suddenly climbing back onto his bike.
“Wait, you’re leaving?”
He hits the ignition and the bike roars to life.
“Wait!” I clutch at his arm without thinking, and thick muscle flexes under my grasp. “What was that? Why were you even there?”
Silence.
“Why did you save me? Who was even shooting at me?”
Again he says nothing, but this time, he turns his head to face me, making me stare desperately at my own reflection. All other questions die because there’s something about the way he tilts his head that feels achingly familiar. Is it because he saved me on my birthday?
“Who… whoareyou?” I ask softly, tightening my grip on his arm as if that could prevent him from leaving.
He doesn’t speak. I stare at where I think his eyes must be and strain to see past my reflection and the glare. I’d take a hint, even the tiniest hint about who this man is just so I can thank him properly, but there’s nothing. He remains faceless and voiceless.
I should leave. I should walk away and report the attempt on my life, but something keeps me rooted to the spot.
