Chapter 13: Chapter Thirteen

Gloria pulled at the hem of the “top” the desk girls had given her. She sighed and walked toward the main area where she could hear Frankie moving around the kitchen. As she walked she had to pluck her shorts out of her butt. She waddled a bit as she tried to keep from busting out of the tight clothes. Frankie had his back to her as he gulped down a glass of milk.

“I think she got offended by your ‘bigger’ comment,” Gloria guessed.

Frankie turned around and his eyes bulged at the same time as milk spewed from his nose. She couldn’t help but smile as he tried to wipe up his mess while simultaneously laughing and wheezing in pain at what he’d just experienced.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Peachy,” he answered as he hacked up more gunk from his lungs and nose. A moment later with a dish towel pressed to his face, he looked up at her again and started to laugh. He walked around the kitchen island and observed her outfit with shrewd eyes. “Are you sure that’s not a bra and panties?” he asked, moving his pointer finger from the top to her shorts.

“Are you asking if I know how to wear clothes?” she returned.

“There’s nothing else?” he asked, his eyes still crinkled in humor.

“No,” she said, putting her hands on her hips.

Frankie set the towel down and eliminated the space between them. His finger hooked under the strap of her tank top and skimmed upward. “I don’t hate it.”

“Frankie.”

He shrugged. “Just put my shirt back on.”

Instead of doing as he suggested, she followed him back through the suite toward the kitchen. “I still can’t believe you didn’t think to bring clothes. Was this your first kidnapping?”

“First voluntary kidnapping? Yes, yes it was.” He walked to the opposite side of the kitchen island and faced her. “Normally I couldn’t care less what my victims are wearing… or not wearing. Then again…” His eyes ventured over the exposed skin of her stomach and thighs.

“What’s for… Dinner?” she asked, hoping to change the subject by looking at the evening sun filtering through the window.

Frankie turned to the counter behind him and grabbed a tray with five cereal boxes perched on it. He presented it with a flourish as he set it between them. He grabbed two bowls and a half-gallon of milk. He drank straight from the jug as she picked up each box of cereal.

“Really? Cereal?”

He lowered the milk jug. “What were you expecting? Duck confit? Cereal is your favorite. Is it not?”

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me I need my strength? That I should be getting some protein or a salad?” she asked.

Frankie watched her with a dangerous glint to his eye that said he knew this conversation would go exactly as it was. He picked up the box of Fruit Loops. “Would you like me to call those girls again, Gloria? Order you some steak and eggs? A big ole Caesar salad? Or…” He set the Fruit Loops down in front of her and nudged it closer. “Do you want to let go of expectations and take what you want instead?” Gloria’s eyes narrowed at his double meaning. She reached her hand out and grabbed the box of cereal. “That’s what I thought,” he said with approval, pouring a bowl of Cocoa Pebbles for himself.

They sat in silence as Gloria demolished three bowls of the sugary stuff. At home she wasn’t allowed to have such unhealthy meals. At her apartment in New York, she couldn’t afford the name brands. A bowl of cereal was a treat, a way to remember her childhood before the pressures of her future started to weigh her shoulders. She could feel Frankie’s gaze on her but she ignored it, choosing instead to lose herself in recollection, to gather her courage and grapple with her new reality.

Three decisive knocks sounded on the door to the suite. Frankie’s head slowly turned to look at the door.

“Did you order more food?” she asked curiously. Did he call about the clothes when she wasn’t looking?

“No. I did not.”

Three more knocks. Frankie stood up and pulled a handgun from his waistband before striding in his socks toward the sound. He held a finger to his mouth, signaling for her to stay quiet as he looked through the peephole. His body stiffened, his jaw started to tick. Gloria got to her feet, knowing his body language wasn’t signaling anything good. Frankie pushed away from the door.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath as he ran his hand through his wavy black hair. He took her by the upper arm and strode toward her bedroom. “Gather whatever you need. We’re leaving.”

“What is it? What did you see?”

“Five men outside the door.”

Goosebumps rose over her skin. “Sergei’s men?”

“Judging by the shape of their ears I’d guess Santa’s elves,” Frankie grumbled.

“There will be more than five waiting for us,” she surmised, ignoring his attempt at comedic relief. She gathered the only thing that was hers: her nightgown.

Her world went suddenly black as Frankie finagled his t-shirt back over her head. By the time she was able to emerge from the collar, he was out of the room, placing things into his duffel. His brow was firm, his shoulders straight. All humor had evaporated from the suite. The knocking at the door was getting stronger, more determined, testing the durability of the security bar. Frankie zipped up the duffel and flung it over his shoulder. He checked the clips of the three handguns attached in some way to his hip. He set his combat boot clad foot onto the coffee table and made sure his arsenal of knives was intact. His black eyes flicked up to meet hers.

“Ready?”

“For what? Do you have a plan or…”

“Take out the five men in the hallway. Take the elevator down. Deal with the men waiting for us down there,” he answered with a shrug.

“That’s it?” she hissed between her teeth. That was the big plan? The man infiltrated and annihilated an entire mansion full of highly-trained Russian assassins and when faced with an ambush his plan was to wing it?

Frankie shrugged again and held one of his handguns out to her. “Do you know how to fire a gun?” he asked.

She snorted. “Of course,” she answered. She took the gun, unsure if she’d be able to use it against someone as she’d only ever shot at targets before. He gave her a dubious look complete with a raised eyebrow as he determined the probability of her getting hurt with the gun versus without.

“Show me how you disengage the safety,” he instructed, ignoring the pounding at the door that grew louder with each minute they wasted.

She clicked the safety off, held the gun firmly in her hand and lengthened her arms as she aimed for the head of a ballet dancer featured in the painting on a nearby wall.

“Let’s go.”

By the time she turned, Frankie was already by the door, one hand held up, gripping his pistol as he shifted back and forth on his feet. “Stay back, stay down, only move when I tell you. Got it?”

“I mean… I guess?” she said, flailing her arms helplessly.

“Good. Ready?”

Gloria sighed and disengaged the safety. The banging against the door had turned into a frenzied attack of fists. She held the gun in her hand as she’d practiced so many times before, widened her stance and unlocked her knees. She gave Frankie a decisive nod. He admired her for a moment as she stood ready to pounce into action, then he opened the door.

She was not prepared for the chaos in the small foyer. The moment Frankie pushed the door open, he raised his gun and fired. Multiple gunshots rang out and men yelled as Frankie fought to hold his ground. Once his first handgun was spent, he dropped it to grab his second. The flash of his muzzle and the smoke from the various weapons being fired clogged the small foyer until silence rang out across the suite.

Frankie was breathing heavily. He motioned for her to stay where she was… still rooted to the exact spot he’d left her in. He walked out into the foyer with his gun still raised. She heard three more decisive shots before the silence resumed. He walked back into the suite carrying guns he'd retrieved from the bodies outside. He took the clips out of the guns and stowed the ammunition in the various pockets of his vest.

“We need to move,” Frankie informed her.

Gloria didn’t hesitate. She practically sprinted toward the door as she rushed to listen to the man guiding her through another scene of carnage. She stopped at the doorway and gulped at what lay in front of her. There was so much blood. Maybe because the space was smaller than the mansion he’d already murdered his way through, the blood he'd drawn here seemed to flood the space, congealing along the walls, soaking into the carpet.

Frankie touched the small of her back, urging her forward. She held her gun by her side in a hand that shook as she walked toward the elevator. Frankie calmly scanned his card, pushed her slightly to the side and brandished his newly loaded gun in front of his chest. The elevator doors started to open and Gloria held her breath. Empty. Frankie’s shoulders fell and he took her arm to lead her onto the elevator. He pressed the button for the lobby, tucked his hands into his vest and closed his eyes.

Gloria leaned her hip against the railing and crossed her arms, unintentionally pointing her gun toward Frankie. “You said they wouldn’t come here. You said they would go to New York.”

Frankie shrugged, his eyes still closed, his mind lost in its own thoughts. “I was wrong.”

“What are you expecting down there?” she asked as the elevator continued to fall through the air.

He let out a sigh. “Ten to twenty men. Armed to the teeth. All hotel staff dispersed to the back, probably holding up in the kitchen so they don’t get in the way. Elevators disabled and stairwells blocked to keep civilians safe. Asher Thompson, waiting with a grin.”

“Asher Thompson?” Gloria repeated, a sliver of fear racing up her spine.

Frankie’s head lulled forward and his dark eyes examined her every microexpression, telling her he’d heard the fear in her voice. “You know him?”

Unfortunately, Gloria thought to herself. She clenched her fists. He was Sergei’s best friend. Lethal. Callous. Charming. Conniving. All in one deceptively attractive package. There were rumors that the two shared women. A rumor confirmed by Thompson himself when he promised to be gentle on her wedding night to Sergei. Of course he’d been the one to find them.

“Gloria?”

Luckily she didn’t get time to explain. The elevators dinged and Frankie shoved her to the right and prepared for what came next.