Chapter 38: Release
Outskirts of Milan.
The stolen SUV stopped in the parking lot of a quiet, old motel. A neon sign reading 'La Notte' flickered dimly in the drizzle.
Frans turned off the engine. "Wait here."
He ran to the reception. Five minutes later, he returned knocking on the window, holding a rusty manual key and a large backpack from the trunk.
"Got it," reported Frans. "Room 204. I also managed to save the Go-bag from the Maybach trunk earlier. It contains standard change of clothes, cash, and other necessities."
Xavier took the bag. "What kind of clothes?"
"Plain tees, jeans, regular jackets. Casual wear. We have to blend in. I chose things that aren't flashy but comfortable."
"Good," said Xavier briefly. "Watch that bastard."
"Relax. He is safe in the room downstairs," replied Frans casually.
Xavier got out, then opened the door on Agatha's side. "Let's go."
They went up to the second floor, entering room 204. The room was narrow, smelled musty, with a single iron bed that looked hard.
Xavier locked the door, threw the bag on the floor, and started unbuttoning his shirt which was dirty from explosion dust.
"Shower first," said Xavier without turning around. "Warm water will calm you down."
Agatha nodded weakly. Her body was sticky and dirty. She took a thin towel from the bed and went into the small bathroom in the corner.
The bathroom was pathetic. The tiles were cracked. The yellow light dimmed, limiting vision. Agatha turned the old shower tap.
Sputter. No water came out.
"Come on..." complained Agatha. She tried to force the stuck tap lever.
Crack!
The rusty iron lever broke in her hand.
SPLASH!
Water sprayed heavily from the broken pipe, not downwards, but straight forward, hitting Agatha's face and body. And unfortunately, it was cold water.
"DAMN IT!" shrieked Agatha in surprise, stepping back while covering her face, trying to withstand the rushing water. "XAVIER!"
Outside, Xavier, who was shirtless and checking the perimeter, flinched in surprise. He strode to the bathroom quickly, kicking the door open.
"What is it?!"
The scene was unexpected. Agatha was fighting against a crazy stream of water, soaked from head to toe. Her torn red gown now clung tightly to her body, transparent in some parts.
Xavier swallowed hard.
"Turn it off! The lever broke!" shouted Agatha while trying to cover the pipe hole with her palm, but it was useless.
Xavier didn't say much. He barged in, stood behind Agatha, and hugged his wife's waist with one hand so she wouldn't slip on the slippery floor. His right hand reached for the main valve on the lower pipe.
"Move a little," whispered Xavier in Agatha's ear.
Their bodies pressed together tightly. Both soaked by the cold water. Xavier turned the rusty valve with all his strength.
Creak...
The water spray died. Silence. Only the sound of their ragged breathing and water dripping from their hair remained.
"Damn hotel," cursed Agatha while wiping water from her eyes. She shivered slightly. "Now I am soaked in cold water."
Xavier turned Agatha's body until they faced each other. He leaned Agatha against the ceramic wall. His gaze was dark, tracing his wife's wet face.
"You are cold?" asked Xavier, his voice husky.
"A little."
"Let me warm you up."
Xavier didn't let Agatha go out in wet clothes. He pulled a dry towel from the rack. With deft but gentle movements, he helped Agatha remove the clinging wet gown, letting it fall to the muddy bathroom floor.
Now it was just skin on skin.
Xavier wrapped Agatha's body with the towel, rubbing his wife's back and arms slowly to generate heat.
"Still cold?" asked Xavier, looking deep into Agatha's hazel eyes.
"Better," whispered Agatha. Her heart was beating fast. Not because of shock, but because of this proximity.
"Your heart..." Xavier placed his palm on Agatha's chest. "It beats so fast."
"Shock effect," evaded Agatha.
"Is it?" denied Xavier. He leaned down, his nose touching Agatha's. "You are used to surviving life and death situations worse than this, and you are shocked by a little water attack?"
Before Agatha could answer, Xavier captured her lips.
The kiss was deep and demanding. Not a rough kiss, but a kiss full of pleasure and passion. Xavier devoured Agatha's lips, as if wanting to ensure the woman was real.
Agatha wrapped her arms around Xavier's neck. She kissed him back; this was the first time Agatha returned his kiss. The fear of death she had suppressed earlier now turned into a desire to be touched.
Without breaking the kiss, Xavier lifted Agatha's body. He carried her out of the bathroom, toward the old iron bed.
He laid Agatha down slowly.
"The mattress will get wet with my hair like this," mumbled Agatha between their kisses.
"Screw the mattress," whispered Xavier.
That night, there were no sweet words or cheesy pickup lines. Only touch.
Xavier moved with a slow but intense tempo, looking at his wife's face under the dim streetlight. He treated Agatha very carefully, as if the woman was a precious item that had just cracked and needed to be put back together.
Every touch from Xavier erased all the problems they faced. Replacing them with warmth and safety.
"Xavier... do it slowly," called Agatha softly, her eyes misty.
"I am here, I will be gentle," answered Xavier, holding Agatha's hand, intertwining their fingers tightly. "I have you."
They released all the tension of that night, letting their bodies speak about how afraid they were of losing each other.
One hour later.
The room was quiet and peaceful. Agatha was wearing a plain white oversized t-shirt taken from Frans's bag. The shirt covered her body down to her thighs, comfortable and warm.
She lay on her side, her head resting on Xavier's arm. Her long legs intertwined with Xavier's under the thin blanket.
"What do we wear tomorrow?" asked Agatha softly, her eyes half-closed.
"Jeans and tees. There are hoodies in the bag too," answered Xavier while playing with Agatha's hair which was starting to dry. "We will blend in with the surroundings."
"Good," mumbled Agatha. She buried her face in Xavier's broad chest, inhaling her husband's calming masculine scent. "I am tired."
Xavier chuckled softly. He kissed the top of Agatha's head.
"Sleep. You need energy for tomorrow."
"You aren't sleeping?"
"Soon."
Xavier didn't hold a gun. He didn't check the door. He just hugged Agatha tighter with both arms, creating a protective cocoon for his wife.
"Sleep tight, my little Rose," whispered Xavier.
In seconds, Agatha's breathing became regular. She fell asleep soundly in her husband's arms, forgetting for a moment that out there, dozens of killers were looking for them.
In that narrow room, they were no longer the Devil and the Rose. They were just a husband and wife.