He stood up and quickly left the room. He didn’t look back. Arianna was dumbfounded, speechless. She stared at the door for what seemed like forever, wondering if she should get up and follow him.
It was really too much to take in. She’d of course heard about male victims of abuse, but had never met one to her knowledge. They didn’t talk about it, they didn’t share it. It didn’t come up in casual conversation. She couldn’t imagine the pain, the anguish he went through. And then, at sixteen, to methodically plan to kill his abuser and make it look like a suicide? They weren’t alike; he was much stronger.
“Where’s Argento,” she heard from her left, but she didn’t look up. So he walked toward her, and stood in front of her. “You’re crying again.”
“I have to go,” she said, and stood up. She didn’t even notice she was barefoot. She took several steps outside into the cool air, and saw the SUV was gone.
Jordan grabbed her shoulders, and said softly, “Come back inside.” He led her to the bed and sat her down, then wrapped his arm around her shoulder. It wasn’t as intimate as usual, it was friendly. “What did he say? Did he tell you?”
“Tell me what?” She wondered as she wiped another tear off her cheek.
“It’s okay. You can talk to me about it.” He didn’t sound like the kind, loving Jordan she first met. But he also didn’t sound like a robot. It was somewhere in between. “It’s in his file.”
“It is?” She shook her head. He had told no one. If the FBI knew he’d be in jail.
“Yes, I’ve read everything in his file. It’s there: his sexuality.” She was even more confused. “He’s gay.”
“Gay?” No. She didn’t believe it. He could never, ever, react to her the way he did at the safe house and be gay. He couldn’t be gay and kiss her neck and her ear the way he did. No way.
“Well, he’s technically bi as he has sex with men and women.” He sounded clinical again. She shuddered. Not because Vince had sex with men, but because Jordan was telling her in that voice.
“Why does it matter who he has sex with? I don’t care either way.” She shook her head hard now, betraying herself. Did she care?
“Because he’s in love with you.” It was flat, unemotional.
“What are you talking about? He doesn’t even know me!” Had Jordan become stupid all of a sudden? Or did he see something she didn’t?
“I can tell by how he looks at you; anyone can. He wears his heart on his sleeve.” He hugged her once, then went to the other bed and returned to his computer as if nothing had happened.
“Is that why you’ve been acting that way? Because you’re jealous? You have no reason to be.” She tried to say it assertively, but even she doubted her words. Should he be jealous?
“I know you’ll choose him. It’s inevitable. I mean, just look at him. I’d choose him over me any day of the week.” He continued to stare at his screen.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Maybe
you
don’t know me either!” She walked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.
She showered and tidied the room. She went to the office and exchanged the towels and made the beds. She tried her hardest not to think about Vincenzo Argento, or Jordan, or even her own emotions. Jordan was still engrossed in his computer screen as if she wasn’t in the room.
As the day turned to evening she began to worry. He had their only mode of transportation. He had left them alone. Not that she was afraid to be alone. She was heavily armed and had plenty of ammo.
And then she wondered if he was hurt, if he had been killed by the Secretary’s army. By 11 pm she was convinced he was dead. She paced back and forth in the room, and glanced more than once at the door.
“He’s okay,” Jordan assured her. She wished he could make her a cup of cocoa and they could go to his apartment and sit together on his couch. She didn’t have to worry or think there.
“How do you know?” She whined. “He’s been gone for… almost twelve hours!”
“There are no reports on any of the police channels of an Italian giant in need of assistance, or being arrested.” He tried to make light of the situation, but it just pissed her off.
“What about the Secretary’s people, huh? Did you forget about that?”
“Of course not; they’re still searching for us under the radar. There are no news stories or police bulletins, yet.” She wanted to slap the indifference out of him. She was in full on panic.
“Find him on that damn thing. I don’t care how you do it!” She pointed at the laptop, and screamed at the top of her lungs.
She heard someone outside, and lunged for her gun. She heard keys, and thumps against the door. “Who is it?” She called out from against the door.
“It’s Vince, princess. Let me in.” She shook so bad it took her a minute to get the locks open, and when she did he practically fell into the room.
He smelled of alcohol and sweat. His thick hair was plastered against his head; with beer maybe she wasn’t sure. And he had a black eye, a bloodied nose, and a cut lip. His t-shirt was torn, and he only had on one shoe.
“What did the other guy look like,” Jordan wondered under his breath as he stared at the man who was usually so attractive. He looked like he had been through the war and lost.
“There were four, but who’s counting?” His words were slurred. He lunged toward her, and when he caught her he leaned all his weight against her. She nearly crumbled to the ground. His smile was wide, and his dark eyes sparkled with mischief. Even with the bruises he was handsome.
Jordan rushed to give her a hand, and they managed to get him in the bathroom. He fell into the small, plastic covered shower. Jordan groaned, glanced from Argento to Arianna, and left the room. “You can’t leave me alone with him!” She screamed, but he ignored her and shut the door behind him. “You can’t leave him like this!”
“It’s okay princess,” he tried to whisper, but she was sure Jordan could hear him in the other room. “Just leave me here. I’ll be okay.”
“I’m not leaving you here,” she insisted. But as she gazed at him she faltered. She’d never in her life taken care of a man. What was she supposed to do next?
“Take off my shoes,” he instructed her.
“You’re only wearing one,” she noted.
He laughed at that. “Not the first time it happened.” She groaned, and removed his socks and his one shoe. “Now my shirt.” She bit her lip and rolled her eyes. “You can do it, princess.”
“No, I can’t,” she said as she shook her head.
“You’re not a virgin are you?” He laughed out loud at the thought. But she turned away and grabbed a washcloth, then ran cold water over it from the sink. She bent down beside him and dabbed at his injuries. His eye was swollen shut now. He moaned when she touched it. He grabbed her wrist, which he did often, and stared at her. “You’re a virgin?”
“Do we have to talk about this now?” She returned to his cuts, but he lost interest in her ministrations.
“How does a girl who looks like you stay a virgin until she’s twenty-six years old?” He tried to reach out to touch her hair, but his hand landed on her shoulder and stayed there. And although he winced at his cut lip, his smile was nearly as big as him.
“I have guns,” she snipped, “And I know how to use them.”
“Are you threatening me again?” He tried to arch an eyebrow and failed.
“Would you shut up?” She tried for harsh, but didn’t quite make it. “God you stink.”
“Take off my shirt, and my sweats, and turn on the shower,” he insisted.
“I can’t.” But she couldn’t leave him there smelling of beer either.
“I couldn’t do anything right now if I wanted to, princess.” But his hand moved to her cheek so gently she wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth.
She hoped when he sobered up he never called her that again. She pulled at his t-shirt and got it off, and what she found underneath was utterly amazing. Every muscle on his torso was defined. His body was full of ridges. He had absolutely no body fat. She could count his ribs and his abs. His skin was as tan as hers, and his chest was sprinkled with dark hairs.
He didn’t interrupt her, he allowed her to stare. He even enjoyed it, and smiled; not that she would notice. Her eyes were didn’t leave his chest. He leaned back against the tub and watched her. Her beauty was beyond compare. He’d never met a woman like her. Her tan skin and long dark wavy hair should not be paired with the brightest, bluest eyes. She had the most adorable button nose, and round cheeks. And the one time he saw her smile, as she stood in the doorway of his shared bedroom, he had been bewitched.
”My pants,” he finally said, pulling her out of her daze.
“What?” She jumped when he said it.
He chuckled. “Pull off my pants,” he repeated. He lifted his hips to make it easier on her. She bit her lip again. He shivered when he saw it. He wanted to kiss her so badly, really kiss her, but not now. He must smell horrible; he’d been drinking all day, he smoked half a dozen cigarettes which he’d given up years ago, and he ate two dozen Buffalo wings. What he wouldn’t give for a breath mint.
Her hands moved in slow motion toward the waist band of his pants. She would encounter his skin, tight over his many large muscles. She steadied herself, and reached down. “Oh, God,” she groaned as she touched him. He was so warm, and his skin was so soft. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she yanked at his sweatpants. She pulled, and tugged, and finally got them off without looking.
He never let anyone undress him. He liked to be in control, he liked to do the tearing and ripping of clothing. But he was getting a hell of a lot of pleasure from watching her fawn over and struggle with his big body.
Her eyes were still closed as he said, “Now my underwear.”
“No!” She protested loudly.
“Just kidding, I’m not wearing any.” He laughed when she turned away from him. “No, really, I’m wearing boxers. Cover as much as swimming trunks, honestly.”
“You’re lying,” she challenged.
“No, I’m not. I’m being completely truthful.” He chuckled as she handed him a hand towel.
“Put this over yourself.” Then she turned on the water, and adjusted the temperature.
He covered himself with the towel before she turned on the shower head, and she handed him a wash cloth and a miniature soap and closed the curtain. “You can’t even see me now,” he sighed. When a noise of complete frustration escaped her lips he laughed again.
She stormed out of the bathroom and slammed the door, only to find Jordan sitting on the edge of his bed. He had to have heard everything. At least she didn’t say anything that would make him angry, although she thought a few that would probably make him never speak to her again.
“Why didn’t you help me,” she accused, and flung herself onto her bed in a huff.
“I have a thing, about…” He didn’t look up at her, and he didn’t have his computer on his lap. His palms rubbed his thighs obsessively, and his head was down. “In jail, in the shower…”
She became still. She didn’t want to say, or do, anything to upset him more. But she saw that his shoulders flexed, and she knew he was crying again. She climbed into the floor, fell down beside him, and laid her head in his lap.
How had the three of them ended up together? Three scared and broken misfits united by fate, but for what purpose? Why was she, the woman whose sister’s rape had caused her to mistrust all men, been placed with these two men who had both been raped themselves? What were the odds?
And she could say only the first words that came to her mind. “What are their names?”
She expected him to resist. She expected him to tell her no. He was a good man, a Christian man. He was supposed to forgive the men who hurt him. Turn the other cheek. “I wrote a list,” he said with his robot voice.
“Good,” she sighed. “Did you include their current addresses?”
“Yes.” She nodded, and her cheek rubbed against the denim of his jeans. She was sure, by now, they were soaking wet from her own tears. And she thought, perhaps, she knew what fate had in mind.
Chapter Eleven
“If you leave me in here, I’m going to shrivel up like a prune!” Argento called out through the door. The water was off; at least he’d remembered he wasn’t an invalid.
She patted Jordan’s knee and stood to take care of her other broken misfit. He had pulled the curtain open, and his man parts were modestly covered with the towel. But his legs were not, and they were just as glorious as his torso. “Do all guys look like you,” she wondered as she stared.
“You’re kidding, right?” He offered her his hand to help him up, but instead she took a towel off the rack.
“Why do you need me in here for this,” she asked as he grabbed a hand rail on the other side of the shower and pulled himself up.
“I didn’t need you, I just wanted you.” The towel fell to the shower floor, and he was indeed wearing boxers. They may have been modest when dry, but wet the thin material clung to everything and left nothing to the imagination. She closed her eyes quickly and held the towel out in front of him. “I thought I told you that last night.”
He wrapped the towel around his hips and reached out for her, but she ducked and escaped. She felt bad about Argento sleeping in the chair last night, and his injuries tonight, so she slid into it and tried to get comfortable. At least the heater kept her warm.
Jordan already lay on his back in his bed, just as he did the previous night. She was fairly sure he was not asleep. Argento entered the room loudly, turned on the lights, and searched in his bag for clean clothes. He found what he was looking for, and dropped the towel in the middle of the room. His backside rivaled his front for most amazing thing she’d ever seen. His buttocks were round and firm at the same time. She stared until he turned around.
“You can sleep in the bed,” he announced loudly. He must have guessed Jordan wasn’t asleep, or he just didn’t care.
“You’re injured, and you slept here last night,” she argued. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re not fine, let me,” he said. He was right in front of her, and she looked up to find him dressed, again, in sweats and a t-shirt. It should be a criminal offense to be so hot. “Come on, princess,” he said as he bent over to pick her up. He carried her, resisting, toward the beds. But instead of depositing her on the empty bed, he placed her beside Jordan. “There, now everyone’s happy.”