Page 30 of The Ripper

Two gunshots resounded in the space around us, and Arella pressed herself harder against me, her shivering passing through my clothes and touching my skin, a low whimper falling off her lips as the man’s body fell to the ground like a piece of meat, a hole between his eyes.

The euphoria of the release offered by his death didn’t last long, pain erupting in its place as I felt his bullet drilling through my shoulder, and my body involuntarily jerked back as my hand tightened around her so she wouldn’t fall.

When I released her and I turned to face her, my shirt was already soaked with blood.

Luckily, it was a black shirt.

~ What if it wasn’t?

~ She would’ve been scared of the blood.

~ She’s a doctor, dickhead.

~ I can’t wait for her to look into my eyes and make you shut the fuck up.

She was just as beautiful as I remembered, minus the shocked expression that wrinkled her features, but it didn’t stop me from smiling like a stupid teenager.

Arella blinked repeatedly before her gaze finally collided with mine, and the voice zipped it.

Silence, sweet silence.

A soft blush crept across her cheeks when she recognized me, her eyes widening in surprise, her mouth parting in a way that made me want to inhale that little gasp. She looked like she was revisiting our time together on the flight, as if that time was now developing in front of her eyes. She moistened her lips, her mouth opening and closing countless times, no words coming out. When she reached her hand up, seemingly unaware of the action, and pushed her finger into my cheek as if to see if I was real or a figment of her imagination, I felt myself getting hard at the feel of that brief, barely-there touch.

“We meet again,Snezhinka,” I half-whispered just before her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and her body went slack.

She swayed on her feet, nearly collapsing, but I caught her before she hit the concrete floor and picked her up, the effort making my wound bleed faster.

“That excited to see me, huh?” I shook my head, half-worried, half-amused, and headed out of the park.

I carried her in my arms all three blocks back to her apartment, weighing my options. I could either break into her home, so she would wake up in a place where she felt safe, and break her trust, or I could take her to my apartment and face the consequences.

“Fuck me, this is going to be a roller coaster,” I spoke to myself as I carefully put her in my car.

After buckling her in, I lit a cigarette and called Klaus.

“Santa’s Laundromat, how may I…” he began with his usual bullshit.

“Not today,Santa. I need you,” I interrupted him.

“Twice in less than twenty-four hours,” he chuckled, and I could feel the grin on his face through the phone. “Is this about your lady friend again?”

“Washington Park, as soon as possible. It’s empty now, but the laundry sits in the middle of the alley. Thorough cleaning, Klaus, I got shot there,” I admitted, passing to the driver’s side.

“Damn, you got shot? Man, how the mighty have fallen,” he snickered, “consider it done.”

“Thank you,” I bent down to look if she woke up. “Blya, da ty krasavitsa[2].”

I wanted to slap myself senseless for not being able to suppress the words.

~ She isn’t going anywhere, anyway. She’s ours.

~ She is mine, you psycho.

~ Semantics.

“She’s with you? Oh, bend me over and fuck me sideways, that’s huge. Should I take my tux out of storage? I hear wedding bells,” he went on and on in an overly exaggerated high-pitched voice until I couldn’t take it anymore and hung up.

I got into the car and pushed my hair back, then turned to look at her.

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