Part 33 - Goldi: Inked in Red

His shadow crawled across the scuffed floor when the door creaked open and he hulked in, leaving the door swinging. Silent, brooding, eyes scanning the room. They fell on me as he let slip his coat, and I felt the hunger there, that ravenous glare. I felt the rush, my nipples hardening under his t-shirt.

It wasn’t his tenderness I’d felt that first night. His warmth, his passion, his affection. I wasn’t sure it was in his DNA. He was a different animal. Teeth and claws. So different than Red. He ripped out your throat. She slipped between your ribs like the night and plucked out your heart. Both watched you bleed, picking their teeth with your tears.

The thought of it, of them, the way they fucked — the bruises on her neck she covered with makeup, the scratches on his face he didn’t bother to hide — made me wet the first time I’d realized what it was. I thought about the way they’d fucked me — I was like a rag doll they drug along on the floor behind them when they went from room to room, from day to night, my hair twisted up in their grip, my heels dragging along behind. She’d pushed me onto the bed, her naked body pressing down, the diamond points of her nipples teasing my lips, leaving me panting, breathless, aching for release while she took hers from my mouth. The way his tie had tightened around my throat while he fucked me, his steel burrowing into my soul, leaving me trembling, draped in his monstrous shadow.

I felt my cunt flush, remembering it as he stripped off his jacket. If they were here, both of them, now, what I wouldn’t do…

Off came the shirt, revealing a sculpted physique that defied the endless cigarettes, his dedication to whiskey. His pants hit the floor next, and I watched him stretch, his head back as if to let loose with a raging howl. But there was nothing, just a hollowness to the space between us, and his shoulders slumped when he turned. He padded through the loft as if the world burning around him was the norm. I could see it in his shoulders, in his face as he came closer, like a light going out. Blood splatter dotted his left cheek. His right eye was purple and swollen. Burn marks on his arm and chest. My fingers itched to touch them, to trace his pain.

I pushed the envelope under the blanket along with the letter opener. There was something else I needed now. Answers would come after I did.

My fingers slipped along the length of his cock. I gripped his balls, and I felt him stir. A low rumble in his throat. A shudder as I took him in my mouth, feeling the depths of his need meeting mine. Our bodies fell together. I devoured him, the big bad wolf at the door. His arms hung at his side, his breath an easy rhythm in the dark. Just the pitter patter of rain on the windows, his salty steel against my eager tongue. He just stood there, letting me have my way, letting me savor this last meal in La La Land.

My bag was packed, stuffed with those few things I needed. Those few essentials that were left in my life after Red walked out, when nothing meant anything, when I’d have burned the place down as easily as I plunged that knife into her gut. Tears burned in my eyes as I sucked Wolfe’s great cock into my throat, trying to refocus but still seeing her eyes staring back up at me. A flicker of recognition. A tear gathering in the corner. And then her gaze went right through me as if she’d caught a glimpse of something just beyond.

I couldn’t hold back, the river flowing, my cries muffled by his cock as a jolt of agony ripped through me, the pain and sorrow of that moment, that night, the blackness of the alley matching the darkness of my soul. What I did. My god, what I did.

But he wasn’t done, pulling me in, his fingers entwined in my hair now, an iron grip that I was helpless to escape as he fucked my mouth, and I saw for the first time what Red must have seen. I gagged and gasped, a string of drool dangling from my chin, my hands swatted away each time I tried to touch him, to push away, until it all snapped into place, and I realized it was true. What I’d wanted. What I needed. What I felt settle in between my legs, grasping at my heart as it thundered in my chest. Her eyes holding me there, the phantom of her touch, the echo of her kiss. And his rough hands, that growl. They did own me. They did. I was theirs.

Dead or alive, her memory seared into my core, his cock buried in my mouth, my arms fell limp by my sides as I felt the fight burn away and the realization settle in. She would never be gone, locked away in my heart forever, and he would never let me go.

I hit the floor when he pulled away, sprawled on my hands and knees, swallowing what he’d given me. I coughed, gasping as I tried to pull air back into my lungs. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and stopped and stared at the chipped nails, the traces of blood on my fingers. I blinked, and her dead eyes stared up at me, the light rain falling across her face like tears, the knife stained red, glinting with a cheap alley shine. I turned away, squeezing my eyes shut, and dragged myself onto the bed where he sat, watching me.

I tucked my legs up and wrapped a loose sheet around me.

Not a word from his mouth, but I heard his voice in his eyes. He knew. He’d seen me with the knife, hadn’t he? Like he’d seen me just then? Couldn’t he see her? Was she there on the floor for him, too? I dared to look back, and there was nothing, just my golden dress in a pile, my bag of clothes, the bag of money. Everything ready, if he didn’t know. Everything ready for us, if…

His eyes were somewhere else. Was she there, staring back at him? Was she always there like she was for me?

“Jack, I have the money.” My voice was a whisper, afraid to pull him back to wherever he’d gone.

“You can’t stay here.” He didn’t look at me. “They’ll be coming.”

“Who?”

“Everyone.”

“He’s gone. The old guy. The giant.”

“The cops will come. They’ll know who did it. I wasn’t subtle this time. I wasn’t careful.”

“What? What did you do?” I’d seen it all. The crazy women. The giant. Then Wolf walking calmly out of the building that went up in flames, lighting up the sky. And then the old man, the old lecher with his promises and his broken English and his dead eyes. Dead eyes splattered across a window.

Jack turned to me and stared, as if seeing me for the first time. He blinked, cocked his head to the side, as if he’d thought I was someone else. And I knew who.

“They’ll know.”

“Who?”

“Get dressed. There’s an early train north. I can get you to Grand Central. I know a guy in Buffalo.” He stood and walked over to a chair heaped with discarded clothes. He sorted through them, tossing a few pieces on the floor before pulling on a pair of dark trousers, followed by a white button down.

I just watched him, unmoving, the room swaying as if it was coming apart.

“Put this on,” he said, and tossed a pair of jeans at me. “They were Red’s. Should fit. There are shoes in the corner over there. Hers. Should fit. Take anything you want.”

I just stared, watching him button his shirt, tuck in it. He looked just like he had every day I’d known him. Black hair piled on his head that hadn’t seen a comb in ages. The rugged chin rimmed in stubble. Bags under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in a week. He moved around the room, pulling the rest of his ensemble together, plucking up pieces here and there — the belt I recognized, a pair of brown leather lace-up boots. His shoulder holster gripped a silver pistol. He clipped his badge at his waist. Then, he turned and frowned, and crossed the distance between us in an instant.

“You’re not dressed. There’s no time left,” he said, looming over me. “Don’t you understand?”

“No.” No. This was not how it was supposed to go.

“They’ll be here any minute, and you have to be gone. The longer we stand here…” His voice trailed off.

I swallowed, took a deep breath. “Let them find us. If they know what we did, if you won’t come with me.” I let a beat go by. “I can’t go without you.” I knew it then with a certainty that I couldn’t explain — if he wasn’t there, she wouldn’t be there either. And I would be alone again, like I was that night, standing in front of the 63rd Street shelter, wondering if there was a meal inside for me, a cot, a chance at something. I would wait. Let them come. I couldn’t lose both of them. “I’ll wait with you.”

“Do you know what I did?” He stared at me, then through me, and I could see the moments playing out in his eyes. “I killed the giant, those whores. I killed an FBI agent tonight — the girl in the cage they were torturing. No way I could get her out of there, so I shot her. Forensics will place me behind the shelter. That SUV. His brains painted all over the driver’s seat, a 9mm round in his skull.”

“We’ll go. We’ll run. We have the money.”

“I can’t. I can’t let you get mixed up in whatever it was, whatever I did. That and more. So much more. And those guys in the bar.”

“What? Who?”

“And Steve.”

Steve? No. No! It wasn’t you. I wanted to shout it out, to slap him, to pound on his chest, but he just looked at me with a certainty that I couldn’t deny. I’d seen Ivan stab him right there on the sidewalk. Right in front of me.

“And Red.”

Her face floated up between us, and I blinked back the tears. “No.”

“I killed her as surely as I killed all those other people. The people who came before her. Before them. Before tonight, long before you. She was in that alley because of me. I did that.”

I watched as a single tear slid down his cheek, and the pain bubbled up inside me, a black knot twisting in my chest. “No.”

“She wrote me a letter before she left. I keep it in a drawer here. I read it, went to Smiley’s and took a bottle from behind the bar. I sat in my usual seat in the back and watched her last performance.”

I could see his eyes soften, my own memories of that night floating up before me. Red in her signature cape, hints of black lingerie lurking under the folds, her perfect toes peeking out from her strappy heels. How I’d worshiped them, ached to kiss each perfect digit. I’d crawled across the floor of my own apartment to prostrate myself before her and adore a heavenly vision, my heart pounding out the rhythm of my desire. She sways, her hips flowing with the music as the cape falls away. Rabid trolls press against the stage as I lean back into the shadows, one hand on the cigarette tray, the other finding my clit. She fucks the crowd while I fuck myself. The music rises with the appetite of the crowd, Red fueling their lust, their fantasies, and emptying their wallets while I grind helplessly against my fingers, desperate for release. Just a word from her, a glance, a nod, and I will cum then and there, steps away from Jess pouring drinks with a ferocity that rivals the crowd’s lust.

“She left me.”

I blink, the moment gone, and I reach down and take his hand in mine, pull him to me. “She left me, too.”

“I killed her that night. Killed myself. Killed us with my screaming, my rage.”

“No, Jack, no,” I said, the warmth of his hand spreading out across my body, and for the first time, I could see a way forward without her. Maybe, with just him, that big mook’s broken heart and mine mending together. Was, there a future for just us? Maybe there wasn’t just today. Maybe there was a tomorrow for us. “No, Jack. You didn’t kill her.” I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “I did.”

“Huh?” His eyes sparked.

“You weren’t the only one she left. Right there in the dressing room, she said goodbye and walked out on me.” My heart thudded in my chest, and suddenly I could smell her perfume, as if she was right there. I could see the anger in her eyes, the back of her head, the door closing before I realized I couldn’t just stand there and let her go. “I killed her, Jack.” She was fast through the kitchen and out the back door, and I was running, tears hot on my cheeks. Chef walked away as I burst through the door, leaving his knife on the counter, and I scooped it up without a thought. “She was leaving us, and I…I did it right there in the alley. I don’t know. I….”

I could feel his hand shaking in mine, or was it me shaking? I couldn’t tell.

“It was you?” His eyes were steel, stabbing into me, and he yanked his hand away.

“I…I couldn’t let her…she was leaving. Leaving us. She was walking out. Away. From us. I loved her, Jack. You loved her. She — ”

“She was all I had. Now, now she’s — ”

“She left us,” I screamed, the weight of it suddenly crashing down on me. “She was leaving, and I just couldn’t. But you. But you and me, we…Jack. Jack, please.”

The blow knocked me back on the bed, my ears ringing, seeing only white for a moment. And then he was on me, roaring, teeth gnashing as his hands closed around my neck. I screamed, lashing out, gasping for breath as he climbed on top, the full weight of his body pressing me down while his fingers tightened their grip. No! Please, Jack! I scrambled, reaching for anything, unable to pry his hand away or reach his face. Croaking and gasping, I tried to plead with him.

But the letter. I’d read it. He’d read it, and it had broken his heart, and maybe it would again. And it was here, underneath me, under the blankets, somewhere. A chance.

It was my only chance, the world around me going dim, the roaring of the beast on top of me growing faint. I scrambled, shoving my hand into the sheets beside me. It was there a moment ago, not my imagination. I’d slit the envelope open and carefully unfolded the letter, feeling the pain of her words, as if she were speaking directly to me. Leaving me, but not with hate in her heart. With pity. With that certain brand of compassion she’d always trucked with her into every situation. An angel driven away by the horrors she’d witnessed.

“Please,” I croaked out just as my fingers fell on the paper. I crushed it in my grip and pulled it out, shoving it in his face. “Red left you, but I won’t.”

The world slowed down as his face contorted with recognition. The letter hung in the air between us. The love of his life, the love of mine, threatening to destroy our chance at a future. I gulped down a breath, coughing and sputtering when his hands released me and gripped the paper with tenderness and affection, the snarl slipping from his lips.

“Red.” The word dripped from his lips like a tear. He slipped the letter into his back pocket, and turned his attention back to me, his face flush but docile, serene. “I loved her,” he said and swallowed. “And I know you did, too. So I’ll make this quick. I owe you that.”

I stared at him, transfixed, as he pulled his pistol from its home.

“Jack?”

“Let me end this the only way I know how. It’s what we’re both owed for what we’ve done,” he said, and let out a breath.

“Jack.” The cold metal pressed against my forehead. “Jack, I’m so sorry,” I said, and I plunged the letter opener into his chest.