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I pull it away from him and stand. "I have to get out of here. I can't do this." I latch onto my clutch and storm out of the secluded room we've been playing pretend in. I march my way through the restaurant, furiously wiping at my face. Why can't I stop crying?
My expensive heels click loudly against the polished floor of the lobby.
A doorman opens the door as I approach, and I burst out onto the sidewalk, blinking at my surroundings. The ground glistens with what must have been an evening rainfall. With not a car in sight, I reach into my bag and pull out my phone, poking and swiping and desperately wishing for a nearby ride-share.
There’s a three-hour wait on one. Four on another. I click the first, but then it flashes unavailable.
“What the fuck!” I yell out.
Savini rushes out onto the sidewalk with me. “Banks, I’m sorry.”
“Stop fucking saying that.” I shove my phone in his face. “Why are there no fucking cars available? Where the hell are we? Fucking Narnia?”
“Calm down.” He shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out his own cell.
“Don’t tell me to calm down.”
“I’ll have my driver take you home.”
I shake my head. "No absolutely fucking not." Rule number whatever the fuck: don't let them find out where you live. It's bad enough that he knows my name, where I work, and my fucking childhood trauma. Not all of it, but enough that I can never take back.
“Okay.” He lowers his phone. “What can I do then? What will make things better?”
I rake my hands through my hair, turning and realizing I’m standing in front of a hotel. Duh. I’ll get a room. Hide away in a comfy robe until dawn, and then catch a ride when they’re available. I’ll fucking hitchhike if I have to.
"You don't have to fix anything, Savini. You've done enough." I march back to the door, the thing opening wide with my approach. I say a borderline aggressive, "Thank you," to the man no doubt wondering what the fuck is wrong with me and head straight to the front desk. "I'd like a room, please. Anything, I don't care what it is."
The straight-faced, tall man clicks away on his computer. “I’m afraid we have no available reservations for this evening.”
With my debit card in hand, I stare blankly at him. “That can’t be possible. Can you check again? Please? Put me in a broom closet for all I care.”
Footsteps approach from the same direction I just came.
Still looking at the clerk, I say, “There’s a big, scary, yet incredibly attractive man standing behind me isn’t there?”
His gaze flits to Savini and then to me. He nods. “Mmhm.”
“Banks,” Savini calls out with a strange sort of tenderness to his voice.
I turn on my heel. “Yes?”
“I have a penthouse upstairs.” He holds his hands up in front of him. “Not expecting anything, and surely you know by now what kind of person I am.”
Do I though? Do I really?
At the end of the day, he’s still a murderer.
But does that change because he claims to only kill bad guys?
There’s no way Jared would do the things he said. His friend maybe, but not him. Not when his mother was a victim. His sister. Him. How could someone ever do what our father did to us, to another person?
Lying, cheating, deceit—those are one thing, but physical abuse? No. Never to someone who didn’t deserve it. Like what I had thought of Savini. I was going to kill him because he murdered my brother. But what kind of person would that make me if what he was saying was true? That my brother was just as guilty as the man who took my mother from me.
Tears roll down my cheeks again. “I don’t know why I’m crying so much.”
Savini sighs and steps forward. He looks to the clerk. “I’ll take it from here, Donno.” Savini places his large hand on my shoulder and guides me away from the front desk and over to an elevator that’s only accessible by keycard.
A few moments later, we step into his room, the aroma of cedar and honeysuckle tickling my nose. He continues to nudge me along until I’m sitting on a plush couch in the lavish sitting area in the middle of the place. Savini latches onto the box of tissues on the side table and extends them out to me. “I shouldn’t have pushed you into talking about something you clearly didn’t want to. I understand what it’s like to bury things in the past.”
