3–A Life for a Life

MARYJANE

"I need to cut this off," I say. "It's in the way."

"If you want to see me shirtless, all you have to do is ask."

I frown at him again. He's in the middle of bleeding out and is cracking a joke. I snip off his shirt and resume stitches.

"Are you insane?" he says as I thread the first stitch through. "You didn't even get the bullet out."

"This isn't a TV show. It's safer for most bullets to stay in place. The only way you're going to get that out is on an operating table-if I do it without the proper tools, I might hit an internal organ."

He curses to himself.

"If you've been through worse, you should know this," I muse.

He shoots me a dirty look but doesn't say anything. The man doesn't moan once as I stitch him up, but I can tell he's in pain by the way he's clenching his nails into his palm. After I finish, I take a large piece of gauze and wrap it firmly around his abdomen.

"Ok," I say. "Done. Try not to move too much, though."

He leans against the wall of the building and checks his phone.

"Fuck."

"Hm?"

"Still no service."

"Oh." There's a brief pause between us. "So...how did this happen?"

"That's none of your business."

"Sorry..."

He puts his phone down and continues to curse to himself. I wonder what happened. He didn't just get shot randomly on the docks; there's no one down here on weekends. He was here for a reason.

I hope the person who shot him didn't stick around.

"You still have blood on you." I sit next to him and use a washcloth to clean his face. "You're a bit of a mess, you know that?"

His eyes are no longer filled with spite for me. They've softened since I stitched him up, and I'm drawn to their beautiful color once more.

I wipe the blood off his face, running the washcloth along his defined cheekbones. Great. Not only does this criminal have a hot body, but he looks like a model too.

Ugh. I need to stop checking this felon out.

"I know. Aren't you a bit naïve to be touching a man you've never met before?" He puts his hand under my chin, and I stumble backwards.

"I just, just-"

He lets out a cackle and then grasps the side of his stomach in pain.

"Sorry. You seem easy to mess with."

Maybe I should have let him bleed out. Ungrateful jerk. And yes, I am easy to mess with.

"What now?" I ask.

"What do you mean?"

"Where are you going from here?"

He pauses for a moment. "I guess I'll rest for a while, then get back to the car. Wait, fuck."

"What?"

"Mike had the keys."

"Why don't you call Mike then?"

He gives me a look, and I realize Mike is dead. Whatever this man was up to is far worse than I'm imagining. I should go. I don't want to be caught in the crossfire if the person who shot him is still here.

"I...should go," I say.

"Can you give me a ride?" he asks.

The look on my face must tell him the answer. There's no way in hell I'm getting in a vehicle with this possible murderer, or at minimum accessory to murder. I know for sure Mike is gone.

"Sweetheart, you know I'm not asking. I'm just being kind enough to phrase it that way."

Thirty minutes around this man and I've done some of the worst deeds of my life. First, I chose not to call the cops even though I know he's up to illegal activity. Then, I checked him out even though he's a criminal. Now I'm pushing him towards my car in a stolen wheelchair.

"I can probably bring this back, right?" I fret as he loads himself in my passenger seat. "It's not stealing."

"Look at the blood I left on it."

I fold it up and throw it in the back of my car. I'll just pay for it later.

"I'm going to jail for helping you, aren't I?" Tears pool up in my eyes as I sit behind the steering wheel.

"The county is on my payroll; you aren't going anywhere. Now shut up for two seconds."

The county is on his payroll? I didn't get involved with just any felon. Whoever this man is, he is extremely high up in organized crime. If he wants to get rid of me, it'll be easy. Cops will see my name on the file and say, 'case closed.'

"Finally, service," he mutters. He scrolls through the contacts of his phone and calls someone. "Time?"

He's raging mad and is hissing Italian into the phone at a hundred miles an hour, taking it out on this 'Taime' person. The joke is on Stranger, though. I took a few years of Italian in high school and college, and I'm shit at speaking it but understand it well.

The man is talking in a low, furious tone about how Eduardo-whoever that is-double-crossed them and he is going to pay. He goes into a little too much detail, and I learn that not only did Mike die, but some guy named Gianni did too. Or is it Giuseppe?

He's definitely one of the biggest criminals in LA. And the fact he's raging in Italian tells me he works for the Mafia. I am so, so screwed. I'm going to end up in a dumpster a few blocks away from wherever I drop him off.

This is all my father's fault. If he would have found someone else to inspect that warehouse, I wouldn't be here.

He stabs the end button. "We're going to 25th and E."

"I don't know how..."

"I'll tell you."

"How far is it?" I squeak.

"About twenty minutes. Maybe longer, with LA traffic."

I have to harbor this criminal for another twenty minutes. What if the LAPD pulls me over? I really hope they're on his payroll if that's the case.

I need to ask the question that's been eating at me. "Are you...going to kill me?"

"Fortunately, sweetheart, I've decided to let you go. A life for a life."

I can only hope he's telling the truth.

"Thanks."

The twenty minutes feels more like a lifetime. He only talks when he gives me directions. The entire car ride, he's having a furious texting conversation with someone and almost forgets to tell me to turn a few times.

25th and E is an abandoned shopping plaza. There's no one around, and I wonder if he lied to me about choosing to keep me alive. It would be a smart move for him.

"Right here," he says.

There's a blonde man waiting for him, who looks more like an angel than a criminal. He has shoulder-length blonde hair that's been pulled into a bun, and even though we're ten feet away, I can see his blue eyes glistening. His high cheekbones and defined jaw seal the angelic deal.

My opinion quickly changes as he sees me in the front seat and narrows his eyes at me. It's the most terrifying look anyone has given me.

"Listen to me." The stranger grabs my chin and has me look him in the eyes. "You saw nothing today. You've never met me. For whatever reason you were supposed to be at the docks, say you never showed up."

"O-ok."

The blonde man doesn't even bother asking if he can take the wheelchair. He rips open my backdoor and transfers it to the trunk of his car.

"Thanks for today." The stranger leans in and kisses my neck, and I gasp as he gently nibbles on the delicate flesh. "Bye, Sweetheart."

His blonde friend helps him out of my car, and they drive off.

What just happened?