CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"Good. We've got catching up to do."
"I...I guess." she stammered, already second guessing her decision.
"It's hard to get your mind around it, isn't it?" he asked, still very close to her. "The person you've seen on the news and what you see in front of you right now. Does it bother you...that the guy you used to, uh, sleep with now blows buildings up...for fun?"
"I'm not responsible for what you've done. But yeah, it bothers me."
"But you're still interested. Don't lie....I can tell.."
"You're the one who keeps checking me out."
He stepped away then, eyes regretful. "I told ya, I can't help myself."
She looked him over, struck by how thin he appeared. Even with the long coat on it was evident.
"Do you need something to eat?." she asked coolly, careful not to sound solicitous. "You look kind of skinny."
He gave her a strangely wistful little half-smile. "You just can't shake that nice thing of yours, can you?"
"Nice? Me? No, I'm human. There's food in the fridge if you want it. I'm not gonna fix it for you so help yourself." She wasn't about to cater to him, already felt guilty offering him something to eat.
That speculative gaze on her again. She wondered what was going through his head and decided it was better she didn't know. It had always been easy for her to read people, growing up as she did had put her in contact with all types, most of them criminal. But these people had been thieves, dealers, low level mobsters, addicts. Never had she come across someone like this.
Unbidden her mind went back to the kind of men she'd known all her life. Cheap leather coats (sometimes Pleather) greasy hair, artlessly applied department store cologne. Their skin was usually bad, eyes furtive and aggressive, searching for any sign of disrespect in others. The women they dated were hard-faced, bleached, tanned and over-plucked, steely eyes sizing up other females with either disdain or envy.
It was a stereotype but it was also the fundamental truth of the small fish her parents had associated with. Nothing had ever prepared her for this. The things this man wanted weren't the same things thugs wanted. They'd all wanted money, drugs, women, power. What did he want?
'Fear. Chaos. To watch this entire city tear itself to shreds.' Her inner voice, the one that prodded her to do the right thing insisted this but she didn't think it was that simple. It never was.
While she was thinking he'd gotten up and gotten a piece of chicken from the refrigerator. Within seconds the meat was stripped from it and he crunched into the bone enthusiastically, causing her to laugh.
"There's two more pieces in there, go ahead and eat them. No point eating bones."
"I like the bones. Marrow."
"Uh ok. Chow down then."
He did just that, making short work of the chicken and spitting shards of bone into the trash. Then he gulped down two glasses of water, spilling a good deal of it down his chin, smearing the already messy greasepaint.
Lighting a cigarette she sat down, pulling an ashtray close. "So what now?" she asked. "I've talked to you, fed you, answered your questions."
Continuing to examine the contents of her refrigerator he absently said "Up to you. I'm afraid I'm not as much fun to be around anymore Sam." He turned around, sardonic mischief gleaming in his eyes. "Unless of course you're interested in, ah, causing some troub-le."
She froze up. "No. No fucking way. If you want a helper I suggest you go elsewhere 'cause I'm not it. I'm sure there's some disgruntled girls too young to know better that would just die to ride your coattails."
He laughed. "See, that's what I like about you. You don't fit the standards. You don't go along with things to make people happy."
"Standards?" she frowned.
"Oh you know. The people that were your parents....the things you saw....you didn't let it affect you too much did you?"
She sighed in frustration. "God, not this. I'm not the most upstanding person in the world but I know right from wrong if that's what you mean. And the way I was raised doesn't mean I'm gonna run around hurting others in some misguided attempt to make society pay. Lots of people have fucked up lives, boo hoo. Get over it. It's stupid to take it out on people that had nothing to do with it. It's a cop-out and it's weak. There's babies out there being beat to death by their parents and I see people crying and whining because they don't like their goddamn lives in the suburbs. Besides." she stubbed her cigarette out and smiled grimly. "My life was fine when I was a kid. My life is fine now."
"Hmm. That why you snort pills every day?"
"I do that because it makes me feel good. You should try it sometime, might relax you a little. And what about you? Hey, if you really wanted to make a difference in the world you'd plant a bomb in the Death Row wing of prisons, not blow up little old ladies and children."
He cocked his head at her in amazement. "Ya know....no one's talked to me like that in I don't know how long." He took a few steps closer to her and she cursed herself.
'Good job on opening your big mouth and insulting him. Real nice.'
But she refused to let him see her apprehension. Others might cringe and grovel around him but by God she wasn't going to. Intuition told her he'd let her get away with a lot. Why she wasn't sure. It was pretty much a given that if anyone else spoke to him like this they'd probably be choking on their own blood right now.
His gloved hands went into his coat pocket and she stiffened. Then again maybe he wouldn't let her get away with too much. It was stupid to think she was special just because he'd known her years ago....
"You're feisty....." he mused. "Even more than you used to be. I like that."
She was about to answer when in a split second he grabbed her under the arms and hauled her up, slamming her against the counter in the same spot she'd been against earlier.
"I like it." he whispered harshly, close to her again. Way too close for her liking. Her heart pounded like a out of control drum and adrenaline made her fingers tingle. "Let's see what comes out of that mouth of yours if I say...." He rolled his eyes back, she could almost see the thoughts buzzing along in his head. "If I say I'd like to, uh, throw you over that table. Ya still like it rough Sam? I do."
"Get your goddamn hands off me." she said as authoritatively as possible, trying to keep her fear hidden. Samantha didn't fight him, knowing that he was sizing her up, testing her mettle. She told herself she was up to the challenge.
"I'll take that as a yes." He grinned infuriatingly and pressed his hips closer to her and she could feel his excitement. Her own body responded to that, which only made her anger grow.
His mouth was at her ear now. "I told you not to be afraid of me. I told you I wouldn't hurt you. Why won't you believe me?"
"Because you've got me shoved against the fucking kitchen counter?" she snapped. His breath was hot in her ear and it brought all sorts of things to mind that she didn't need to think about.
"Is it the scars?" he asked and the plaintive sound in his voice saddened her.
"No. It's not that. Never that."
His hands slipped behind her neck, pushing her towards him and then his mouth was on hers. She wanted to resist but the memories of Jack flooded her. For the first time that night she felt him completely. He still kissed in the same way, in an awkward and fierce manner that she'd always loved. His hands went to her hair, grabbing handfuls of it and pulling lightly.
And it felt so good that even her annoying voice of reason was silent.
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A/N: Time to get some!!!!!!!! Just kidding.
I never could place in my mind what Sam looks like and I've finally decided she kinda sorta looks like Drea de Matteo (Adriana of "The Sopranos" fame) except much scruffier and nowhere near as glamorous. And not as blonde. Like if Drea was a regular person and not as showbizzed out. Drea is also around the right age. I don't like comparing an OC to an actress, especially a beautiful actress, but I will say Sam isn't as pretty as Drea. She's not ugly...just more "normal". Bleh...anyways.