Night Fury: Second Act (Night Fury 2)

Bob kicks him in the stomach. “You like putting your hands on women, Clark? How does it feel? Tell me how it feels.”

Clark wheezes, and then heaves. “I’m sorry.”

Bob shakes his head. “No, you’re not. But you will be.”

He reaches down and lifts Clark by his shirt. Once he’s standing, Bob head-butts him right in the nose. Clark goes down. Again.

He stays down.

Clark’s nose pours with blood and I know it’s broken. Bob looks down at him, face filled with contempt. “You ever put your hands on Cat again and I will kill you. I haven’t made a kill in ten years, Clark, but for you, I’ll make a f**king exception.” Clark attempts to sit up. Bob glares down at him. “You get me?”

Clark doesn’t respond. He simply nods.

Bob turns to leave. As he walks up the stairs, he calls out, “You owe Cat an apology.”

He leaves us to deal with the mess. I’m not sure what’s in a worse state, the office or Clark.

Chapter Five

I’m not sure what happened this morning with Clark. I only know that I would like it to never happen again.

I work tirelessly to replant what I can of the vegetables that Clark ripped up from my garden. I’m in such a state of panic about them dying that I’m not even humiliated by the fact that my eyes water.

A moment of clarity passes; I have an epiphany.

Regardless of how hard I work to put this garden together, to make it flourish and bloom, to care for it and nurture it, all it took was a man with a temper to destroy months of hard work.

I’m sure this is the way my victims see me.

No matter how hard they have worked to put a life together, to make a family, to provide and support them, all it takes is an email to Mirage and an entire life is destroyed. Normally not just one. A handful of lives.

In a moment of weakness, guilt swarms me. I’ve always thought of the person I’m hunting, never the families who are left behind.

I blink, scoff, and then roll my eyes. Such deep thoughts being raised because someone ripped up my tomato plants. I need to get out more. Really.

“I’m sorry,” comes from behind me.

My shoulders hunch in a defensive stance. A moment passes before my posture loosens slightly. Standing, I remove my gardening gloves and make my way to the bench where Clark now sits.

He looks like shit.

Ha ha.

I secretly gloat about it.

With both eyes swollen, his nose crooked and his jaw bruised, I take pleasure in knowing he got what he deserved.

It doesn’t matter what I did; I didn’t deserve his hands on me. I didn’t deserve the nasty things he said to me. He said things that made me question myself, and that hurt. In fact, I should be given props that I didn’t raise my own hands to him because in all seriousness, I could’ve hurt him. Badly.

I sit on the bench with a sigh. “You should be.”

He looks down at the ground and responds pitifully, “I am. I really am. I was an ass**le.” He turns to me, his face a mask of confusion. “Why didn’t you hit me?”

Whoa. That’s a loaded question.

I turn away from him and look to my destroyed garden. The bridge of my nose tingles. I blink back tears, clear the thickness out of my throat and reply a hushed, “Because the thought of hurting you kills me.”

In my peripheral vision, Clark crumbles. His voice shakes, “I’m sorry, Cat. So f**king sorry. I didn’t mean anything I said. It was all lies. I just wanted you to hurt as much as I was hurting.”

We sit in silence, unsure what to say to each other.

I try to let him know that I understand in a weird way. “I get it, sort of. Like when what happened with James happened and Bob banned me from Mirage. I wished you’d come see me.” I whisper, “I prayed you’d come see me and take me away for a while.” I swallow hard. “I knew Bob was keeping you from me. I knew it was his order. I know he kept you out of my sight because he was protecting me and you had to abide by it until he said otherwise,” I turn to face him, “but it hurt. And for a while, I hated you for it. Even though you didn’t have a say in the matter.”

Silence. Then he speaks softly, “I wanted to come for you. So many times, I thought about rescuing you from here. Taking you away, somewhere you could just be you, but I couldn’t. No matter how many times I told myself you deserved a better life, I knew this is what you know. All you know. That and Bob would’ve killed me. He ordered us out of sight. If you were in the garden, we weren’t allowed out of Mirage. And sometimes you were there for hours. We just had to wait it out. The second you were initiated, the ban was lifted and I thought I finally had my chance with you.” He sighs, “Why him? It could’ve been anyone. Anyone at all.” He quiets a moment, and then asks a pain-laced, “Why him, Cat?”

My reply doesn’t sound as stupid in my head. “Because of the zing.”

Clark nods feigning understanding, then chuckles, “I have no idea what that is.”

I try to hide my smile but I’m so relieved that Clark and I are talking that I do a really bad job of it. “Don’t make fun of me. It’s a thing. A real thing.” He looks at me through swollen, black eyes expectantly. I sigh, “You know when you kiss someone, and it’s more than words can describe? You feel so at home with them and just feel so much, as one, that you can’t quite comprehend what’s happening to you?”

Clark stiffens. “Yeah. Kind of like how I felt when we kissed.”

Oh, man. That sucks.

A wkward.

I cringe and whisper, “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be. How can I blame you for feeling something for someone who isn’t me? That’s not cool.” He sighs, “I really f**ked up this morning. I’ve never been so angry before. Soon as I heard you in his room, something came over me. This anger, and it just kept brewing, you know? By this morning, I’d worked myself up about it so much that I guess I snapped.” He stands. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Cat. I’m sorry I asked for one. You don’t owe me anything.”

I watch as he walks away, but deep in my gut, I know this issue is far from over.

Ugh. Men.

***

With my arms elbow deep in bread dough, the kitchen echoes with mixed laughter.

Ari sips her coffee, chuckling, “Mon Dieu! You should have seen his face. I dressed in my habit wearing my Marilyn Monroe mask. I lifted my hand, lit the match and dropped it into the accelerant. I started to walk away, but I wanted to see his face.” Her French accent kicks ass. “He looked at me and asked, ‘why?’. I shrugged and answered, ‘why not?’. The entire building was alight in minutes. I finally left and the explosions sounded like fireworks.” She sighs then smiles, “It was fun.”