8PM arrived, so has the applicants for Rosalind's bodyguard position at the training facility of Jameson Salvatore's headquarters.
Located underground, the area is spacious, provided with various kinds of amenities necessary to hone his soldiers' skills. From shooting range, gym equipments, boxing rings, to dojo mats, it has it all. And stood by the corner of the place was the owner, alongside his wife, and his most trusted men, observing the crowd of dozens that gathered from afar.
Lorenzo was giving his twin who's currently munching away a large bag of potato chips a stink-eye. "This isn't the movies, dipshit."
"Yeah, I know.–" Andrea tossed a chip into his mouth. "But it sure is gonna be a hell of a show." He said without a care in the world.
After a brief pause of staring contemplatively at the bag of chips, Lorenzo reached out for it.
"Give me some."
Andrea smacked Lorenzo's hand away.
"Get your own!"
Whilst the twins fought over their snacks, Rosalind's sight was fixed on the applicants. "So many candidates.." She uttered to James, then looked up his way. "How do you suppose we choose?"
"Well, as how it's usually done, Micah will be the one conducting the selection." James replied. Micah flashed a smile and waved at Rosalind at the mention of his name. She waved back a small one.
"Micah, you may take it from here." James' order fired Micah up. "Don't have to tell me twice, boss."
Right off the bat, Micah took off his suit jacket, undid his cufflinks, rolled up his sleeves, exposing one of the twelve archangel inked onto his right forearm.
Grinning widely with excitement, he muttered to himself. "Time for some fun."
"Listen up you bunch of fuckers!" Micah's bold voice captured the attention of every pair of eyes within the room. "We all know why you're here tonight, so let us not waste time on prefaces and get straight to it, shall we?"
"Rules are simple ; firstly,– this will be a hand-to-hand combat. Which means no ranged weapons allowed. Secondly,–" Swift and smooth, Micah dug a soft pack of Marlboro out of his pocket, tapped the top of the pack with his fingers, pulled one that popped out and placed it between his lips.
*clink* his lighter opened, a flick of his thumb its flame ignited. Fire to tobacco, the tip lit up with the color of a burning sun as he gently sucked in the poison, collecting its substances inside his mouth, before inhaling it deep into his tainted lungs. *clack* his lighter closed, smoke expelled through his nostrils and mouth as he blew it out slow.
Micah held up his cigarette to show. "– those of you who can land a hit on me before this thing burns out, pass the first test. Any questions?"
Seeing no hands were raised, Micah took it as none. "Good. We start from the fucker with the biggest balls in the room." He ascended and set foot into the boxing ring, put his cigarette onto the ashtray that sat on the corner post nearest to him.
The first one was a lad, probably in his early twenties. Stood tall with a cocky smirk latched on face, brass knuckles in both hands, he got in his fighting stance, whereas Micah was nonchalantly still, wishing him the best of luck.
Unfortunately, the lad did not acquire any luck on putting his weapon, nor his fists to use. Once he swung into action, Micah dodged his attack effortlessly, then quick as a flash, slapped the arrogance off of the lad's face. Literally.
"Ooh..–" Micah faked a wince.
"Where's that smile gone, boy?"
Ego bruised, Micah's taunt easily fed into the lad's agitation, just as Micah wanted. The lad launched multiple of reckless punches at Micah in blind rage, only for them to land on air. Long story short ; the lad failed the test.
Second cigarette set alight.
"Next."
A faint applause came from across the ring. "Bravo!" Rosalind cheered, sparkling with merriment.
James glanced at her. "You know, you're not supposed to root for anybody.."
She giggled. "I know, but come now,– to not show appreciation for such finesse would be just wrong."
Up to the present, James has always been making up excuses for himself to deny his own feelings. Towards Ronan, Jackson, and pretty much any man she smiles to. But now,– now that he has finally called a truce with himself, he too, came to accept his pettiest side.
That he is a jealous man.
To hear his wife praising another man, furthermore seeing the loveliest part of her that he desperately sought to restore so easily brought forth by another as well, peeved him to the core.
"Finesse? Hmph, you tend to flatter too much." Huffed James bitterly. "I admit that he's– adequate. But that's about all he is. In terms of technique, he's still fall short."
Translation ; "I'm a hundred times better than him."
As pathetic as it was laughable James' being, naive Rosalind took such manner of jealousy in the most unsuspecting way. "I see.." Said Rosalind, puzzling out the new insight. "I suppose I have yet to possess a sufficient amount of expertise and experience to form a fitting evaluation."
"Come on, is that all you fucking got?!" Micah provoked his fifth opponent who was at the stage, running out of breath. "My grandma can punch better than you, and she had fucking arthritis!"
Fifth cigarette burned out, sixth one kindled.
"For fuck's sake, give me something to fight for will ya?!" Arms opened, Micah spun around, rousing the discouraged candidates surrouding the ring.
"Speaking of which, I've been curious for a while now– where did you learn how to fight?" James asked Rosalind, genuinely intrigued by the backstory of her skill set.
"Kate taught me." She answered.
"Kate?"
"Brother's secretary, slash potential sister in law as I'd like to say." Rosalind spoke of it as if it was something worth boasting about. For her it is. After all, Kate is her first and closest friend. The only friend she has, in fact.
'That walking corpse's got a girlfriend?
Wouldn't that be necrophiliac?'
James thought, almost blurted it out, though couldn't care less to.
"It's getting boring up here." Micah lazily leaned against the corner post. Head tilted up towards the ceiling, he lit the seventh.
That's when a 6'7 brawny, middle aged man entered the ring, enlivened Micah' mood. Mischief returned to his countenance. "Spoke too soon."
"She may not be on par with Micah, but she's proficient in my opinion." Rosalind continued her boasting.
Recalling the time he witnessed how deftly his wife knocked out that waitress from the strip club a few weeks ago, James concurred. Gazing adoringly at the amazing woman beside him, the corner of his lips tipped up. "I can see that."
Rosalind has many weaknesses, but one that patently outshine the rest is none other than her husband himself, in this particular case, his smile. Especially when it is aimed at her,– it made her melt from the inside out, aroused the millions of butterflies in her stomach.
She had to look away to stop herself from stealing his lips right there and then. Despite how she's dying to feel it against hers, to sooth her aching longing with its sweet warmth. Not only it was neither the time nor place, but the unresolved issues between them also refrained her from doing so.
"I– I thought that since I'm an Alderidge, I ought to learn a move or two.– At least enough to be able to defend myself." James did not ask any question, but Rosalind felt the need to ramble on to distract herself. "Although, it would be nice to refine such skill."
"I can help with that if you want." Grasping at the smallest chance available, James offered without another thought.
Rosalind's head snapped his way.
A twinkle danced in her eyes. "Really?"
Back at the ring, still stood straight, not a drop of sweat spilled, Micah stubbed out his cigarette yet again. Disappointingly, what came with the man's giant physique was low agility. Which made it easier more than it is harder to dodge.
"Nah– still bored." Micah placed the eighth into his mouth. "Next!"
"I'd be honored!" Realizing her overexcitement, she immediately tamed her tone. "If it wouldn't take too much of your time, that is."
'Any moment with you is time worth spending, mia cara.' His inner voice replied.
"You've taught me how to dance,– it's a fair trade, don't you think?"
"I suppose so." Rosalind bit down a smile to subdue her burst of exhilaration. "It's a deal then." She lifted her pinkie. But instead of sealing the deal with a wrap of his finger, James laced their hands together, his thumb gently rubbing her knuckles.
"Rosie,–"
Like a loving caress her name fell out of his lips.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Ninth cigarette lit.
"I know you said later, and this might not be a good timing,– horrible even." James chuckled. "But I can't hold it in much longer. I need to tell you now. Please hear me out, yes?" Eyes intently locked onto hers, pleading softly, earnestly.
No matter how hard Rosalind tried to buy time, to avoid the subject, and pretend like nothing happened, she knew that they both needed closure at the end of the day. Whether it's to close a chapter or start anew.
It is scary,– of course it is, what love is not? But in that very moment, something in the way his forest eyes looked at her, the gleam on them that reflects nothing but fondness and care,– as if basking her in a warm embrace, telling her everything will be okay.
'Perhaps, it will be okay.'
And so she said ; "Yes."
Tenth cigarette lit.
James exhaled a breath of relief, fist-pumping internally. "Thank you. Then let's get out of here and–"
*BANG!*
The sound of gunshot suddenly roared throughout the area, shocking every presence within it. Heads all turned across the room where the bullet landed, a second went by in complete stillness, then a phase of unimaginable horror broke out directly after.
"CALL 911!!" Micah bellowed at the top of his lungs.
Amidst the chaos, the shouting, the screaming, the running, Rosalind froze on her spot, looking downwards at her husband who's lying unconscious on the cold ground before her, with blood gushing out of his chest.
"Jamie..?" Her voice trembled, so did her entire body.
The instant awareness kicked in, she quickly dropped to her knees, frantically pressing down on his wound with her palms.
"No, no, no..."
She shook her head, vision blurred with hot tears.
"Jamie– love, please! Stay with me, stay with me!" Whimpering in agony, she brought one of her blood-soaked hand to cup his cheek, while the other kept adding pressure onto his chest.
When there's no reaction, she flung her arms around his head, cradling him close within her hold, giving the warmth he's short of.
"No, no, no, no, please– please, don't do this—! Please, please, please..I'm sorry.. I'm sorry..!" She shut her eyes, clasping her husband tighter, her voice cracked into despairing sobs.
Pain. Pure, unadulterated, sheer pain was what impregnated her every senses that moment. A pain too grave that it stripped Rosalind of her breathing. As if her rib cage caved in, crushing her lungs, along with the rest of the organs dwelling inside it.
"HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP!!"
She screamed and screamed, releasing a raging storm of suffering that never ceased.
***
*sighs..*