Status: short story for the beautiful Nikki
Room 327
Two
A scream tore from Nikki's lips. She sat up, heart pounding as she looked for a way to escape the crash, the out-of-control vehicle. A pair of hands subdued her and she lashed out at them, still unawares as to where she was.
“Nikita,” the voice was firm, yet comfortingly familiar and snapping Nikki to her senses. Her hazel eyes cleared, panic subsiding like waves on the beach as she peered up at a decrepit and exhausted looking Jet. He released her wrists, stepping back before falling back into the chair against the wall. He had settled Nikki onto the bed in the middle of the worn hotel room that sat so compact within itself, Nikki felt like she was residing in a coffin.
The Bengali girl's fingers crept along her forehead, finding a piece of gauze plastered against her skin. She glanced over, eyes widening at the sight of Jet with his shirt pulled up over his belly as he dabbed at a bullet wound near his side. The sight of the blood still freely exiting the wound made the color leave Nikki's face.
“A-are you okay?” Stupid question, Nikki barked at herself. Of course he's not fucking okay! “I mean...do you need...help or something.”
“I could use your help,” said Jet, rising slowly from his seat with a square of gauze pressed firmly against the wound. He stood in front of her, handing her a roll of bandages. “If you could.”
Nikki hung her legs over the edge of the bed and took the roll without question; she had seen him doctor one of the lower status body guards after a Russian mercenary had attempted to take out her family during her eleventh birthday party. Taking one end, she began to tightly wind the bandages around his stomach, keeping her eyes averted to her work rather than how close his toned torso was to her face. Her face heated at just the thought and she began to unwind the bandages a little faster.
Jet murmured his thanks as she took a round of tape to fix her work in its place. Nikki tucked her feet back under the covers, feeling a massive headache and a wave of dizziness overtaking her. Jet noticed the way the color washed from her face again and approached, leaning over her to look intently at her face. Her throat grew parched.
“W-what are you looking at?”
“Your eyes,” he said and those hazels widened. “They say a lot about a person's condition. You have a serious concussion.” He turned away and peered out the window. It was dimming to evening outside. “We need to get you to a hospital, but I don't know how intent these people are on you.”
“What about my father?”
Jet continued to stare out the window, face softening before he turned back to Nikki. “You are my objective, not your father. My job is to keep you safe.”
“Yeah, but—”
The snap of the blinds closing stopped Nikki's statement. “It is best to not think about it right now, yes?” Jet offered a small smile. “You cannot sleep yet. I'll go check out the area to make sure we were not followed.”
“Didn't you call the police?” asked Nikita. “The people here at the hotel must know—”
“Nobody knows of our location, this was a room that I always keep booked, and nobody can be trusted as of right now. I do not know enough about the people that attacked us or how far their influences reach. It is best to settle here for now.”
Nikki's eyebrows knitted together in dissatisfaction, eyes locked on the bed sheets crunched in her fists as Jet moved across the room. “Do not open the door for anyone, understand?” Jet commanded, pointing a finger at her. “I will be back in fifteen minutes.” He went to close the door when Nikki's inquiry stopped him.
“And if you're not?”
Jet sighed and peeked around the door at her small frame peering at him. “I will,” he said and closed the door behind him. The lock clicked, leaving Nikita in desolate silence. Her eyes wandered over the room's surfaces: peeling wallpaper, stained ceiling, ragged carpet, broken mirror. Jet really knew how to pick his places to remain hidden...
Lethargy crept into Nikita's conscious and she blinked wildly to rid her vision from going blurry. She spotted the television remote on the bedside table. The TV flashed to life and provided few channels for Nikki to keep her mind occupied. She flipped through them again and again until a familiar face caught her eye. She backed the channel up, the anchorman speaking about the “unfortunate death of a Bengali diplomat and the investigation of his missing daughter.”
“We have reason to believe that the girl's body guard, Jet Li, is responsible for the assassination and kidnapping,” said the talking head of an FBI agent. “With the death of Mitra to still investigate, our number one priority right now is to track down Li and bring back Mitra's daughter.”
Pictures flashed up on the screen, photos of both Nikita and Jet; one holding an innocent smile while the latter looked glaringly at the camera. Typical media coverage. Nikita turned the TV off, emotions washing over like rapid water. Her father was dead...and Jet had known it; she saw the look in his eyes, the sympathy. He understood how upset she would be and he, himself, would be just as equally heartbroken. How could the news be so stupid? Jet protected her, her family, and had done so for a decade. He had taken bullets for her, calmed her fears, and despite his rather indifferent approaches to life, his heart was filled with compassion. Jet would never, never harm Nikita or her family.
Nikki leaned back against the headboard, breathing deeply in order to suppress the tears stinging at the back of the eyes. Fear, grief, anger...they all flattened her inner-barriers of subconscious with their turmoil.
--
Jet shifted his feet as he stood on a street corner, keeping a careful eye out for vehicles parked along the street, the rooftops, any passerby that could alert danger. For now, everything seemed quiet. Hardly anyone passed along the sidewalk, everything still, but the occasional flicker of trash across the street.
The Chinaman sighed and, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets, began a steady walk back to the hotel. Movement to the left caught his eye and he turned his head just to make out two men walking closely together. Their heads were bowed and they were speaking lowly to each other. Even from across the street in the stillness, he could catch the words they uttered. It was Russian. Jet quickly ducked into the closest ally, taking a detour back to the hotel in hopes that he was not followed by unwelcome company.
A door standing in the back of the hotel led to the kitchen, a rusting and rotten-smelling compact room that Jet slipped through, hardly noticed the intoxicated employees who chopped lethargically at food. Like a shadow, he swept through the decrepit lobby where the withered manager slept, leaned back in his chair behind the desk. The stairs hardly creaked under Jet's soft footsteps as he ascended towards room 327.
When the Chinaman crept back into the room, Nikki was leaning against the headboard, staring blankly at the television as it fluttered with pictures and groaned its unpleasant dialogue. She turned her head to look at him briefly, before returning her gaze to the television.
“Why didn’t you tell me my father was dead?” she asked, making Jet pause in laying his jacket across the chair by the door.
He said nothing for some time before coming to stand alongside the bed. “Because I thought it was not the right time.” He noticed the sparkling in her eyes and knew she was trying harder than anything to keep the tears at bay.
“But I deserve to know.”
“I know.”
“Who are they?” demanded Nikki as she looked back at him with a lethal flash in her hazel eyes.
“By what little evidence I have, they are Russian,” Jet said. “But I don’t know for certain. Yet.”
Nikki fell silent, her eyes returning to the television screen for a moment. She sighed and pushed the covers off, the cold air rising gooseflesh onto her bare legs. “I’m going to go take a shower.”
Jet went to the old coffee maker sitting the corner. “The hot water is temperamental. It will not be enjoyable.” Nikki’s answer was to close the door.
Jet sighed and poured the grounds into the coffee pot. Nikita was difficult and she was worse when she tried to be strong and indestructible. She was strong, but she needed to let Jet take care of her issues. It was against his common code, but Jet had once taken care of a girl who had bullied Nikki in middle school. The young girl could only say it had happened so fast before she was hanging upside down in the middle of the school’s gym.
The sound of the shower handles squeaking followed by Nikki’s own squeal proved that she experienced what Jet had stated. He smiled to himself as he watched the caffeinated drink filter into the pot.
--
Nikki washed away at the blood around her scalp without removing the bandage. Her head still throbbed dully. She washed away at the grime and the stress, turning away from the luke warm water to let it run down her back. She was too exhausted to cry or feel any other emotion except lethargy.
After shutting the shower off, Nikita wrung out her long, black hair before grabbing for a towel and wrapping it around her body. She stepped out, careful to trod on the scathed tiled floor, when she realized she was without an extra set of clothes.
“Jet?” she called through the door. No answer met her and she peeked out to see the hotel room empty. She crept out, the steam floating out behind her. There was a warm batch of coffee still sitting in the coffee pot. The only sign that Jet had been around. She tiptoed to the window and peeked out the blinds to see other dingy and decrepit buildings looking at her with long faces. She glanced at the street below—empty.
The door behind her creaked open and she whirled around, clutching the towel to her chest. Jet stepped inside and closed the door behind him, but when he glanced up he stopped short. The two of them stared at each other for a second before Jet averted his gaze.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing!” Nikki dashed for the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. Her face was burning as she laid her head against the door. “Jesus fucking Christ…”
A knock came at the door and Nikki stepped back. “I have some clothes for you.”
“Fantastic,” Nikki said, opening the door and reaching around it to grab the bag that Jet was offering. “You didn’t see anything, right?”
Jet smirked. “No, I did not.”
“Good. Because that was fucking embarrassing.”
“Nikita,” the voice was firm, yet comfortingly familiar and snapping Nikki to her senses. Her hazel eyes cleared, panic subsiding like waves on the beach as she peered up at a decrepit and exhausted looking Jet. He released her wrists, stepping back before falling back into the chair against the wall. He had settled Nikki onto the bed in the middle of the worn hotel room that sat so compact within itself, Nikki felt like she was residing in a coffin.
The Bengali girl's fingers crept along her forehead, finding a piece of gauze plastered against her skin. She glanced over, eyes widening at the sight of Jet with his shirt pulled up over his belly as he dabbed at a bullet wound near his side. The sight of the blood still freely exiting the wound made the color leave Nikki's face.
“A-are you okay?” Stupid question, Nikki barked at herself. Of course he's not fucking okay! “I mean...do you need...help or something.”
“I could use your help,” said Jet, rising slowly from his seat with a square of gauze pressed firmly against the wound. He stood in front of her, handing her a roll of bandages. “If you could.”
Nikki hung her legs over the edge of the bed and took the roll without question; she had seen him doctor one of the lower status body guards after a Russian mercenary had attempted to take out her family during her eleventh birthday party. Taking one end, she began to tightly wind the bandages around his stomach, keeping her eyes averted to her work rather than how close his toned torso was to her face. Her face heated at just the thought and she began to unwind the bandages a little faster.
Jet murmured his thanks as she took a round of tape to fix her work in its place. Nikki tucked her feet back under the covers, feeling a massive headache and a wave of dizziness overtaking her. Jet noticed the way the color washed from her face again and approached, leaning over her to look intently at her face. Her throat grew parched.
“W-what are you looking at?”
“Your eyes,” he said and those hazels widened. “They say a lot about a person's condition. You have a serious concussion.” He turned away and peered out the window. It was dimming to evening outside. “We need to get you to a hospital, but I don't know how intent these people are on you.”
“What about my father?”
Jet continued to stare out the window, face softening before he turned back to Nikki. “You are my objective, not your father. My job is to keep you safe.”
“Yeah, but—”
The snap of the blinds closing stopped Nikki's statement. “It is best to not think about it right now, yes?” Jet offered a small smile. “You cannot sleep yet. I'll go check out the area to make sure we were not followed.”
“Didn't you call the police?” asked Nikita. “The people here at the hotel must know—”
“Nobody knows of our location, this was a room that I always keep booked, and nobody can be trusted as of right now. I do not know enough about the people that attacked us or how far their influences reach. It is best to settle here for now.”
Nikki's eyebrows knitted together in dissatisfaction, eyes locked on the bed sheets crunched in her fists as Jet moved across the room. “Do not open the door for anyone, understand?” Jet commanded, pointing a finger at her. “I will be back in fifteen minutes.” He went to close the door when Nikki's inquiry stopped him.
“And if you're not?”
Jet sighed and peeked around the door at her small frame peering at him. “I will,” he said and closed the door behind him. The lock clicked, leaving Nikita in desolate silence. Her eyes wandered over the room's surfaces: peeling wallpaper, stained ceiling, ragged carpet, broken mirror. Jet really knew how to pick his places to remain hidden...
Lethargy crept into Nikita's conscious and she blinked wildly to rid her vision from going blurry. She spotted the television remote on the bedside table. The TV flashed to life and provided few channels for Nikki to keep her mind occupied. She flipped through them again and again until a familiar face caught her eye. She backed the channel up, the anchorman speaking about the “unfortunate death of a Bengali diplomat and the investigation of his missing daughter.”
“We have reason to believe that the girl's body guard, Jet Li, is responsible for the assassination and kidnapping,” said the talking head of an FBI agent. “With the death of Mitra to still investigate, our number one priority right now is to track down Li and bring back Mitra's daughter.”
Pictures flashed up on the screen, photos of both Nikita and Jet; one holding an innocent smile while the latter looked glaringly at the camera. Typical media coverage. Nikita turned the TV off, emotions washing over like rapid water. Her father was dead...and Jet had known it; she saw the look in his eyes, the sympathy. He understood how upset she would be and he, himself, would be just as equally heartbroken. How could the news be so stupid? Jet protected her, her family, and had done so for a decade. He had taken bullets for her, calmed her fears, and despite his rather indifferent approaches to life, his heart was filled with compassion. Jet would never, never harm Nikita or her family.
Nikki leaned back against the headboard, breathing deeply in order to suppress the tears stinging at the back of the eyes. Fear, grief, anger...they all flattened her inner-barriers of subconscious with their turmoil.
--
Jet shifted his feet as he stood on a street corner, keeping a careful eye out for vehicles parked along the street, the rooftops, any passerby that could alert danger. For now, everything seemed quiet. Hardly anyone passed along the sidewalk, everything still, but the occasional flicker of trash across the street.
The Chinaman sighed and, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets, began a steady walk back to the hotel. Movement to the left caught his eye and he turned his head just to make out two men walking closely together. Their heads were bowed and they were speaking lowly to each other. Even from across the street in the stillness, he could catch the words they uttered. It was Russian. Jet quickly ducked into the closest ally, taking a detour back to the hotel in hopes that he was not followed by unwelcome company.
A door standing in the back of the hotel led to the kitchen, a rusting and rotten-smelling compact room that Jet slipped through, hardly noticed the intoxicated employees who chopped lethargically at food. Like a shadow, he swept through the decrepit lobby where the withered manager slept, leaned back in his chair behind the desk. The stairs hardly creaked under Jet's soft footsteps as he ascended towards room 327.
When the Chinaman crept back into the room, Nikki was leaning against the headboard, staring blankly at the television as it fluttered with pictures and groaned its unpleasant dialogue. She turned her head to look at him briefly, before returning her gaze to the television.
“Why didn’t you tell me my father was dead?” she asked, making Jet pause in laying his jacket across the chair by the door.
He said nothing for some time before coming to stand alongside the bed. “Because I thought it was not the right time.” He noticed the sparkling in her eyes and knew she was trying harder than anything to keep the tears at bay.
“But I deserve to know.”
“I know.”
“Who are they?” demanded Nikki as she looked back at him with a lethal flash in her hazel eyes.
“By what little evidence I have, they are Russian,” Jet said. “But I don’t know for certain. Yet.”
Nikki fell silent, her eyes returning to the television screen for a moment. She sighed and pushed the covers off, the cold air rising gooseflesh onto her bare legs. “I’m going to go take a shower.”
Jet went to the old coffee maker sitting the corner. “The hot water is temperamental. It will not be enjoyable.” Nikki’s answer was to close the door.
Jet sighed and poured the grounds into the coffee pot. Nikita was difficult and she was worse when she tried to be strong and indestructible. She was strong, but she needed to let Jet take care of her issues. It was against his common code, but Jet had once taken care of a girl who had bullied Nikki in middle school. The young girl could only say it had happened so fast before she was hanging upside down in the middle of the school’s gym.
The sound of the shower handles squeaking followed by Nikki’s own squeal proved that she experienced what Jet had stated. He smiled to himself as he watched the caffeinated drink filter into the pot.
--
Nikki washed away at the blood around her scalp without removing the bandage. Her head still throbbed dully. She washed away at the grime and the stress, turning away from the luke warm water to let it run down her back. She was too exhausted to cry or feel any other emotion except lethargy.
After shutting the shower off, Nikita wrung out her long, black hair before grabbing for a towel and wrapping it around her body. She stepped out, careful to trod on the scathed tiled floor, when she realized she was without an extra set of clothes.
“Jet?” she called through the door. No answer met her and she peeked out to see the hotel room empty. She crept out, the steam floating out behind her. There was a warm batch of coffee still sitting in the coffee pot. The only sign that Jet had been around. She tiptoed to the window and peeked out the blinds to see other dingy and decrepit buildings looking at her with long faces. She glanced at the street below—empty.
The door behind her creaked open and she whirled around, clutching the towel to her chest. Jet stepped inside and closed the door behind him, but when he glanced up he stopped short. The two of them stared at each other for a second before Jet averted his gaze.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing!” Nikki dashed for the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. Her face was burning as she laid her head against the door. “Jesus fucking Christ…”
A knock came at the door and Nikki stepped back. “I have some clothes for you.”
“Fantastic,” Nikki said, opening the door and reaching around it to grab the bag that Jet was offering. “You didn’t see anything, right?”
Jet smirked. “No, I did not.”
“Good. Because that was fucking embarrassing.”