Room 327

Jet looked upon the sleeping woman beside him. Her long lashes splayed out from closed eyelids, face more content and peaceful than he saw when she was awake. Jet trailed a hand down her bare arm—from shoulder to ankle—light as air against her bare skin. He sighed and slowly rose from the bed, quietly making his way to bathroom.

The water was not any warmer than usual, but the icy pricks on Jet’s skin made his mind burst to life in a second. He sighed, bracing his arms against the wall as water splayed across his back. His muscles quivered against the cold waves against his skin.

It gave him time to think about the situation he put himself. What had he done? Why had he truly done it? Never had he thought about Nikita in such a way—or so consciously. He thought of her emotional vulnerability and how he took advantage of it. It made him almost sick, disgusted at himself.

The handle turned with a splitting squeak in the tiny bathroom; the cold water came to a halt. Jet dried himself off with the barren towel that was offered. He peeked out of the bathroom, Nikita's figure still curled beneath the sheets. He stepped out, footfalls never making a sound as she searched around the dim room for his clothes. After dressing himself, he made himself coffee, keeping quiet to not wake the woman on the bed.

However, the whispering of sheets gave away that she was waking. Jet swallowed hard, preparing himself for anything that was about to result.

“Jet...”

He hummed in answer, back to her, eyes searching out the window. He watched the occasional vehicle travel below. A woman was out walking her Schnauzer.

“I'm cold.”

Jet poured the bitter, scalding liquid into a Styrofoam cup and offered it to her. They did not make eye contact. Nikita watched him quietly, blowing softly at the coffee as she sat with one elbow propping her up. The sheets laid around her naked body.

Silence gapped between them. Nikita stared at her coffee, Jet studied the window pane, but nothing further than the streaked glass.

“Are you mad?” Nikita's question made him turn. She was peering up at him, hazel eyes sparking in the still early morning gloom.

“Yes,” Jet responded quietly. “But not at you...at myself. What I've done is unforgivable.”

Nikita sat up, keeping the sheets around her chest. “Don't talk like that. It makes it sound like you regret us...” Her expression suddenly became depressed, eyes downcast.

Jet sighed and put his cup of coffee down before he approached slowly. Sitting down on the bed, he reached out slowly, hand touching Nikita's chin to bring her eyes back to him. “I don't regret it,” he said. “That's the problem.”

Nikita's hand traced over his, fingertips lightly brushing against the scarred skin. “Why is it a problem?”

With a frustrated sigh, Jet stood from the bed. “Don't be incompetent, Nikita,” he growled. “You know exactly why!” Before Nikita could open her mouth to argue, Jet picked up her shirt and threw it at the shocked Bengali woman. “Get dressed.”

Nikita looked between Jet and the blouse laying in her lap, shocked at the man's sudden harshness. Slowly, she crawled out of bed and began to search for the rest of her clothes, not bothering to cover herself. Jet faced the window again, immediately feeling regret for his bristled behavior. He listened as she dressed herself, hearing the strangled breathing coming from the distressed breathing; she was trying hard not to cry.

Jet turned back around, watching her as she adjusted her blouse on her thin body. He sighed and approached slowly. Nikita looked up at him, and he saw the glimmer of hurt in her eyes. Carefully, he gathered her into his arms.

“I'm sorry,” said Jet, “but what've done is inexcusable.”

Nikita disagreed. “No, it would be inexcusable if I wouldn't have wanted it. But I did...so you're not to blame.”

A hand hesitantly ran through her long locks and Nikita let her eyes close for a moment in comfort. Jet could say no more. His feelings towards her escaped into the open and it was impossible to retrieve them and stuff them back inside.

Nikita began to relax against him, her worries melting away as the warmth of his body soothed her. Suddenly, Jet shoved her away. When she opened her mouth to question, he put a finger to his lips, obsidians locked on the door. Nikita heard nothing, but she remained motionless. Nothing happened and both beings relaxed.

The window shattered behind them and in the same instant, Jet took Nikita to the ground. They tumbled against the dirty carpet and Nikita caught the glimpse of a man crouching amongst the broken glass. He charged, but Jet lashed out, close-lining the man and sending him to the ground before the door broke open. Five armed figures rushed in.

“Nikita! The bathroom!” Nikki scrambled to her feet, sliding into the bathroom before slamming the door closed and locking it. Gunshots lashed out and Jet managed to duck the first couple. One sliced through his shoulder before he managed to punch the first intruder in the face. Jet hardly felt the pain over the intense amount of adrenaline. He round-house kicked another individual and caught the wrist of another individual. Knocking the gun out of his hand, Jet snapped the wrist before slamming into ribs multiple times until he felt the give of broken bones and finally a slam to the skull.

A bullet plummeted Jet's abdomen and he was sent stumbling back. The pain ignored for the moment, Jet dived for one of the dispatched guns and spun onto his back quick enough to shoot one intruder in between the eyes. One left. Bullets peppered the wall behind Jet's head as he rolled away and back to his feet. Using the bed as a launch, Jet jumped, pulling his right foot back before striking out with power and accuracy into the other man's head. The man stumbled back, hardly having any time to recover before Jet wrapped an around his neck, the other grasping the top of his head. The neck broke with a satisfying snap.

Grasping at his wound, Jet stumbled towards the bathroom. “Nikki!” The door swung open and Nikki dashed out. She reached for him, pulling an arm over her shoulder as he swayed on his feet. “Wo don't have much time,” he managed to gasp out, breaths heavy. “To the lobby.” He managed to guide while she propped him up.

The sound of the elevator reaching their floor made their steps hurry before they ducked down the stairway. Nikita was amazed by his consistent speed despite blood pulsating from the wound in the center of his abdomen. This bullet wound far more severe than the last. It was near the center of his belly, still probably lodged amongst the muscle and organs. His hand was streaming with blood.

They reached the lobby and Nikita let out a gasp at the sight of dead man still sitting at the front desk. A bullet hole resonated between his open, lifeless eyes. Jet pulled her startled frame into the back kitchen, where more corpses lay amongst their own blood. Two men dressed in back stood guard at the door, their exit. They were yet unaware of the duo's entrance.

Without faulting in steps, Jet disentangled from Nikita with dangerously glinting eyes, grabbed a knife from the cutting board and threw it with deadly accuracy. It embedded in one man's chest. The other man turned, drawing his gun. Jet ducked, the bullet hitting the stove and sending a ball of fire blooming into the air. Nikita screamed, falling behind the table.

Jet launched himself forward, frying pan in hand that he sent careening towards the man's head. The man dodged, but Jet quickly brought it down a shoulder, fracturing the bone. Yelping, the man tried to scatter away, but Jet sent the pan down on the back of his skull. The man fell onto his knees, at the Chinese's mercy. Jet beat the men until the back of his head was a mottled scene of gore and broken skull.

Flames had spread and Jet turned to find his charge. “Nikita, where are you?”

Her coughing sounded to his right and he rushed, dodging spitting flames to grasp her. She clung to his shirt, trying to hold him up along with herself. The air was a toxic combination of gas and smoke and the two struggled to push open the door and into the dank alley.

“We have to keep moving,” Jet gasped, almost trying to provoke himself. His body began to protest at movements, the pain in his belly beginning to burn like the fire they had just escaped.

“Where do we go?” Nikita demanded, wanting to know his plan in case he lost consciousness.

“Restaurant.”

The two struggled along the street, dodging between shadows and staying off the streets. Twice they saw allies of their hunters rush by. Finally, they reached a small Chinese restaurant. There were no customers, too early for business. However, Jet's depleting figure had to only slam heavily against the glass door, his eyes peering inside before an aging man appeared on the other side. He unlocked the door and grabbed for Jet before he could hit the ground. He called in Mandarin for help, two younger men rushing forward. The older man motioned for Nikita to enter. Slowly, she stepped inside, eyes never leaving these new people as the two men dragged a now nearly incoherent Jet towards the back of th resturant.

The elder man peeked outside, looked down both sides of the street before locking the door and drawing the blinds down it.