Your Knight (Part 2)
Karen leaves a lamp on by her couch. It glows softly, casting the entire apartment in a muted yellow hue. She doesn’t have a night-light for the little girl, but she doesn’t want the child waking up scared in the dark. It’s an unpleasant sensation she’s all too familiar with.
With each passing hour, she gets a little more antsy, tension slowly but surely building. It’s like a rubber band being pulled taught, the anxiety of the situation like waiting for the painful snap to finally come. She paces in time with the ticking of her clock, stopping occasionally to peer down into the alley where it happened. Fear shudders through her, and for the millionth time she tells herself that this is just temporary, that she’ll move to a better neighborhood eventually.
It’s an empty solace though, because no matter how far she goes there will still be people like Ariana and her daughter that are left to suffer. Sometimes it feels like a plague, the constant flow of crime and hurt that boils across the city. Righteous indignation burns through her, and the gears in her mind whir. She already has the opening line for her next article percolating. It’s a call to action. This c ity needs to roll up its god damned sleeves and take out the fucking trash.
Like Frank… He’s out there right now, tracking down the person responsible, doing exactly what the cops aren’t. It’s dangerous, she knows, but there’s something about the man, a hard edge that brooks little argument. He can take care of himself. The thought is like a mantra running through her brain. The city needs people like that, nothing can happen to him. It just can’t.
The knock is so soft she almost doesn’t hear it. A short tattoo followed by a long pause. She waits, holding her breath. It comes again and she’s halfway across the apartment without even thinking.
When she looks through the peephole he’s already walking away. The chain slides smoothly from its slot, cool against her trembling fingers. The sound of the deadbolts flipping is jarring in the thick quiet.
She slips quietly out into the hall, only to find him sitting sprawled out across from her door, head leaned back against the wall in exhaustion, eye shut. He appears to be waiting for her.
“Frank?” She whispers, moving closer. “Are you alright?”
It’s clear that he’s not. The black eye from earlier in the evening is a mere scratch compared to the collage of marks scattered across his face. His lip is split, a line of neat stitches like a dead-end road marches across his left cheekbone.
Instinctively, she moves toward him, the door swinging shut behind her with an audible snick as all the locks catch. His eyes open, amusement sparkling in their dark depths. “Did you just lock yourself out again?”
Relief washes over her, a smile slowly spreading across her face when she moves to sit down beside him. “Nope.”
Her fingers dip into the vee of her pajama top, proudly withdrawing a silk ribbon with two keys on the end of it. “Pete smelled like hookers and sambuca the last time I woke him up to unlock my door.” She wrinkles her nose at the memory. “Never again.”
He shifts beside her, wincing as he leans down to pick up something she hadn’t even noticed. It’s one of those little cardboard cup holders they use at coffee shops, two paper cups slotted next to each other. He takes one and shoves the other toward her. “Heavy cream, lots of syrup, a dash of coffee.”
She takes it from him ignoring the teasing way he describes her coffee order. He moves so gingerly, voice tight with hidden pain. There’s no doubt in her mind that there are a few bruised ribs underneath his cotton shirt. Her gaze narrows. Is that a shoe print right above where his kidneys should be? She can’t make small talk, not with so much shit hanging in the air. “What happened Frank?”
He sighs, taking a long gulp of his coffee “I found the guy, along with a couple of his friends. They objected to me kicking the shit out of him.”
“And?”
“Their objections were ignored.”
She’s getting irritated now, with all his sidestepping. She narrows her eyes, taking a slow sip of her sugary concoction as she stares at him. “Where is he?”
“I didn’t kill the son of a bitch. He’s in a holding cell downtown.”
It’s enough of an answer. She’d honestly been expecting him to completely sidestep her questions, try to distract her with witty or charming anecdotes. She’s relieved. There’s only so much delicate handling that she can take. Frank’s attitude is refreshing.
She gestures toward her apartment, gaze landing on the peeling paint of her reinforced door. “What do we do about her?”
“Her mother looks worse than I do, but she’s gonna be fine. I stopped by the ER after dropping that shitbag with New York’s finest. It’ll be a day or two in the hospital tops. I’ll watch the girl until she gets back. Foster care is a nightmare in this city.”
Karen nods. That’s something she’s familiar with too. “I’ll take her in the evenings if you can handle the day shift.”
His head snaps around in surprise, one eyebrow shooting up. “Yeah?”
Karen nods, moving to get up. She offers a hand to Frank, and is met with hesitation. Just as she’s about to open her mouth and ask him to come with her, he reaches out and takes the proffered help, grunting in pain as he rises. “Shit, I should just stick to dog-walking.”
“Dog-walking?” She sounds surprised, but is easy to see. He’s got the easy athleticism of someone who gets a lot of exercise, and she’s seen an innate gentleness in him.
“Yeah. I think I’ll have to take tomorrow off though.” He turns to leave, fingers slipping from her grasp. She tightens her grip. “You’re not getting away that easy. Did you see a doctor at the hospital.”
“I’m fine.”
“Did you?”
He sighs, weariness settling over him as he gives in. “A beautiful nurse with gentle hands and a sweet smile.” The words are calculated, and Karen feels like she’s being baited, but can’t figure out why. Frank continues, “Stitched me right up, good as new.”
She lets him go. Now that he’s no longer retreating, she can’t help the way her free hand moves to trace the stitches at his cheek. His skin is warm and surprisingly soft. Her touch moves down, following the line of his jaw, stubble tickling at the pads of her fingers.
Maybe she’s delirious from lack of sleep, but it’s like someone else is controlling her hand as it slides down the column of his throat, her own pulse skittering wildly when she finds his. He makes a noise somewhere between a growl and a grunt, but she can’t stop.
Her hand skims further down against the soft cotton of his shirt until her palm is resting flat against his side. She swallows, absentmindedly murmuring a question. “No broken bones?”
“Mmm… Maybe one… or three.”
His gaze is burning, flames of desire licking at both of them. They’re the same height, and it’s impossible to step away from him.
Her heart nearly stops when he reaches forward, strong but graceful fingers skimming the hollow of her neck. She squelches a whimper of disappointment when he withdraws her keys. “You should check on Alyssa.”
Blinking rapidly, she snaps out of her trance, plucking the keys from his fingers. “O-of course.”
The amusement on his face sends an angry zip of energy through her, chased quickly by embarrassment. Abruptly she turns away from him, fumbling with the lock, finally shoving the key in the hole and yanking the door open.
He catches her hand before she can slip too far into the dim apartment. “Hey.” The word is soft, a hushed whisper. He pulls her toward him and captures her lips in a less than gentle kiss. There’s a hunger in him that makes her knees weak. He pulls away, breathing heavily. “Your ass is mine as soon as these ribs heel up.”
Slowly walking away from him, she laughs quietly. “I’m not anybody’s.”
“We’ll see about that, Page.”
It’s a promise. Frank Castle keeps his promises.