Beauty and the Mob Boss

At nineteen years old, Bela Kavek could sadly admit to being used to blood. It wasn't because she was involved in some noble fields like nursing or whatever. No. it was simply because, after surviving this long with abusive parents, she'd become somewhat of an expert in nursing her own wounds. That was the good... and bad thing at the moment. Good because she wasn't going to faint at the first sight of blood. Bad because she was only an expert at nursing her own wounds, which was nowhere near enough experience to prepare her for treating someone else’s. And also, how was there so much blood in the human body? As if the thought galvanized her into action, she shoved herself forward towards the prone figure lying face down in the snow. The snow that was now soaked through with the red fluid, which seemed to still be coming from a never-ending stream. Heedless of her own bruised ribs, she knelt by the suit-clad body. No! Not body! Man! It’s a --- please be alive? --- man.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she acknowledged that the man was a massive being and that was probably why he had so much blood. She pressed her index and middle fingers to the pulse point at his throat, closed her eyes, and tried to calm her own heartbeat so she could feel his pulse. It took a minute, but she persistently held her position until --- blessed Lord!--- she felt the faint, thump-thump against her fingers. “Okay. Okay. He’s alive. This is a good thing.” She had a habit of talking out loud when she was panicked.  “First thing’s first. Turn him over.”  She followed her own instructions to turn him over. Well.. she attempted to turn him over. When she failed in her attempt, the errant thought of his size came to the forefront of her thoughts. She attempted the feat once more but again, she failed. “Are you kidding me?!” she whispered furiously, “what did you fall off the beanstalk or something buddy?” Granted, her bruised ribs or diminutive 5 ft 3 inches weren’t helping the matter, but the man might as well be classified as a giant. “You’d think with all this blood loss, you’d have lost some weight,” she muttered as she forcibly slid her palms under his body. She took a deep breath before she lifted with all her might. When his body shifted upright, she leaned her entire body against his and pushed with her whole weight, much as she did when she attempted moving the ginormous chest of drawers that held all her clothing. She almost shouted in joy when the giant flopped over onto his back, but the gasp that left her wasn’t one of joy for her achievement, nor one in acknowledgment of the pain in her abdomen as a result. It was one of awe.  Maybe a giant fallen angel?  The thought was a silly one. Unless fallen angels were all beautiful beastly warriors who ate little girls like herself for breakfast. His face was hard, uncompromising and if she ever spent her time visualizing what some ancient godly king looked like lording over all his subjects --- she didn’t of course--- it would probably be something like this. She felt as though at any minute he would open his eyes --- and they would be just as darkly beautiful as the rest of him --- and demand to know why she was taking so long to help him… and then possibly banish her before she could defend herself. She visibly shook her head, as if to dislodge the fanciful thoughts that had taken root there. She silently cursed her trembling gloved hands as she shifted his black coat from his chest and felt her chest hollow out. The once white shirlt she wore was now a pale red along his entire torso and clung to his body. “Please don’t die, mister,” she pleaded as she tugged the shirt from his waistband and began to unbutton the shirt with clumsy fingers. “Oh, God! Oh God, oh God, oh God!” There was blood everywhere. It didn’t get any better the further up his chest she went. When she finally had all the buttons undone, she gingerly peeled the two sides away. Though it was hard to tell, it seemed all the blood was coming from two wounds. She only saw that because both holes --- one towards his left side and the other further up towards his left shoulder--- were still oozing. Reacting on instinct, she pulled one of the knitted gloves off her hand and pressed it to the lower of the two wounds, and pressed down with both hands. What happened next was… unexpected to say the least. She suddenly found herself on her back, with a giant looming above, the coldest pair of grey eyes she’d ever seen glaring menacingly down at her and a cold hand wrapped… not too gently around her throat. She was of the opinion that even in his weakened state, the beast could have broken her neck if he was of a mind to. Finding herself without oxygen, her own slender hands wrapped themselves around the giant’s wrist in an effort to ease the pressure at her throat. Surprisingly, the hand shifted enough, allowing her to breathe, though his hand remained in place. It was more likely he had realized she was no threat than through any effort of hers. “I ---” she began but had to swallow and clear her throat, before continuing. “I was only trying to --- help,” she faltered when the eyes narrowed even further. He was going to kill her, she just knew it. “You lost a lot of blood!” she squeaked out when his fingers flexed at her throat.  As if he didn’t believe her, his eyes shifted down his own body and traveled over the blood still dripping from his wounds. Whether the sight of his blood gave him a change of heart, or he simply didn’t have the strength anymore, whatever the case was, he abruptly shifted off her. Bela scrambled backward and tried to put as much distance between her and the man that was still likely to kill her.  She turned over on her hands and knees and sought to run back to her house. She needed to call someone. Not her parents of course. They would find a way to blame her and use it as an excuse to teach her another “lesson”. One lesson was enough for one night. Maybe she could call an ambulance. That should have been her first thought, but she was as averse to getting the police involved as she was her parents. Her friend, Carmen was the only other option. Her mother was also an ER nurse, she might have a better idea of how to handle this than Bela. Okay. Carmen, it is. She was on her feet when his voice came from behind her.  “Don’t move.” The command was more of a growl than anything else. But that wasn’t what stopped Bela in her tracks. It was the distinct click of a hammer being c****d. She was, again, unfortunately, quite familiar with that sound. “Turn around. Slowly.”  She followed the command until she was facing him. There it was. A gun. Pointed right at her head. For the second time in her very short life. She wondered why her heartbeat had slowed down rather than sped up while she was staring imminent death in the face. She wasn’t half as panicked at the idea of her own death as she had been at the possibility of this stranger’s. What did it mean? Did she want to die? Her eyes shifted from her murder weapon to her murderer. He was leaning against a post amidst the barbed wire which fenced her backyard from her neighbors’. The hand that wasn’t holding the weapon was clutching to his lower side. The moonlight shining on him emphasized the paleness of his skin, and the snowflakes falling around him made him seem otherwordly. Those slate grey eyes we're still narrowed in accusation. For Christ's sake! He was looking at her as if she was the one that had shot him. "Where am I?" he grunted out. Bela hesitantly responded,  "in my backyard?"   She almost cringed when her intended statement came out more like a question. She wondered if that made her seem more suspicious. Somehow, she noticed a subtle shift in his glare...maybe it was just her imagination because now it almost seemed to ask if she was being serious. "Which is where?"  he persisted. Yup, definitely annoyed now. For one scarily short moment, Bela almost forgot her address. "Uh...um...17 Hope Pasture Drive..."  she stuttered out. "Town." "Town?"  she repeated dumbly. "What town?" Though his voice was low and almost a whisper, his impatience was screaming at her. “Maide.” His eyes scanned his surroundings hurriedly before settling back on her. “Cellphone.” The command was clear as day in his voice. The tone suited him so well, Bella thought briefly that he probably never had to ask for a thing a day in his life. Normally, Bela would have no problem telling him where he could shove that tone of voice, but with a gun aimed at her, she found herself responding immediately. Her unprotected hand, now shivering from the cold instead of the prospect of stemming the flow of blood, slipped into the pocket at the front of her jacket and pulled out her sorely outdated phone.  He released his side and beckoned to her with his bloody palm. “Slowly,” he warned. She took careful steps towards him, stopping at his outstretched feet. Even though he was sitting on the snow-covered ground, and she was standing, she could hardly say she was towering over the giant. He urged her to kneel with a wave of the gun, and again, her body automatically complied, uncaring of her own injuries. “Give it to me.” Another order. She dropped her phone in his outstretched hand, her eyes never leaving his face. She watched as his eyes flickered briefly to the device in his hand before returning to her and then, he was holding the phone to his ear. Even though she was close enough to him, she couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, but someone must have picked up because he started talking on the phone. She was only mildly shocked at the harsh-sounding words that weren’t even in English. The language --- whatever it was--- seemed to suit the giant quite well. The only thing she picked out of the short call was her address before her phone fell from his hand. It was obvious from where she was standing---well, kneeling--- that he was fighting to keep his eyes open. “f**k!”  The curse startled her, though it was little more than a whisper. “Please,” the whispered plea slipped past her lips without much thought, “let me help you.” Clearly, she’d lost her marbles. She was evidently concussed from the beating her father had doled out earlier. That had to be the only explanation as to why she was worried about a stranger who was currently pointing a gun at her. Why she was practically begging him to allow her to help him. The distrust that shone so clearly in his eyes was evidence enough that her request was ludicrous. “I know you probably called someone to help you, and I don’t know how close they are, but you need help now. You’ve already lost more blood than I actually thought was humanly possible. You really can’t afford to lose anymore,” Bela recognized she was babbling now but wasn’t quite aware of how to stop herself. “I mean, what on earth could I possibly do to you other than help? Just let me help stop the bleeding. Please.” Bela couldn’t begin to examine the relief that flooded her system at the slight nod of his head, which she took as permission to scoot closer to him. It was with much hesitancy that Bela reached towards his hand with the gun. The breath was all but knocked out of her when her palm came to rest on top of his hand. The contact seemed to resonate with every nerve inside her and her heartbeat decided to return to its erratic rhythm.  Bela had learned from an early age to follow her instincts. It was something that usually saved her from a trip to the ER whenever her parents went on one of their highs. It was usually very straightforward, so she often knew exactly what to do. But just then, her gut was giving her mixed signals. Screaming. That’s what her instincts were doing right now. But they were screaming different things at the same time. Prompt 1: Run! Get as far away, as fast as you can! Danger! Danger! Prompt 2: Finally! The second prompt was seriously messing with her, but it was in line with the crazy impulses she’d been experiencing ever since she’d laid eyes on her giant. Wait? Hers? How did he go from being a giant to her giant? Since when did she start laying claim to him? Finders keepers. She found herself applying pressure to his hand and was once again relieved when she felt it lowering. When the gun was safely resting at his side---and most importantly, no longer pointed at her, Bela rushed into action.  She dove for the fallen glove that had been abandoned in the snow during the giant’s surprise revival. It was now wet, but that hardly seemed to matter as she hurriedly shifted his shirt away from his side and pressed the material tentatively to the still-bleeding wound. “Harder,” the harsh whisper came from over her head. Refusing to look up at him, as she was sure to lose her nerve, Bela took a fortifying breath before weighing down on the injury. She was sure it had to hurt like hell, but all she got from the giant was a grunt. She used one hand to undo the scarf around her neck and somehow maneuvered the material around his waist. She managed to tie the scarf over the makeshift bandage as tight as she possibly could and prayed it was enough. She treated the wound close to his shoulder similarly with her other glove and the thin sweater she had been wearing under her jacket. When she was finished tending to his more obvious wounds, she wet the sleeve of her jacket in the snow and tried her best to get rid of some of the blood on his chest. She was doing in part, to see if he was bleeding from anywhere else. The other part was because she was trying to delay making eye contact with him again. When she had ruined half of one sleeve and couldn’t find any more injuries, she rechecked the crude bandages before resting her jacket over his exposed chest.  She was, at this point, shivering, as she was outside, in the snow in nothing but jeans and an old t-shirt, but she knew he had to be somewhere close to hypothermia in his wet suit. She would have offered to go inside to get him a blanket but she knew he wasn’t going to allow her to leave. She hoped whoever he had called would be there soon. “Put your jacket on.” This command caused her to look up at him. The grey eyes that had been narrowed in distrust were no longer narrowed. They looked tired ---still, intimidatingly cold--- and still distrustful. She ought to be offended that he was still looking at her like she’d been the one to shot him, but she could admit that nothing she’d done since meeting him had made any sense whatsoever. His gaze held her in some sort of trance, so much so that she’d forgotten what he’d said before he repeated himself. She visibly shook her head to break eye contact with him. “I don’t need it,” she mumbled as she fussed with said jacket, tucking the material under his neck and over his shoulder. Though the thing had fallen well past her waist, it left quite a bit of his mid-drift exposed.  She startled as he shifted under her hands and pulled the jacket off his chest before tossing it in her lap. “Put it on.” Bela glared at him, “you're soaking wet. You need to stay as warm as you can.” Her stubbornness seemed to have forgotten about the gun he still held in his hand. She could swear his mouth twitched, much in the way that suggested he was trying not to smile, but when she blinked, the same immobile features were staring at her. “Your tiny jacket is hardly gonna keep me warm, Princess.” The nickname gave her pause for a moment. She wasn’t certain how to respond to it. The giant hardly seemed the type to use endearments, so he’d likely use the word in a derisive manner.  She was small in stature and --- as Carmen was fond of telling her--- everything about her look screamed damsel in distress. Her 5ft 4-inch frame had always annoyed her when she wanted to reach things high up, but other than that, she had never really minded being short. She had never been a vain person, so she’d never wished she’d looked any different than she did. She’d wished for many things in her life, but being pretty had never been one of them. Though to be fair, she didn’t think of herself she was ugly.  Her hair was white-blond, the long thick strands more often than not, a pain in her ass, and though, she often wanted there to be less of it, she neither had the time nor money to waste in getting it cut. Her skin was okay, if a tad bit too pale, but again, she really didn’t pay it much mind unless she got sunburnt,...or a bruise she had to hide. Her brown eyes were framed with long lashes which might as well be invisible, they were almost a pale as her hair. She remembered one particularly mean bully calling her albino for a whole semester in high school until he had moved away. She’d had pretty thick skin by the time she’d gotten to high school, so the incident hadn’t bothered her much. Carmen sometimes said she looked like a fairytale snow queen, but she knew her friend meant that as a compliment. She wasn’t sure if the giant calling her Princess was anywhere close to the same thing. “My name is Bela,” she finally responded, shrugging on her jacket because she wasn’t going to try to put it on him again. He didn’t respond. His silence forced her gaze back up to his. He was staring at her intently and once again, she felt trapped. After a long while, he responded, “Of course it is.” Now, what was that supposed to mean? She opened her mouth to ask just that when the loud skidding of a car caught her attention. Even though she couldn’t see the road from her position, she could tell the vehicle had stopped somewhere close by. “Is that…?” she started to ask but stopped. She’d find out soon enough wouldn’t she? And then what? She’d wave goodbye to the giant and go to bed? Wake up in few hours and pretend that none of this ever happened? That was as likely as her waking up to normal, loving parents. Before she could arrive at any sort of answer, there was the distinct sound of feet sinking into snow coming from behind her. Before she even turned around, she recognized the feeling of panic welling up in her chest.  Was she never going to see him again? Christ! Why did she even care? She carefully maneuvered herself to face… not anything she could ever have imagined. There were 5 men standing behind her. All of them were dressed in black from head to toe. Their suits were all the more spectacular in the backdrop of falling snow. What was even more spectacular?  They were all giants.  Very beautiful, very angry-looking, and very armed giants. For the second time that night, she was facing a gun aimed at her. Well...five guns now. The giant at the front of the pack called out something in that language her giant had used earlier. “Nyet!” That response came from her giant.  Nyet was Russian, wasn’t it? The head giant lowered his gun and the others followed suit. He stalked swiftly over to them and knelt beside them in the snow. She shuffled further away from her giant when the newcomer leaned in to examine her handiwork.  He said something else to her giant something else she didn’t understand before helping him to his feet.  Bela watched as a second giant came over to assist and they started moving towards the front of her yard. Through it all, she knelt, unmoving in the snow, not yet ready to acknowledge the panic brewing to the surface. She hardly noticed the other three giants who hadn’t moved, for her gaze trailed behind the two who were taking hers away.  “The girl?” the question came from one of the three remaining men and was called after the retreating forms. They didn’t stop their progression but one of them called out in response. “Take her.” Unbelievably enough, following that response, the pain in her chest began to ease. Yup.  Definitely concussed.