Chapter 22
“The Colonel says he’s ready,” Sarte called from the doorway.
Stefano set his book down and nodded. “Good. Make the arrangements, I want to leave in the morning.”
“Are you certain this was a good idea, Stefano?” Leaning against the doorjamb, Sarte picked absently at a torn cuticle. “He’s dangerous, there’s proof enough of that. The man almost destroyed this place the last time. Why give him the chance to do it again?”
“I haven’t made any decisions yet, Sarte. I want to see him, hear what he has to say. Then I’ll decide what to do with him.”
“Stefano, if you were going to kill him, you’d have done it already. The decision’s been made and now you’re trying to justify it.”
Rising to his feet, Dimera grimaced. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m going soft just because I let him live. He has always been more valuable to me than you are. I’d suggest you not forget that, doctor.”
“I didn’t think you had gone soft,” Sarte muttered, jamming his hands into his pockets. “It’s just not like you.”
Sighing, Dimera ran a hand through his hair and stared out the window at the darkened jungle. “He didn’t fight me. When I hit him, he didn’t fight me. I’ve never hit him like that before. I expected him to be angry. I expected him to fight. He didn’t.”
“Stefano, he was hurt...”
“He always fights!” Dimera cut him off, turning from his inspection of the jungle. “Always!”
Forcing the anger down, Stefano wearily shook his head. “What happened wasn’t John’s fault, it was hers. She took him from me once before and I will not allow that to happen again. I will have them both, Sarte. Both of them. Nothing less is acceptable.”
“I’m leaving.”
Marlena looked up from the bed, surprised to find him standing in the doorway.
“Roman?” Confused, she dropped the note she was reading onto the nightstand and pulled her gown to her.
“Jameson called, from the ISA They have a lead on one of Dimera’s operations. He wants me to go undercover.”
“You can’t go! Roman, it’s too soon for you to leave. The kids...”
“The kids won’t miss me! Neither will you. Admit it, Doc. You’ll be glad to see me go.”
“That’s not true!” she shot back, rising from the bed to confront him.
“It’s been over two months, Marlena! I’m still sleeping down the hall, you still flinch every time I so much as touch you, and now today I find out… I’m going, Marlena. I’ll call you when I get to Paris.”
Roman glared down at her, challenging her to deny it, to say the words that would make him stay. She couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear, not even to keep him from going after Dimera. She watched in mute frustration as he stalked from the room, his disappointment evident. It took an effort not to slam the door behind him, though she was more mad at herself than anyone else.
Sinking back down on the bed, Marlena wondered what she could have done differently. She had tried. God, had she tried! Roman had tried too. It had been obvious how hard they tried to make it work and just as obvious how badly they had failed. Roman was going after Dimera because she had failed him as a wife. In her heart, she feared that he was really going after John.
Curling in the middle of the bed, she grabbed the worn note from the table, her fingers tracing the already fading words. She had found the slip of paper tucked beneath his pillow, had known to search for it as soon as she had discovered he was gone. She had known he wouldn’t leave her without saying goodbye. Then again, she hadn’t believed he would leave her at all.
Marlena,
You asked me to make this right, but I can’t. I can’t change what I am, I can’t replace the time I stole from you, I can’t make lies into truth. If I could, I would change everything. If I could, I would make it so that I never came into your life. Since I can’t, this is all that I have to offer.
Leaving is my gift to you. To you. To the children. Tell them I’m sorry. Tell them… Tell them whatever you need to tell them. If it’s easier to make them hate me, then do it. If it’s easier for you to hate me, I know that I deserve that too.
I’m going home, Doc. I’m going back where I belong. I give you my word, I won’t return. I wish you a good life and much happiness. I wish… I wish things were different. Know that you will always own my heart.
Forever JB
Damn him! She couldn’t believe he was gone. She still reached for him in the middle of the night and when she awoke from her dreams, it was his face she still saw. All the lies they had lived together, yet it was the truth of his leaving that hurt the most.
Tucking the letter careful back into the nightstand drawer, Marlena flirted again with the idea of finding him. Bo could do it. If she asked, Bo would bring him back.
It would only make things worse, more complicated than they already were. He was a world away from her and she still wanted him. If he returned....
Flipping the light off, she wrapped her arms around a pillow and huddled beneath the sheets. Clenching her eyes shut, she prayed for Roman. For his safety. For his return. For his failure.
John moved fast, legs pounding, lungs straining, the sand a hypnotic blur beneath his feet. He moved fast, but not nearly fast enough.
He stands in his shadowed corner, a familiar vantage, a familiar view.
They share the bed that used to be his. The white sheets are gathered around the man’s waist, his heaving shoulders glistening as he pumps slowly up and down.
She is moaning his name, over and over and over. “I love you, Roman. Always you. Only you.”
Soft hands grip those broad shoulders, dig deeply into sweating flesh. The man in the bed rears his head, shouts his ecstasy to the heavens.
Crouching down in his little corner of hell, John burns for her.
Run, John. Just keep running. Run faster.
He’s back in the chair, the leather straps snug about his wrists and chest. God, he hates this chair. He tenses, listening as the footsteps approach from behind.
“You still want her, don’t you?”
“Roman?” That face. He hates that face more than he hates the chair.
“She’s mine now. She’s always been mine.”
“No.” He sobs the word out, wishing it were true, knowing that it’s not.
“You watch us, don’t you? I can feel you watching us,” Roman whispers, flicking a dismissive finger against John’s bare chest. Leaning in close, he smiles. “It makes her taste all the sweeter when I take her.”
The leather gives way before his rage and he is out of the chair, the hate consuming him. He screams, his first blow taking Roman in the chest, the breastbone caving. The ground is cold and hard, grinding against his knees as he straddles the downed body. The bones of that hated face snap like matchsticks as he pounds it into oblivion. Blood gurgles inside shattered lungs, leaks from bulging eyes. So fucking beautiful....
“What have you done? What have you done to him?”
So fucking beautiful… She kneels on the floor, gathering the broken body in her arms. Her touch is magic, it heals the wounds, washes the blood away. He stands and watches them, the noble hero and his maiden fair.
“Marlena?”
“You are a monster, John! I hate you! For everything you have done, I hate you!”
“Why do you do this to yourself?” the little girl asks, appearing before him, protecting him from accusing eyes.
“Because I deserve it.”
Cool salt water splashed his chest, a sharp contrast to the scorching sun. He pushed himself, grunting with the strain, trying to lose himself in the effort. The little girl held his hand, not ready to let him go.
“You can’t kill him.”
“Of course I can. It would be easy.”
“She wouldn’t like it.”
“No. No, she wouldn’t like it.”
“You should sleep,” the little girl whispers, tiny fingers brushing back his damp hair.
He shakes his head, his eyes hollow. “If I sleep, I dream of her.”
“You dream of her anyway. You need to sleep.”
“Sleep won’t give me what I need, you know that. If I can’t kill him, I’ll just have to find something else to play with.”
She looks up at him sadly and he realizes he has failed her yet again. Why she still comes to him, he will never understand.
“You need to leave, Angel. Bad things are going to happen here. Very bad things.”
Distantly, he was aware of Baxter, waving him in from his run. He reluctantly slowed to a trot and headed inland, leaving the little girl behind.
“Congratulations, it’s a new record,” Colonel Baxter said, nodding at his stopwatch.
John merely shrugged, his breathing already slowing to normal. Standing at ease, he awaited orders like the good little soldier he was. He liked the orders, he liked the drill. Most of all, he liked not having to think. Baxter was watching him, a proprietary grin on his face. John wondered if Baxter would still be smiling with a knife at his throat.
“Hit the showers and take a break. I’ll expect you in my office at 1900 hours for dinner. Time to talk about your first mission back.”
John hesitated, as if considering a protest. Realizing he had nothing to complain about, he jogged off in the direction of the barracks
“Is he ready?” Stefano asked, settling down in a chair next to the metal desk.
“He’s a psycho,” the Colonel replied admiringly. “I wish I had a 100 more just like him.”
“Did he cause any trouble?”
“We had to stop letting him spar with the instructors after he almost killed one but other than that, he was perfect. I doubt the man has said more than a dozen words since he’s been here and he followed every order I put to him. I could find you top dollar if you ever consider hiring him out.” Leaning forward on his elbows, Baxter tried not to look too eager.
“I’m afraid I have an exclusive contract with Mr. Black,” Stefano replied, a proud smile tugging at his lips.
A peremptory knock interrupted them and the subject of their conversation stepped into the room. John’s casual stance stiffened, his eyes locking onto Dimera. Falling back into an old pattern, he held himself still and waited for permission to speak.
“You look good, John,” Dimera said, walking over to inspect his prize. “The bones healed nicely.” He ran his finger across the raised scar beneath John’s eye, noting the way the jaw clenched tight at the touch.
“Does it still hurt?”
“No sir,” John replied, his voice gruff.
“I think I’ll let you keep the scar. A reminder, if you will.”
John’s eyes darted to the side, meeting his gaze. “Yes sir,” was all he said.
Dimera studied the hard blue eyes, and what he found showed Baxter to be an idiot. John was anything but fine. John was dangerous. “Colonel, if you don’t mind, we need some privacy. There are a few issues that need to be cleared up.”
Taking the dismissal for what it was, the Colonel rose to his feet. “The room is at your disposal, Mr. Dimera. Let me know if you need anything.”
John felt his stomach muscles knot and his mouth went dry. He had managed to forget that Dimera would be coming for him. He’d managed to forget almost everything that was important. They didn’t let him have any drugs. The drugs would have made things easier, but there were other ways to achieve his oblivion.
Every night, he had slipped out, lost the guards that tried to track him. He had run the beaches, walked the cliffs. After a few weeks, he’d sat and plotted how to kill everyone in the compound. Just an exercise. Just something to do. Still, he was fairly certain he could manage it. Another couple of nights, he might have to try out his plan, see if it would work. Just an exercise, of course. Something to occupy his time.
“That particular smile is never a good sign,” Stefano said, settling a hip atop the desk behind him.
“Sorry, sir,” John replied, blinking his eyes and wondering if Dimera had been talking to him.
“I hope it wasn’t my death you were planning.” Dimera raised a questioning brow and pulled a cigar from his breast pocket.
“No sir.”
“Care to enlighten me?” Shifting uneasily, Stefano studied John’s face.
“I could take out this compound. They’re sloppy, sir. Give me an hour and they’d all be gone.”
“Mm,” Dimera grunted, drawing on his cigar as he circled Baxter’s desk. As expected, he found a bottle of bourbon tucked in the back of the bottom drawer. “Why would you want to take out the compound, John?”
Stumped by the question, John passed the time admiring the flashes of light that flickered at the edge of his vision. ‘Because it’s there,’ seemed like the wrong response, but he couldn’t think of another one. Obediently, he took the bottle that was thrust into his hand and downed its contents. The alcohol hit his empty stomach and he found himself swaying on his feet.
“I want you to finish that bottle and then I want you to get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning,” Stefano said, his words barely penetrating the fog.
“I’m not tired.” He took another gulp of whiskey and decided he needed to sit down.
“You don’t have to be tired. You have to follow orders. I want you to sleep, understood?”
“Understood,” John muttered, wondering vaguely why Stefano was so insistent.
Oh, fuck! She’s back.
“You didn’t think I’d let you go so easily,” Marlena whispers, trailing one long fingernail down the center of his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he croaks, the cool air prickling his skin as she slides the thin sheet down to his waist.
“No, you’re not. But you will be.”
White teeth clamp down hard on his right nipple and he arches from the bed, the chains digging into his ankles and wrists. He fights the chains, tries to grab her, wrap his arms around her. Make her stay. Make her stop. Make her his.
With a silvery laugh, she lets go. “Always so eager.”
He clenches his eyes shut, pants for air as he feels her tug the sheet from the bed. His legs start to tremble, her nails scratching their way up his inner thigh. Christ! He has never been so hard in his entire life.
“How badly do you want me?”
Her warm breath caresses the head of his cock and he screams for her, knowing it is what she demands.
She chuckles, swings one long leg across him, straddling the narrow bunk. Tight black leather pants creak as she settles her weight on his stomach, the sound alone enough to draw another moan from him. He bucks, trying to grind against her, to buy his release. With a sharp slap to his face, she expresses her displeasure.
“It’s not that easy, haven’t you learned that yet?” Softly now, she skims her hands across his ribs, following the line of his body. Her fingers find his, linking them together, and she is stretched out above him like an angel on high.
“How badly do you want me?” Her teeth tug at his earlobe, her lips slide down the curve of his neck. He turns his head and she grants him a kiss, then bites his lip so hard he can taste the blood on his tongue. He whimpers into her hot mouth, begging to be inside her.
“How badly do you want me, John? Tell me to trust you and I will. Tell me to trust you and I’ll set you free.” The keys to the handcuffs are in her hands. She dangles them before his face, plays teasingly with the steal that wraps his wrists. “Can I trust you, John? Can I trust you?”
“Bitch,” he growls, jerking against the chains until it seems the bed itself must give way. She simply smiles and brushes another kiss against his swollen lips.
“Can I trust you?”
Heavy breasts press down on his chest, the nipples hard within the thin silk of her shirt. He squirms beneath her, seeking escape. “Oh God, Marlena! Please...”
“Can I trust you?”
“Please...”
“Can I trust you?”
“No.”
John awoke with a start and kicked sweatdrenched sheets to the floor. Gritting his teeth, he buried his face in his pillow. Three quick jerks and he came, nothing of pleasure in the act. The ache was still there, the need for her still burned. With half a sob, he wondered why he had been so stupid as to try and sleep the night through.
The sunlight slipping in through the blinds brought clarity. Dimera. Damn....
Stumbling to the small bathroom, he leaned against the cool tiles of the shower and tried to wash the memories of her away.
“There were guards outside my door this morning.”
“I thought it prudent.” Warily, Dimera watched those blue eyes, pleased that they remained focused on him. If there were any lingering ghosts, at least John appeared to be ignoring them for the moment.
“I’m fine, Stefano. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You told me you were ‘fine’ after the Soldino debacle too. I didn’t want another incident like the one with Morrison. You do remember what you did to him?”
John grimaced, had the decency to look away. “I’m fine,” he repeated softly.
“Good then you can explain to me what the hell you were thinking when you took Marlena away from me.”
John flinched and for a moment Dimera was worried that he wouldn’t answer. Maybe Sarte was right, maybe it would be better to put him down.
“I… Sir, there is no excuse.”
It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was better than nothing. “Would you do it again?”
John shrugged, focusing on a distant point far from the confines of the small room, his hand stroking against the butt of his holstered pistol.
“Would you do it again?” Cautiously, Stefano sat down. The shotgun was right where he had placed it, taped to the bottom of the desk. One slight adjustment and the weapon was pointed directly at John.
The eyes drifted down, focused on Dimera’s face. The lean body tensed, the eyes going dark and ugly. Flushing guiltily, John jerked his hand away from his pistol. “Yes sir, I would.”
Inexplicably, the answer pleased him. Lust was something he could understand. “You still want her, don’t you?” He smiled as he asked the question, easing back in his chair and releasing the shotgun.
“No. I owed her, that’s all.”
“That’s just as well, John because I do want her. I want her very badly.”
“She doesn’t want you,” John stated flatly.
“She will,” Dimera chuckled, twisting the knife. “Perhaps I should send you to retrieve her? After all, you are the reason I lost her in the first place.”
“I won’t do it,” John replied, an odd eagerness in his voice belying his words.
“You will do whatever I tell you to do!” Dimera slammed his hand to the desk and shot to his feet.
With a quick step forward, John was in his face. “I won’t let you hurt her, Stefano. Ever.”
Dimera could feel the man’s anger, sense his desire for violence. Now was not the time to force the issue. His secrets could wait, the victory all the sweeter when it came. A practiced smile came easily to his lips. “I don’t want to hurt her, John, so it appears we have no argument.”
Hesitantly, John backed off, once more taking up his soldier’s pose.
Again, Stefano debated the wisdom of the shotgun. Safer to end it now, safer to put him down. Safer but such a waste. He would have them both. Anything less was unacceptable. “There’s an assignment overseas, John. A smuggling operation I’m thinking of expanding. How does a trip to Paris sound?”
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