Later, as they lay in each others' arms on the damp ground, he couldn't help wondering if the misty warmth that hung so thickly in the night air might be the remnants of steam rising from their sweat-slick bodies. He chuckled softly to himself, idly sliding his fingertips over her smooth, irresistible skin. He still wanted her, and would have gladly taken her again, but felt somehow immobilized; unwilling to shatter this moment of languid tenderness, coupled with a strange, growing feeling of protectiveness. He shook his head, dismissing the thought as too absurd to even consider. This was about pleasure for him, and nothing else.
Still, he couldn't keep himself from leaning down and whispering into her ear: "Jimmy."
She roused a little, tilting her head up to look at him, puzzled.
"My name. It's Jimmy," he said with a self-conscious laugh.
She smiled and nodded. "Jimmy. Jimmy," she murmured, as if his name was so unusual it needed to be carefully repeated before it could be locked into her memory.
He pulled her closer, their bodies joined by pliant flesh and the residual passion that clung to them like drenched blades of grass. His fingers continued to caress her, finally coming to rest on what, at first, he mistook for an odd birthmark. Looking more closely, he realized that it wasn't a birthmark at all; it was more like a tattoo or...a brand. Fascinated, he squinted in the dim light and was finally able to make it out. It was a "Q" within a perfect circle; small, but unmistakable on her inner left thigh.
Unable to resist, he touched it with the same sort of morbid fascination that always made him want to touch a scabbed-over wound. She jerked away as if stung by a jolt of electricity and scrambled quickly to her feet.
"What...?" he asked, surprised.
"Nothing. I have to go."
"Go? What do you mean, go? Don't you want to...I mean, I thought we might...?"
She snatched up her dress, her eyes widening with something like abject panic. He reached up and caught her wrist, and she struggled in his grip like a wild animal against the jaws of a steel trap. He stood, holding her firmly.
"Please, Jimmy", she pleaded, "I have to go. You were wonderful, but I have to go. Really. You have to let me go now."
Reflexively, he pulled her to him, catching her other wrist and pinning both to the small of her back. She flailed and moaned in his arms.
"Just wait, Amria. What is it? What's the matter? Is it something about that mark, that brand on your thigh?"
She went limp in his arms as if defeated; resigned to some unseen, terrible fate. Finally, she looked up into his eyes, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm owned, Jimmy. I belong to someone. Someone very rich and very powerful. His name is Quentin. This is his house. I should never have done this, been with you tonight. If he finds out..."
Her voice trailed off into a shudder of disgust, and she dropped her head to his chest, sobbing quietly. Before he realized what he was doing, he had released her wrists and wrapped her in a strong and loving embrace.
What the hell is this? This isn't me. I don't get involved in shit like this. I take and I go. I'm nobody's fucking hero."
Still, he clung to her; trying to reassure her with his touch. Trying to make it alright. He slid a finger under her chin and raised her face to his, kissing her eyes, her cheeks, her sweet, soft lips.
"Ok, look. You're a slave, I get it. I've been around. I know about these scenes. But Amria, even a slave isn't really a slave if she doesn't choose to be. This isn't the Middle Ages. You have a choice. If you're afraid of this man, you can just leave...with me."
She shook her head violently, and her words came in a bitter, angry, fearful torrent: "You don't know! You don't know! He took me from another man. Took me just because he saw me and wanted me. He can do that, Jimmy. He has powerful friends, and his money can buy all the influence he needs over almost anybody else. He killed that man, Jimmy, that man I was with. 'Had him killed and nobody said or did a thing. And he'd kill me and you, without a second thought. Believe me. Believe me and let me go. Please."
He cupped her face in his hands, softly.
"Ok, I understand...I do...but listen to me. I don't care who he knows or what he thinks he can get away with. I'm not a man to be punked out or trifled with either, baby. Believe me. If you want out, I'll take you. I want you and I'll do whatever it takes. Nobody is going to stop us. I swear it."
He looked at her now, coolly, and she understood that his words were no boast. In that moment she began to believe, and the realization that her secret dream of salvation might actually be possible flooded over her and left her trembling in the warmth of his arms.
"Ok, then", he said, resolutely. "We're outta here. Now."
They dressed quickly and began to make their way through the overgrown brush that stood shadowy guard over the perimeter of the garden. Reaching a shoulder-high stone wall, he picked her up, kissed her with a smile, and set her down lightly on the other side before scrambling over to join her. She stood there looking at him, her face a mask of growing admiration and palpable fear. He simply winked.
"I'm parked down this hill."
Quentin Stefano turned away from his library window and flicked the switch of a Tiffany lamp which sat atop his massive desk. Unhurriedly, he picked up the phone and punched in a number.
"The bottom of the hill behind the garden. Quickly."
He turned off the phone and laid it aside with the easy grace of a man used to getting his way without question or compromise.
Jimmy and Amria made the bottom of the hill and then, being careful to avoid the harsh scrutiny of the street lights, edged their way to the waiting BMW. Fumbling for his keys, he unlocked the door and swung it wide for her, but she stood there, frozen. He opened his mouth to speak, figuring to rouse her from what he assumed was simply a delayed attack of mild shock, and then realized that something was very, very wrong. An instant later, his head jerked involuntarily to one side as the sick, cracking impact of something smashing hard against bone filled his ears and breath-stealing pain exploded in his temple. His peripheral vision began to shrink to a pinpoint of light and, just before he lost consciousness, he saw Amria being dragged away, screaming, by two large men dressed head to toe in black leather.