The Dead World Ch. 15

It was barely a moment before it swung open; the medic's hardened expression softened almost immediately upon realizing who it was. He was dressed in his usual unassuming fashion in a dark red long-sleeved shirt with a speckling of holes along the torso and dark jeans that had seen better days, his gun holster overlapping the black belt at his waist.

A sympathetic smile tugged the corners of Lorenzo's mouth. He couldn't help it, looking down on the woman appearing as he had never seen her before. She was not dressed like a scruffy little man for once, and instead appeared very much the incredibly gorgeous woman she truly was.

"Hey... Diablo." Her smile, which answered his own, was fleeting. Her attention was drawn by the shifting of the doors and quiet voices now echoing down the hall from the lobby, but only for a moment. "I'm... supposed to be here..."

He poked his head out into the hall, noting the voices of Slash, and Skully, and perhaps even Ruthless before beckoning her inside, "C'mon chica. You're good. Not doing shit but laying low, probably smart for you to do the same."

She didn't hesitate to enter the room, a rush of relief sweeping over her. He closed the door and latched the security bolt behind him, inspiring her to move cautiously into the room, away from the foyer. Diablo hadn't gotten terribly comfortable while they were here.

There were only a few bags scattered about and the room, which still looked vaguely similar to the way they had all been set up in preparation of visiting guests; virtually untouched. She really couldn't blame him. After years of moving from place to place, she was almost certain nowhere ever felt like home.

"Group's turned into a fucking shit show, that's what it is. You know what went down, right? Oz and Skully at each other's throats like rabid dogs, over how to handle you no doubt. Thought somebody was gonna get murdered."

"... I only know what Slash told me. Which wasn't much." She frowned thoughtfully as Diablo shifted past her and turned the television on for the sake of background noise. The movie was a comedy--Anger Management--one she had probably watched a hundred thousand times herself over the six years she'd been holed up in the resort.

"...Is Oz okay?" She asked hopefully.

"Yeah... I checked up on him. We split them up when the weapons came out. He took a swipe from Skully's knife, then damn near put his sword through his brother's neck--Skully's off his shit, I mean off it bad. Never seen him this bad before.... as fucked up as it is, he hasn't been tripping since it all went down in his favor. He's gearing up to get us on the road again. Hey, listen, Charlie--"

"Dove." Her voice was rigid with the delivery of the new pseudonym, and she could see the surprise wash over the tan-skinned man's expression as she interrupted to correct him.

"... Dove?" He questioned with lofted brows.

"That's my nickname now. Skully told me to correct anybody who calls me anything else," she uttered meekly.

"Ay dios mio, that fuckin' guy--look... I'm gonna call you Charlie. You told me not to call you anything but that... you don't want that nickname, you don't have to use it--Charlie was already your nickname, entiendes?" His brow furrowed heavily as he moved to take a chair and slid it across the way to sit, nodding to the table to allow her the space and freedom to move as she pleased.

She sank down in the armchair and carefully crossed her arms over her far more prominent chest, which did little to shield the fact that she was without a bra or the typical material wound around her torso to mask the appearance of her graciously endowed bosom. Without the coverage of heavy clothing and cool weather accompaniments, there was no denying her gender. Diablo made a point to keep her out of his line of sight for both of their comfort.

"I... think I like it better than Charlie, right now--honestly. I can't really explain it. I've been feeling a little... lost... lately." The downward tilt of her full, plush lips wasn't an expression he had seen before. Her anger, yes, and the rare impression of joy, or anxiety... but not this face. Her eyes teased over the solid tile floor beneath her boots for a moment before her gaze danced up to Diablo. "Have you seen Dog?"

"He's out on first watch this morning. More static picking up over the radio from the hostile party out there. Safe to say it's getting real tense these days," Diablo stated matter-of-factly. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled a heavy sigh.

"Listen... you don't have to be here on account of the contract. And I'm sorry about that, for real. I voted for it. So did Dog. Figured Slash's horny ass would--with Skully like that, I figured, y'know... he wasn't about to take no for an answer, and I wasn't ready to have him try and gut my ass like he just tried his own brother."

"It's okay... trust me. I understand." Her gaze dropped to the ground as she frowned thoughtfully and whispered, "He's fucking terrifying..."

The darkness in her soft-spoken words caused his heart to sink, sympathy playing over his expression. She didn't want to elaborate on what she meant by it, trying to smother down the nervous habit of tapping her foot as Diablo looked away from her with his own hefty dose of anxiety, off toward the balcony door.

"... Like I said, though, you don't have to be here for that. If he says you gotta, you can just come and chill with me for a while, but you do not have to worry about any fucked up shit happening to you. I'm not about to hurt you or terrorize you, Charlie..."

"... Dove," she corrected him again. He frowned deeply, and nodded his head in tepid understanding.

"Right... Dove. That's gonna take some getting used to," he stated with another heavy sigh, pushing up to his feet from the chair. He smoothed a hand through the short, dark strands of his wavy hair, and looked at her now. There was a bit of hope in those pretty brown eyes, and a certain sense of appreciation at how firmly he rejected holding her to the contract...

Diablo had always struck her as one of the far more level-headed and empathic men of the group. Even without knowing him well, she felt she could take him at his word. Still, the lingering demand of their new group leader was an ominous echo in the depths of her mind. Even if he didn't want to... she didn't have a choice in the matter anymore.

"Are you hungry? Have you eaten anything today? You're looking skin and bones these days, chiquita..."

"No... I came down the stairs and straight to you. The stipulations of the contract are that everyone gets one day with me, twice a month. The first and last day is for anyone... and well... you... know how he is. I didn't want to piss him off, or make him think I was avoiding it. Don't worry about me. I'll eat something later."

She noted the semblance of sharp irritation on Lorenzo's face as she delved into the details of the contract. He shook his head, and set his sights on the door. "I'll be right back... can't have you starving to death. You can lock it up behind me if you'll feel safer. I won't be gone long."

The door opened, and the medic slipped out into the hallway, closing it securely behind him. Dove wasn't inspired to lock the door after him. A few weeks ago, she'd have rushed to lock it behind him; desperate to protect herself from being found out as a woman, or harassed, or placed into a situation she didn't want to be in.

But there was no fear of anyone waltzing in to antagonize her anymore. No fear that someone might see through her disguise. It was a bizarre, almost demented sort of exchange; her unbridled freedom for an inkling of peace of mind. Things had been far worse on her when she had been unwilling and defiant, but now there was an unusual sort of calm to this arrangement, as much as she detested to admit that.

She fiddled with the hem of the shirt just barely extending over her flat stomach, her eyes turning to the black revolver on the table before they darted up to the television for a moment as she moved to stand, and curiously moved around the room. There wasn't much here to indicate the sort of person Diablo was... but she was very much drawn to a photograph on the nightstand beside the bed, lifting it to let her eyes sweep over.

Diablo had an impressive family. There were easily several generations pictured with a tropical backdrop. He was happy, enjoying life, and had an essence of youth in the photograph. Now, he looked weighed down by what was surely years of just trying to survive to the next day. Still... she found herself smiling gently, but only for a moment before she placed the picture back down on the nightstand. Some part of her couldn't help but wonder if any of them were still alive anymore...

The door opened once again behind her and shut just as quickly. He locked it behind him as he balanced a hotel tray of food between his right hand and forearm, and she couldn't help but to smile as he nodded for her to return to the table. Her stomach rumbled. She couldn't recall a time when she was so eager to eat, joining him to sit as he placed the tray on the table. He might have overdone it. Charlotte was a dainty woman, but she certainly wasn't about to complain.

"Lo siento... I didn't know what you liked, so I grabbed just about anything I could. A couple cans that survived the fire--cream of something soup, I think, and peaches... got a bit of venison the boys brought back a few days ago--potatoes, kale and Vidalia onions, all compliments of your garden."

"Thank you Diablo, seriously, this is great." She all but beamed as he nodded for her to go ahead of him, and she watched his expression seem to light up by comparison to the grim and disapproving scowl he had adopted when she first arrived at his door. He took the revolver from the table and tucked it into its holster as she none too shyly helped herself, stuffing an entire half a peach between her lips to his delighted amusement. He chuckled, and she couldn't help but to giggle herself as she closed her eyes and savored the sweetness.

"Mmphsofuckinggood!" her hilarious mumble with a mouthful of fruit inspired full on laughter, and he shook his head as he sunk down to sit across from her.

"You're gonna fucking choke! Take it easy, chica!"

It felt good to laugh. She hadn't... not since the night she and Dog had spent together drinking bourbon in the storage facility room. It wasn't surprising that the muscles of her face had already become sore from the lack of joyful expression, and she leaned her head back as she took the fork and nibbled away at the strips of grilled venison and bits of potatoes and vegetables.

She felt better already. She felt human again, not just some empty shell of an asset tainted by the will of one dark and powerful psychopath... She felt like a person for the first time in days.

The tune of "I Feel Pretty" sung by the ruffled protagonist on screen filled the room, and she couldn't help but let her eyes stray to the movie that played on the flat screen as she sampled the soup, noting he'd added a few seasonings to improve upon the flavor. For a split second, she was at ease. She hadn't noticed the growing fascination Enzo looked at her with. He seemed to be enjoying her indulgence more than she was, and it wasn't until she slowed down that he thought to help himself, letting her lose herself in the comedy on screen for a bit.

"I'm gonna miss this place. Can't even lie. Would've been nice to stay through the winter. I'm guessing you haven't been bothered here on account of the crazies up the way. Not gonna lie, Charlie--Dove--it's making me really worried about dipping out."

"I would've stayed, if he would let me... that isn't going to happen," she spoke timidly, the disappointment in her tone hard to miss.

"Ese maldito idiota--pah, it ain't right, not by far..." He scowled as he delivered the phrase in a flash of anger in his native Spanish, his eyes ripping away from Charlotte. Her attention pulled away from the movie, back toward him, noting what seemed to be trouble or conflict in the way he was now avoiding looking at her. A light hint of a flush had taken over his features, but it didn't strike her as unusual. They all seemed uncomfortable around her in some way or form.

"It could be worse... it... it has been worse, before I agreed to the contract, and even that is a lot less horrific than I thought it would be. I fucked up--a lot. If I hadn't taken the Hummer, then things would probably be different. I should've said something." Dove crossed her arms over her chest as she spoke, and at that his deep brown eyes shifted to her with seriousness.

"Don't even let that stay in your head. You didn't do shit wrong or deserve what Skully put on you. You were trying to protect yourself... for good fucking reason! El Jefe should've been on top of his brother. He knows he's been slipping--shit, he's been on the decline all year and that fucking crazy motherfucker Slash ain't no better. Ruthless peeped something was up... he just didn't have any proof, not until it was too late to do shit about it."

"I should've told Oz sooner... I just didn't know--I wasn't sure about any of you... but if I go against Skully now..." Her voice was soft and sweet, even when layered with distress. She trailed off as Diablo shook his head vehemently.

"You weren't wrong, entiendes? Oz is a good man, so is Ruthless, but how the hell would you have known that after being around his brother and his pal? Shit, Dog's a little fucking weird but he's still good at his core--kid's been through shit that would've killed any one of us ten times over... but the other two? I got a feeling they were out their fucking heads long before the world ended."

There was disdain in his words as he closed his eyes. "You're not a damn slave, Dove. If anything we should be protecting you. Most of us will. But even reasonable slavery is still slavery. So when you're here, I won't do shit but try and help you, any way I can."

Silence settled between them... but it wasn't uncomfortable. She studied his expression for a long time as he opened his eyes and set them back on her pretty face. Even in distress, and thinner than when he had first laid eyes on her without her disguise, Charlie was a beauty if he had ever seen one. How could the predators of their group not lose their fucking minds when they realized it? But it didn't excuse it, and he wouldn't think fondly of them anymore, knowing some extent of it.

"Thank you..." Her voice was an appreciative murmur. "...It can't be that far to the city, can it?"

"It took us a few months just to get over from Alabama. We nearly lapped the country since it all started, looking for a place that could be home. The roads are dangerous as hell. There's a lot less people in the world now and the ones that are left... I hate to say it, but they're worse than our psychos. Skully's sending Slash out to try and recover another Humvee. We're gonna be piled in to cut the risks and keep us from having to stop any more than we have to."

Diablo moved to stand, her thoughtful expression mellowing as she tried not to fret over what was now seeming like an eternity of servitude. Her deeper knowledge of the demands Skully had added to it made the prospect of several months of being both pawn and slave mentally taxing, and had quickly robbed her of the comfort of being in the company of one of the few level minded men in the group.

He seemed to be uncomfortable, and she couldn't place exactly why. She assumed he had let his thoughts shift along the path her own had. Long months of Charlotte's subjugation, between now and reaching the hopeful community that no one was even certain existed anymore.

The temperature of the room gradually climbed. It was hard to keep his eyes from wandering to her, with her long brown hair braided over her shoulders and the distraction of her low-cut blouse. The speckling of hickies was prominent upon her slender neck. The vibrant imprints of bite marks against her delicate collar bones had not gone unnoticed. Neither had the plushness of her full, pink lips when she smiled, or her sweet voice that demanded his attention every time she spoke.

Diablo felt he was in such a precarious way now, for reasons unbeknownst to himself. It felt positively sinister in a way, and impulsive, how his mind shifted toward the opportunity presented before him in all of her troubled and alluring glory. Ay, Lorenzo, contrólate! His conscience voice snapped at him, causing him to blink and quickly turn away from her.

"I'm... gonna take a walk, chiquita. Need to clear my head. Eat as much as you like..."

"Diablo..." she began quietly as he started toward the door. Those soft brown eyes had hardened as she read his demeanor and body language. Dove had noticed the shifting of his gaze. She had noticed him fighting to focus on anything else but the woman in his room. In a way, it made what she felt she had to do a little less difficult. "... I agreed to the contract because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn't... but it still stands. If... you want to... you deserve it. It's the least I could do for you."

He stalled there at the door with his hand on the handle for a moment. Her heart leapt, the pulse of reluctance causing her eyes to stray eagerly for a distraction. Some part of her wanted nothing more than for him to decline... and another wanted nothing more than his approval of it to spare her a much darker fate later on, should he refuse. He glanced over his shoulder and gave her a fleeting smile.

"You don't want it, Charlie. Maybe someday... if that ever changes, and you're comfortable--Like I said... está bien. You're safe with me."

She might have smiled at any other time, watching him reject the building desire and impulse to leave her alone in the room, but instead she felt a dreadful sense of urgency and panic rather than passive relief at Diablo's sense of morality. You have to try harder... or deal with that psychopath again before it's his turn. Her inner voice echoed as she glanced around her for something to soothe her frayed nerves.

Dove moved to stand and beelined to the mini fridge; a deep sense of relief met her when she found that it was still well stocked with mini bar options. She unscrewed the cap of the first one she grabbed and downed the fiery liquor with a tilt of her head. It was baffling when they first came here how much a few of the men seemed to have a penchant for mind numbing substances. She now understood it far better than she ever had. This is going to be a long fucking night.

Minutes ticked on to hours, and hours quickly faded to evening.

As daylight waned and Diablo had yet to return, Dove couldn't help but mull over her options almost obsessively. Just pouncing on the man when he returned seemed outrageously bold... and something she was not at all comfortable doing, even with the heavy buzz of intoxication she felt from raiding the mini fridge.

She invited herself to another two tiny bottles of liquor, effectively mellowing out her senses to a mild irritation; a great improvement from the distress she felt earlier. He could very well turn and walk away if she just rushed him. She doubted it, after the initial shock of her erratic behavior wore off, but convincing herself to try to force herself onto him was beyond challenging. Eventually, she wiped the idea from her mind entirely.

She debated next of simply undressing and waiting upon the bed for him to return--if he returned. It had been a long time since he left. No doubt he was probably staying away because he didn't want to go back on his word when she invited him to bed with her. Dove couldn't help but hope she hadn't ruined it by not being more aggressive with her invitation.