Junk Love.

twenty-nine.

It starts with a cart. One of the little ones brought in by room service guised by a white table cloth and a single red rose as a centerpiece. A bottle of wine, tilted at an angle in a bucket of ice, completes the display. She can't remember ordering anything this fancy. Perhaps Carter had.

Shrugging off an odd feeling of discomfort Mel pours two glasses, handing him one as she lays next to him on the bed. Her insides still hum. Carter took his time memorizing her body, tuning all the right places to reduce her to a sighing and shuddering mess. Anyone else would have taken advantage of her inebriated state, fucking her raw, but with him it was like his touch alone could stroke the rot from her body.

Tangled up in silken sheets they drift off in their own realms. Too high to sleep but also too worn out to do more than lay side by side. A calming serenity envelops her like a blanket as she sips her drink.

Carter takes a long pull from his glass then asks, "When did you get the wine?"

Before she can process neither of them ordered a cart the door breaks open with enough force it bounces off the hinges at an awkward angle. Although Mel is scrambling upright Carter is the first on his feet. "What the fuck?"

Much to her horror the last person she expected to see, and the last person she wanted to see, looms in the doorway. Mel glimpses his face by the hallway lights before he marches into the room. Dalton Nian her worst fucking nightmare. It takes everything she has not to cower against the nightstand.

"Carter." Mel's voice tremors. "Carter he has a gun."

"I'm here for my fucking money." The slur in his words twists his voice into a nasty predatory thing. Like nothing she's ever heard in her life.

A quick glance across the bed confirms Mel's worst fears. Carter is tensed up ready to lunge like a jungle cat. Either she tries to deescalate the situation herself or it gets ugly. There's a golf ball sized lump lodged in her throat but she chokes it back, needing to speak.

"Dalton, listen. Just take it. Nobody has to get hurt here."

Even in the dim hue of the purple lamp she can see his wiry fingers flex around the pistol he aims. He must be drunk because he can barely stand up straight. "Do you think I wouldn't find you, jinû? After you murdered my Father and stole his money?"

"Hey man, leave her alone." The astounding levelness to Carter's tone matches the poise he had in the bathroom when he'd cleaned her cuts earlier. "You've done fucked with her head enough. You better shoot me dead right now because I'll never let you hurt her again."

"Carter, don't." Mel is practically hissing now. He doesn't know what Dalton is capable of but she does. All too well.

For a tense moment there's a standstill. Each of them weighing their options. She isn't sure which one moves first nor does she decipher who yells. Just that Carter charges like a bull followed by a bang and a white hot flash of pain.

Folding in on herself she collapses backward against the nightstand. One hand clenches instinctively to her abdomen while her other arm flails like a beached fish as she tries to catch her fall. Somehow she knocks the light over when she crashes to the floor. It lands at a vantage point that illuminates the scene like a spotlight.

Dalton and Carter are on the floor tangled in a fierce wrestling match. Both men are rooted to the gun in their hands. Another loud bang fires sending a dusting of drywall raining down. Carter swings his fists. The smack of his knuckles against flesh sounds like grapefruits broken open by a hammer. A third bang then eerie stillness.

Shoulders heaving up and down with labored breathing, Carter scrambles to an upright position. He loses his footing then stumbles backward as his knees bend awkwardly. Dalton lays in a heap. His eyes vacant up at the ceiling and his mouth hanging open. It's straight out of a horror movie.

Although her hand squishes awkwardly against the gore spilling from the left side of her stomach Mel manages a hoarse statement. "Carter... Carter are you ok?"

Going limp he slips again and falls onto his back. Not having the strength to get back on his feet Carter scoots the rest of the way, propping himself against the nightstand next to her. His eyes are wide as saucers and he presses his palm to his chest. She can see his heart popping from his skin like some sort of alien.

"What the hell?" He gasps, struggling to breathe against his accelerated heartbeat. Blinking rapidly he runs his hand down his face roughly to wipe his own skin off.

"Are you ok?"

"I'll be fine." Still sucking in deep gulps of air he struggles to speak. "Just got to wait for the old ticker to slow down, that's all."

As the adrenaline of the attack wears off she realizes what a dire situation she's in. Before Carter tackled Dalton he'd fired a shot that ripped through her belly. A jagged cough causes spittles of blood to bubble from her lips.

The noise prompts him to look at her. For the first time his resolve falters. Carter's voice is practically shrill screech. "Oh shit Mel."

"I'm ok." Somehow, even with the burn of iron in her mouth, she manages a smile. Resembling a morbid clown with red stained teeth and lips. "It's just a flesh wound see?"

Although she attempts to remain cavalier once she releases pressure from the wound a fountain of red gushes like paint. Bad idea. Buckets of crimson floods the space between them. Now she doesn't even have the strength to put her hand back.

"Hey." As her eyes begin to flutter he cups both his hands around the opening. "Stay with me. I'm going to get help."

More than anything that's what she wants. But his amber eyes are floating in her vision like the Cheshire cat. Her breath goes shallow as each inhale ignites a new fire within her.

"Say it again," she murmurs.

"What? Say what again?"

Unwilling to drown in Carter's gaze she focuses on a chunk of drywall clinging to his bathrobe. It takes all her strength to pluck it off. She doesn't know why she deemed it so important. At least now she can hold him easier and she clenches her fingers around his elbow.

"Say it again."

The second request seems to get through. Although his hands are preoccupied with closing off the blood flow from her wound he yearns to be closer. Lowering his head against her chest, his breath fanning delicate across her breasts, Carter whispers, "Stay with me Mel."

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