Quiet nights have been harder and harder to come by. There’s always something to fill her time; business deals or following up with one of her girls who just couldn’t execute quite as they had planned. Tonight was all hers and a deep bubble bath and the unopened bottle of French wine that had sat on her shelf for weeks had been calling her name. Tonight was a night for Victoria, and just as her fingers reached for the record player, the bang of her door rattled through her apartment. Quiet nights were a myth.
A heavy sigh escaped Victoria’s chest before she unlatches the lock and her door wings open. To see Davy Lloyd at her door was a surprise for lack of a better word. Their business was generally done between middle men, and never done in the privacy of one’s own residence. There’s another sigh, and her should connects with her door frame, arms folded tightly in front of her chest.
“I wasn’t aware we were at the stage in our relationship where we could make house calls.” There’s a hint of a smile, that falls as she studies him. “You look like hell.” It’s only when the words fall from her mouth. He’s been working. His coat is frayed, and there’s blood on his shirt. There’s barely an ounce of color on his face, and then she realizes that the blood seeping through his shirt is his. “Christ, Davy, what have you done?”
She moves effortlessly to his side, sliding under his arm to take some of his weight for herself, pushing him through her door to a chair at her table. Her tone has lost it’s usual banter, shifting to something quick and focused “Take of your coat and shirt, I need to see how bad it is.”