He rubbed the fluid filled sac with his finger. The smell of blood assailed his nostrils. Holding his hands out in front of his face he noticed for the first time the crusted blood that streaked his palms. The gun clattered to the ground as he slowly turned his hands. The back of his hands was caked with dried blood and dirt. Looking around hurriedly, he grabbed the gun. Where had the blood come from? The man he'd shot, across the room, lay prone. The blood couldn't have come from him. The last thing Stavros remembered was Nina telling him to check for an intruder.
"Stavvy get up!"
"What, I'm sleepin' here. What can't wait 'til the morning?"
"I hear something downstairs."
"Well we're up here. Maybe if we don't bother it, it won't bother us."
Stavros turned over and snuggled deeper into his pillow, trying desperately to coersce Halle Berry back into his Ferrari. The jab of Nina's sharp little elbow jarred him back to wakefulness.
"Don't play Stavros, I hear something."
"Okay, Okay," grumbled Stavros as he placed his feet on the floor. Even fearing the worst, Nina could not help but notice the heavy muscles of Stavros' back.
"Hurry back baby," she called, as a wave of lust pulsed through her. Stavros turned and looked at her as he stepped into a pair of ratty sweat pants. Standing up again and looking down at her, he rubbed the ripped flesh of his abdomen and reminded her.
"I don't have to go at all." Then he heard the bumping. Placing his fingers to his lips and reaching into the nightstand, he pulled out the automatic. The smell of gun oil and cordite lay in the suddenly heavy air. As he disengaged the safety something crashed to the floor.