I put it together then. This is the asshole from the Quickstop, Camo Shirt. Was he so offended that he gathered his friends to come kill me? Was his fragile male pride so easily bruised? They weren’t here for a cup of tea.
I turn to the Jeep as fast as I can. My shaking hands can barely get the key in the door. Turning my back to them was my first mistake. A hand clasps my shoulder and roughly turns me around. My keys slip out of my hand and to the cement stairs.
Losing my only form of defense was my second mistake.
“You need to be taught a lesson,” he says and lifts his mask.
His face is as ugly as I remember: swollen, red-splotched and twisted with rage.
“He said not to take off the mask,” one of the lackeys says.
“Shut up,” he spits to the side, not taking his gaze off me. “I want her to remember what happens when she forgets her place.”
He grabs my chin and turns my head to the side. Was this really happening? Was I really being attacked on my own porch? This beautiful day has ended so disastrously. First Lincoln, and now this?
For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.Is this what happens when I experience joy? Did I somehow set these events into motion?
“I will say …” He turns my head to the other side. He squeezes my cheeks so hard my molars dig into them. “You’re actually pretty hot. Much better than the other day. Smile for me, gorgeous.”
I flail and kick but the leather apron absorbs the blows and shooting pain travels through my toes. His hand goes to my throat to stop me from flailing.
My wild eyes shoot to the lackeys. They’re nervous in the dimming light, gazes constantly searching to see if any neighbors will come out. The Davies’ garden is empty; they’re nowhere to be seen. It’s a blessing and a curse.
“Why would you cover all this up? Maybe I wouldn’t have been so annoyed.” His breath is sour from cheap beer and cigarettes.
His gaze scours me like a Brillo pad scraping down my skin.
A curious thing happens to me the more he talks. Fear, absolutely. But something more invigorating than that. An understanding that for once, I have the upper hand. So many stories follow this same pattern: men do unspeakable things to a helpless victim simply because they physically can. Men overpower those weaker than them for their own petty needs.
Centuries of anger rise up within me. These men think they have cornered an easy target. But my weeks with Nathaniel have shown me that I’m capable of more than I ever thought. I’m the stronger person here. I will squash them like the cockroaches of society they are.
“He said to grab her and leave. Come on, man,” the shorter one says. He steps forward with the chains.
The other says, “I didn’t know we had to beat up a chick. This is fucked.” He’s about two seconds from sprinting away. He keeps shooting glances at me like I’m the one who attacked them. Like I am the one to fear.
Looks like he’s the only one with any sense.
Their ringleader sneers. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. She needs to learn her place.” His lips curls as he looks me up and down.
“I’m out. I didn’t sign up for this.” The one with chains runs away.
His friend glances at him and at back at me. “Fuck. Me too.”
The other sprints after his buddy to a van parked across the street. Apparently, it’s every man for himself.
And that’s when I decide I’ve had just about enough.
“Your friends left,” I croak under his hand.
The setting sun burns my eyes and I can’t think with his hand at my throat or his disgusting scent invading my senses. I need to breathe. I close my eyes, invoking as much serenity as I can. Nathaniel has shown me that I have the control. I pull from the ultimate power.
The sun.
The power behind everything.
My instincts take over then.
At the same time, Ifeelthe sun on my skin. I sense it reflecting all around me, intensified by the reflection off the windows bouncing it back hotter, stronger. I take it all, pulling it into my body like a vortex. The not-so-big man staggers back but doesn’t let go when I open my eyes. He must see something scary.
