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As if he became a puppet, his body seized, and his hands snapped to his side as if they were glued there. I saw the panic in his eyes as he fell hard onto the asphalt. I stood in shock, fear enveloping me once more. This wasn’t the first time that calmness fell upon me and the words I spoke were obeyed as if the person on the receiving end of my words were powerless to disobey me. Unbidden tears sprung to my eyes. I felt like a freak, what was wrong with me?
“It looks like he got what was coming to him,” a cool, husky voice said from behind me.
I stiffened as I knelt beside the customer to see if he was still alive. In a panicked voice I said, “Mr. Jace. He grabbed me. I just told him to let me go. He’s still breathing. I didn’t kill him.”
A ghost of a smile played upon his lips. “I saw everything. Now, why don’t you let me take you home and
my friends will take care of him?”
I was in a state of shock, unable to argue or reason with him as his friends stepped into the alley and started to lean over the man. Mr. Jace gently grabbed my shoulder as he picked up my duffel bag that had fallen to the ground. I jumped, still in disbelief of how close I came to becoming a victim…again.
“Where do you live?” Mr. Jace asked softly as he led me to the sports car not too far away. It reminded me that he seemed like a well-off man. Which was surprising. I didn’t think he could be older than twenty-two and he was a teacher. I concluded his parents must be rich since there was no way he could afford a flashy sports car and designer clothes on a teacher’s salary.
I stopped, slightly panicked. I couldn’t show him where I lived. He was always one of those teachers that seemed concerned about me. He hadn’t been fooled by my lies when I would come to school with a black eye, a busted lip, a sprained wrist, a sprained ankle; the list went on. Most teachers couldn’t care less about the girl from the poor side of town. Like my circumstances were of my own doing. Appearances were everything to them.
“I can catch the bus,” I mumbled under my breath.
His brows knitted together. “Blake, there is no way I am going to allow you to wait for an hour for the next bus to come.”
I watched in horror as the bus, less than 500 feet away from the parking lot, pulled away from the curb. If I ran after it, it wouldn’t have stopped—I’ve tried before. I shivered as the cold night air cut through my hoodie. “I can wait.”
“Don’t be silly,” he said sternly. “You’re coming with me. It’s late, and you have school in the morning.”
My chin lifted in a challenge. I can be quite stubborn at times, my embarrassment outweighing my common sense. “It’s nothing I haven’t done before. I’ll be fine.”
“Didn’t you say she was one of your students?” One of Mr. Jace’s friends asked as he walked up from behind us, startling me. “Isn’t it against the law for you to be working so late?” He turned to me, his cool gray eyes assessing me. Without my makeup on, I know I looked younger. Plus, it didn’t help that I was petite. Over the years, I had been given a lot of nicknames; Tinker Bell, Fun Size, Tiny, Midget, Smalls—if it meant small, I was called it.
Mr. Jace’s eyes narrowed, assessing me as he made a point to look down at his watch. “I guess I can go talk to the manager, or you can hop in the car and I will take you home.”
I was both angry at his manipulation and fearful of the possibility of him carrying out his threats. I needed this job. I averaged five hundred dollars a week, and since I got this job Ella never went hungry anymore, and the eviction notices stopped showing up at the door.
With great reluctance, I sighed. “Fine but promise me you won’t talk to my boss. I need this job.”
His eyes narrowed, clearly wanting to argue, but he nodded. Soon, I was sitting in his warm leather black seats. The seat warmers were on, the heat on high. He put my address into his GPS. I had never been in a car so nice. With the smell of leather, his pleasant-smelling cologne, and the heat, I felt my eyes closing until his voice broke the silence.
“Do you want to talk about what happened back there?” Mr. Jace’s soft, husky voice asked.
I stiffened, my startled green eyes quickly looking over at him. “Do you want to tell me why you were still outside of my work, hours after you’d left?” I deflected.
He really was one of my favorite teachers. The old music teacher had been archaic and always tried to put me in a box. She had been all about the grades and testing. She never let us express ourselves freely, which always confused me since I felt that music was a part of your soul, not something to put a grade on.
I had to admit I liked him, even when I felt he was too meddlesome at times. He was always asking me how everything was at home, constantly probing me for answers. I knew he was concerned about me, but I had learned long ago not to trust anyone. After being separated from my sister for almost a full year, six years ago, I didn’t trust anyone. The abuse I suffered from my stepmom and her boyfriends could be tolerated as long as I had my sister. She was the only remaining link to my father. She was the spitting image of him, with her pale blond hair and large sapphire blue eyes.
He chuckled dryly. “You really need to start talking to someone. Your eyes carry far too much burden for someone so young.”
I snorted, knowing I was being immature, as I crossed my arms over my chest. “As if you’re so much older than me. What are you, twenty-one, twenty-two?”
He gave me an amused glance, clearly not fazed by my defensiveness. “Twenty-two,” he replied quietly. “You’re stalling. What happened back in that alley and why the hell are you working at that hole in the wall place?”
“Why do you care?” I asked with a deadpan expression. He was highly attractive. I wasn’t delusional enough to ever set my sights on him. It really was disturbing, the number of girls I knew that went out of their way to flirt with him. He was always professional. I saw his embarrassment when flowers were sent to him, when he found panties and bras in his desk drawers, and when he heard suggestive remarks from my classmates. There had been an influx of females in his class, and now he had to turn students away.
He cleared his throat. “Let’s just say I’m not just a teacher. I’m a…talent scout, and I had a feeling that you were hiding a very big talent.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me. I was told a time or two that I excelled on the piano and guitar, and on the rare occasions I was caught singing to myself, people asked me if I had been taking lessons because I was a “natural.”
“So, what? Am I going to audition for some reality singing show? No thank you.”
“You sing?” His eyebrows rose.
