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I grab new paper towels from my little basket and turn back to the windows to wipe them down before the cleaner dries. As I turn back, however, the bottle and rags slip from my hands and a scream lodges itself in my throat.
There’s a man standing on the other side of the plexiglass wearing a ski mask with a gun in his hand. Not just in his hand either, but he has the barrel poking through the hole in the glass.What the fuck is the point of having bullet proof glass when there’s a gaping hole?Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My heart is pounding as I watch his mouth move with whatever he’s saying, but the music keeps me from hearing his words.
Threats to my life, no doubt.
I quickly pull the earbuds out and hold my hands up, "Please, don't shoot."
I'm trembling and doing my best to hold my pee in, I should have used the restroom earlier. Fucking hell.Why did this have to happen to me?
"Then do as I say, and you'll walk away just fine."
Even his voice makes me tremble with fear.
It's deep and smooth. Not gravelly, but almost like he could be a rock singer or an audiobook actor.
Or a fucking bank robber, Dice.
I nod my head as I continue to stare into his pitch-black eyes.
He’s tall and has a broad chest and linebacker shoulders. The suit, yes, the fucker is robbing a bank while wearing a suit, is tailored made to fit him perfectly.
The pinstripe material hugs his muscular arms snuggly and the two top buttons of his white dress shirt are open, allowing me to see his Adam's apple bob as he looks me up and down.
I swallow in trepidation as my heart beats in my ears.
I try to step back but he maneuvers the gun, pointing it directly at me, "Don’t fuck up, doll. Slowly, go to the door and let me in."
He juts his chin at the door to the side.
My body is quaking, and my voice comes out like a shaky gasp, "I can’t open the door. If I do, the alarms will go off and the cameras capture everything."
None of that is true, this rinky-dink place doesn’t even have a recording feature on their security system. It’s all a false sense of security.
He doesn't know that, though.
Ski Mask smirks and the action pulls my attention to his lips. They’re plump and full, the kind that women all over the place either photoshop into their selfies or pay crazy amounts of money for.
His lips are seductive, and I just know they manipulate every woman he’s ever had in his bed.
Charming them with smiles, spewing smooth words to melt their hearts and fog their minds. But they can, and most likely will, cut you down and flay you open with venomous words.
My heart rate picks up when he calls me on my lie, "I know this place, doll. The cameras don't record, and the door is as plain as you."
Ouch. What an asshole.
"Now get your ass over there and open it before I shoot your fucking hand."
Fuck, I don’t want to let him in. Maybe if I just act like I’m going to open the door, but instead, I duck and run?
But to where? The only other way out is the back door, and to get there I’d have to run right through the direction of this gun. No, I better just do as he says and pray he doesn’t kill me.
Keeping my eyes on him, I slide the key into the lock and breathe deeply. I have no weapons and seeing as how I just want to survive this shit; I decide to just play his game and live to tell the tale. I turn the key and open the door before gripping the keys tightly and stepping to the side.
The guy grabs me by the nape of my neck to keep me in front of him, but my street fighter comes out. Well, that might be an exaggeration, squirm and worm while swinging wildly sounds more legit.
I twist and swing my hand out, holding the keyring. One of the keys scrapes across his exposed neck but he grabs my wrist with ease. The angry red scratch on his neck has done nothing but anger him. He shoves me up against the wall with our chests flushed and his gun under my chin.
