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Nick raised his eyes toward me. They were shadowed beneath his cut forehead. But I could still see how they flashed. Even swollen and bruised, there was danger in them.
“I’d say you could sharpen the writing, baby Aurnia,” he said, teasing me. “But the sentiment is sweet, nonetheless. And you know what?”
“What do you want, Nick?”
I was too afraid to ask the question I truly wanted the answer to: what are you going to do to me?
Nick approached slowly. I remained petrified as stone. I kept telling myself to make my move, to take my chances now…now…now… But each tiny opening passed and I just stood there, shaking against the wall. Really the only thing that moved was my eyes. And that was to check the big windows outside the shop. Hoping against hope that someone was there. Someone big. Someone with broad shoulders. Someone who would crash through the glass before letting anyone touch a hair on my head.
I was looking at the terribly empty window, that blank expanse, when Nick’s knuckle caressed my cheek. His breath reeked of cheap whiskey, hot and foul. I struggled not to turn my gaze to him. I fought against it with everything I had. But he had a devil’s power, and I found my eyes moving.
I was surprised to find his eyes soft. I flinched when he lifted his hand. My eyes squeezed closed. But he only cupped my cheek.
He whispered, “I agree.”
When I opened my eyes, Nick’s attention was on my lips. He dragged his thumb across them and sighed contentedly. I was surprised when he looked over his shoulder, looked high into the corner of the room. And smiled.
“Yes, I do believe your little art is a gift, baby Aurnia. A beautiful, lovely gift indeed.”
Of all the things Nick could have done, nothing would have been as frightening as what he did next. He could have threatened me. Threatened to do what those men he’d angered because of me had done to him. Threatened to do worse. Far worse. He could have grabbed me by the throat right then and there. Hoisted me high against the wall. Squeezed as my feet kicked and black dots played at the corners of my vision. He could have taken me with him. There were ways to keep me in that godforsaken warehouse. Ways to force me into that house. Ways to make me do what he had wanted me to do. All those ways alone were enough to make me sick with terror.
That terror was small compared to what I felt when Nick suddenly just…walked away. He’d barely touched me, nothing more than a brush against my lips. He’d barely even spoken to me. It was like I didn’t exist as he crossed toward the cash register and idly opened the bottom drawer. It was a fear deeper than the fear of physical violence I felt as he thumbed, almost in a bored fashion, through the stack of bills. Deeper than very real threats against my safety. Deeper than the fear that arose in my chest when I imagined the very worst he could do to me.
Nick walked toward the front door after pocketing the cash. My knees gave out. I slid to the floor shivering, my fingertips suddenly ice cold.
Nick turned back and blew me a kiss. “Thanks, love.”
It did more to petrify me than the flash of a knife or the tearing of my t-shirt.
If Nick hadn’t come for me, what had he come for?
