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“What’s a pretty thing like you doing sitting all alone?” A voice whispers, way too close to my ear, pulling me out of the internal conversation I was just having with myself.
I immediately smell the stench of cigarettes on his breath, and I have to swallow down the gag that’s threatening to bring the alcohol I just downed back up my throat. An image of chocolate brown eyes flashes across my mind before I’m met with a different shade of brown eyes. A different pair of eyes that roam over me and assess me. Only these eyes aren’t hiding a single thing. He’s staring at me like I’m nothing more than prey. Nothing more than his next target.
His next victim.
It doesn’t go unnoticed that he called me,thing. A pretty thing. Not a woman or even a girl, I’m just athingto him. Looking at his weathered face, half hidden in black and grey stubble that looks like it’s two weeks past due for a trim or shave, I can’t help but be disgusted. He looks ragged as fuck and smells even worse.
Now, if I’m being honest, would it still piss me off to be called athingif the person who said it was attractive? Probably not. We can lie to others, hell, we can lie to ourselves, try to appeal to a higher standard, but the truth of the matter is, looks matter. At least for initial interest. And this guy looks like Billy Bob inBad Santa.
Gross.
“Not interested,” I say blandly, returning my attention to my drink.
Good ‘ole Billy Bob doesn’t budge. Instead, he continues to stand too close to me as he reaches in his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He sticks one between his thin lips, tosses the pack on the bar, and proceeds to light the cigarette with a Zippo. He slams the lid on the lighter closed then flicks it open only to slam it closed again, over and over while he continues to eye-fuck me.
He takes a thick drag of his cigarette and inhales deeply before he exhales the smoke and pulls it back in through his nose. I feel my top lip pull back in a disgusted sneer as he takes another
drag.
“What’s the matter with you?” He asks, voice tight, as he holds the smoke in his chest.
I turn my head to face him completely and give him cold, empty eyes. “Smoking is a filthy, disgusting habit and I’d appreciated it if you took your nasty habit somewhere else.”
His hand is suddenly on me, gripping my jaw tightly, and then he blows his fucking cigarette smoke in my face. And just like that…
I’m terrified.
My heart is pounding in my chest, banging on my ribs to be let out, like a bird’s wings fluttering violently against a steel-tight cage.
“You think you’re better than me?” He sneers. “Because I hate to break it to you…Princess,” he hisses the word in my face, “a pretty face and some amazing tits is all you are. Underneath, you’re just as ugly as me or you wouldn’t be here. But I don’t give a fuck what’s underneath unless we’re talking about what’s under that dress,” he says, as he trails fingertips down my bare arm.
“Get your fucking hands off of me,” I say through clenched teeth, fighting with everything I have against the fear that’s threatening to make me freeze instead of fight.
He only squeezes my face harder. I dart a look around. Surely someone is going to see this and stop it, right? As if reading my mind, he leans in, his cigarette dangerously close to burning my skin, the sting from the smoke making my eyes water, and whispers, “If you wanted someone to save you, you should have walked into Salvation instead.” He removes the cigarette from his lips to grin at me, giving me a front row seat to his nasty, yellow stained teeth. “No one’s going to save you here,” he adds, his voice laced with poison and excitement. He licks his cracked lips before putting the cigarette back in his mouth, sucking in more disgusting smoke.
I can feel the bile creeping up my throat at the thought
of him putting that awful mouth anywhere near me. I try to pull out of his grasp, but his fingers dig deeper into my skin. He’s too strong.
Why are men always too strong?
Suddenly, my face is jerked out of his grasp as the man is slammed into the bar by a very large and impressive body. His energy feels like a fucking force of nature. My eyes take in large biceps, bulging against a royal blue button-up shirt, and I get a whiff of leather, bourbon, and…sin. My eyes seem to travel up forever before I’m met with a steel-cut jaw, lips set in a hard, thin line, a straight nose, and a thick brow that’s almost covered by a sweep of black hair, darker than a windowless pit of doom.
His hand is wrapped around Billy Bob’s jaw, the same way Billy Bob’s had just been on mine. I see his teeth clench and his nostrils flare as he continues to apply pressure. He slowly takes the cigarette that’s getting ready to fall from Billy Bob’s lips and turns it towards his face. He continues to squeeze until poor Bad Santa’s lips are painfully pushed together from the sides.
My rescuer, I think, holds the burning end of the cigarette dangerously close to Billy Bob’s eye and he finally seems to show some signs of intelligence. His eyes are wide with fear and he’s whimpering, unable to fully use his voice, as his mouth is being forcefully squeezed shut. I swear I’ll be able to hear the crack of his jaw soon and he knows it, too. He knows he’s no longer the one in control, he's no longer the predator.
He’s the prey.
I can hear my blood pounding too loudly in my ears, and then it dawns on me, it’s much too quiet in the bar. The music is still playing, but the loud shouts, bursts of laughter, and general mayhem that was raging a few minutes ago has stopped. I glance around and, sure enough, everyone in our vicinity has stopped what they’re doing to watch our little spectacle.
“Did you not hear her when she told you to let her go?” My rescuer’s unusually calm, deep voice resonates inside of me.
It speaks to my body, to my soul, blossoming in my chest and setting a calm rhythm to my racing heart. He’s like the steady foundation of drums, keeping the beat, and leading the music where it needs to go.
He’s safe.
I shake my head at the insane thought. There’s nothing safe about this man. He may have spoken just above a whisper but there’s no denying his authoritative tone. His voicedemandsattention and obedience, and his words, although calm, are dripping with anger. In fact, his entire body seems to be dripping with it.
