STUNNED COMPLIANCE
716 Words
My ears are still ringing from the loud music and the heavy thud of that man's skull hitting the concrete floor.
I am too stunned to put up a fight or pull away from the giant biker walking beside me, so I just pull the thick edges of his warm leather jacket tighter across my chest and follow him.
My high heels slip a little on the sticky floorboards as he guides me away from the chaotic crowd and toward a dark hallway in the back of the building.
The heavy bass of the guitars fades into a muffled thump the further we walk away from the main room, and I look down at my shaking hands while I try to process how fast everything just happened.
One minute I was dancing by myself to forget my awful life, and the next minute a stranger was bleeding on the floor just because he touched my leg.
The man leading me stops in front of a heavy wooden door and pushes it open, stepping aside so I can walk in first.
I hesitate for a second before moving past him into the dimly lit space, and he follows me inside before gently shutting the door behind us.
The heavy wood cuts off the noise from the bar with a loud, final click, and the sudden silence in the massive office presses down on my shoulders while the reality of my situation finally crashes into my brain.
I am locked in a room with a man who just beat someone half to death with his bare hands, and I have absolutely no idea what he wants from me.
My survival instincts take over before I can even think about what I am doing, so I stumble backward away from him until my spine hits the solid plaster of the far wall.
I wrap my arms defensively around my stomach, feeling the cold sweat break out on the back of my neck even though his leather jacket swallows my frame.
I watch him from across the room and wait for the inevitable demand because I know exactly how men operate when they think they have the upper hand.
Mark spent three years teaching me that nobody does a favor without expecting a high payment in return, and he always made sure I knew exactly what I owed him whenever he bought me dinner or paid for my gym memberships.
I assume this dangerous biker is going to step close to me and tell me I owe him for saving me on the dance floor, so I brace myself for his heavy hands.
I press my shoulders harder into the wall while I look at the locked door, trying to figure out how to escape if he lunges at me.
But he does not take a single step in my direction, and he does not demand anything from me at all.
He just stands near the door and watches my terrified reaction with those dark amber eyes, taking a slow breath before he shifts his weight to turn his body slightly away from me so he does not look like a threat.
He walks over to a large mahogany desk in the center of the room and opens a small mini-fridge tucked underneath the wood.
He pulls out a plastic bottle of water and sets it on top of the desk before giving it a gentle push with his bruised knuckles.
The bottle slides smoothly across the polished wood and stops right near the edge closest to where I am standing.
"You need to drink something," he says, his voice a low rumble that fills the quiet room without sounding harsh or demanding.
I look at the water and then back up at his face, refusing to move from my safe spot against the wall because I still think this is a trick.
"Is it open?" I ask, my voice cracking a little bit as the deep suspicion bleeds into my words.
He shakes his head and points a tattooed finger at the plastic cap.
"The seal is still on it, so you do not need to worry about me putting anything in your drink," he answers, keeping his hands resting flat on the desk where I can see them.
- Writer
