Claimed by a Dangerous Man

Stay with me, please

After Kim's departure, which was a relief, I decided to wander around for a while. Good thing she was in such a hurry; she didn’t have time to dig into her earlier question. My quick lie about Pedro (our mutual friend) hugging me before his flight had worked. At least in her haste, Kim just believed what I said.

It seemed like visiting fun places around here couldn't go wrong. I opened maps, searched for interesting places around here and found Columbus Square Park. Seven minutes away by car. Okay, not too far either.

Kim is calling...

"For God's sake, what is it again, Kim?" I said in an unusual tone.

“I’m so sorry, Leanne… but I need your help again. I grabbed the wrong folder—”

“Where is it?” I cut her off.

“It’s on the shelf by the TV. I’m really sorry, Leanne,” she mumbled, her voice small.

I sighed deeply. I could practically see her pouting like a scolded kid in a timeout. Add her baby-like Asian features—thanks to her dad being Chinese—and her guilt face was almost impossible to ignore.

“Fine. Which folder?”

“The navy blue one.”

Shaking my head, I muttered, “No wonder you grabbed the wrong one. There are four navy blue folders, Kim Chan.”

“Just open the first page!” she urged.

Switching my phone to speaker, I put it down on the shelf.

“‘Joint Project with Mr. Matthew Cumberbatch’?” I read aloud from the first folder.

“Nope.”

I grabbed the next one. “Name: Kimberly Zhao Chan. Place of—”

“That’s my resume, Corbin.”

Next blue folder. “This one looks like news. ‘The Mysterious Death of the Weaver Family’?”

Thank God I hadn’t had the phone pressed to my ear.

“Oh, and bring your notebook. There’s a café nearby where you can work on your assignments while waiting for me,” she added.

“You know this isn’t free, right?” I started leaving her hotel room—the one that would be mine tonight anyway.

“Don’t worry! I’ll take you out later tonight,” she laughed.

“That’s not good enough,” I countered in a mock protest.

“I’ll treat you to dinner too.”

“Perfect!” I exclaimed with a laugh. “Send me the address!”

From: Kim

1000 Market, St. Louis.

I stopped the taxi and told the driver my destination. During the ride, I thought of that man again. His sooty eyes were always ringing in my head. Sharp, cold, and warm at the same time. I could still feel the phantom pressure of his lips on mine, the scent of Terre d’Hermès teasing my senses, and his possessive embrace lingering in my memory. God, this was insane. In an instant that man affected me, even just because of his kiss. I still didn’t know why he did it.

I shuddered softly when the taxi driver informed me that we had arrived at my destination. Oh, a television station building with a very famous channel. No wonder Kim was so enthusiastic about her mission this time. Well, At least it was a step up from the small private channel she used to work for. Ah, my dear Kim Chan, you really know how to make money.

"Leanne!"

I turned to the source of the voice. There was Kim waving. With a small run, I approached her.

"Thank you so much, Leanne. You are indeed my best friend."

“You only ever say that when I fetch your stuff, Kim Chan,” I rolled my eyes.

Kim giggled. “Because it’s true! You’re a lifesaver. You must be tired. Walk a little north, you'll find a coffee shop. I'll be there in less than an hour. Thanks again so much, Leanne. I really owe you a lot.”

“Of course you do. You owe me a lot,” I joked. She chuckled softly. “I'll wait for you there. See you, Kim!”

Arriving at the coffee shop, I immediately ordered my favorite Americano. It seemed like a cozy place to refresh my mind. I pulled out my notebook, ready to continue yesterday’s research on Clostridium botulinum. It amazed me how something so tiny could pose such a massive threat to life.

Shit! Even while working, I couldn’t stop thinking about that man. Who the hell was he? I was losing my mind, obsessing over him. This wasn’t like me. Even when Pedro kissed me before, it didn't have the same effect as that mysterious man.

About fifty minutes had passed, and Kim hadn't called yet. My gaze was suddenly drawn to a bald man wearing sunglasses. For some reason, I caught a strange movement from the man sitting in the corner of the room. His hand moved slowly, pulling out an object that I could tell was a gun—wait, what?

My eyes darted to his target—a guy sitting a few tables away. Without thinking, I bolted toward him.

Bang!

“Watch out!” I yelled, shoving him to the ground just as the bullet whizzed past us. We crashed into a table, sending everything tumbling.

“Thank you.”

Time seemed to stop. I swear I recognize that voice and that tone. I was still holding him as those sooty eyes looked at me. For God's sake, It is him! The man who had haunted me ever since that kiss. The scent of Terre D'Hermes emanating from his body added to the conviction that this man was really the one who kissed me in front of the elevator earlier.

The realization woke me up. Suddenly, the atmosphere around us was noisy as a woman received the misdirected bullet. The man quickly stood, searching for the shooter, slipping on the sunglasses he’d dropped. Things got noisier as the two of them clashed guns. Wait, this charming man was also playing with a gun?

People screeched as the sound of explosions came from their weapons. Some ran for their lives and others hid wherever they felt strong enough.

“Get down!” he yelled at me. The Baldy was still attacking us. The handsome man picked up the gun again and fired both of them while occasionally taking cover behind the table that had been overturned.

“Arrghh!” I groaned as a bullet tore into my shoulder.

“f**k!” he cursed. “Hold on!”

Pulling me behind him, he shielded me with his body. My vision blurred as pain radiated from my shoulder, hot and searing.

Then, silence. The gunfire had stopped. Baldie must’ve been taken down.

“Stay with me, please,” he murmured, his voice softer now.

He placed me in a car, tearing his shirt to make a makeshift bandage for my shoulder. My vision dimmed as exhaustion overtook me.

“I’ll pay my debt to you, Blondie,” His whisper was the last thing I heard before everything went black.

***

Edited. 170125, Anne Joyce