The Ride
1214 Words
Elizabeth
My plan to stay away from Logan and anyone connected to him has worked pretty well. He requested me a few days after our last encounter, and I refused the appointment, even though all I wanted was to taste his lips again. That made Mr. Smith very angry.
It's been three weeks since then, and my life has returned to normal. Mia is back home, and I'm working without compromising my relationship with her. She's been watching me more closely, asking too many questions. I can't bear the thought that she'll soon find out I'm not a cocktail waitress but a call girl. I might as well tell her before she discovers it on her own but I'm not ready. Not yet.
“b***h, you still have no client?” Nancy says, joining me in the call girl's glass cubicle where me and other call girls wait for clients on days without pre-arranged appointments. She works at Mr. Smith's strip club too, so we're technically coworkers. This is where we first met and built our friendship.
I roll my eyes. “How could I get a client when everybody in the club is waiting for their favourite stripper to perform?”
“Come on,” she says, feigning modesty. “You say it like you're not the most demanded call girl here. Anyway, guess who’s here?”
“Tell me.”
Her cheeks flush. “Cole, and I didn't invite him.”
“I don't believe you,” I say, silently hoping he didn't bring Anthony with him.
“How do you always catch my lies?” she says. “I couldn't not invite him. I need to keep him around, at least for the sex.”
I sigh. “I told you to stay away from him. He's dangerous.”
That's all I told her after my last encounter with Logan. I didn't mention the kiss or the note he slipped between my buttocks.
“Flirting with danger isn't so bad,” she says, playfully. “You should try it. Look, he's not as dangerous as you think. The past few weeks with him have been nothing short of amazing. Yes, he's a member of the Ironshade Reapers, but he's not a bad guy.”
I raise my hands in surrender. I know better than to try convincing a woman to stay away from a man she's sleeping with. “Alright.”
“My dance is coming up next, I'll see you later?” She asks.
“Of course. I'll be here, assuming I still don't have a client.”
She kisses my cheek and sashays out of the cubicle toward the stage as her name is announced. Men and women flood the viewing area, throwing tips before she even begins to dance.
When her performance is over, Mr. Smith comes by the cubicle and calls out the names of the girls who've landed clients.
“The rest of you can stick around,” he says. “Grab a drink, but don't get drunk. The night is still young, and more clients are coming.”
I step out of the cubicle, scanning the room for Nancy, only to turn away immediately when I spot her tucked in a corner with Cole.
Instead of getting a drink, I grab a cigarette and step outside. I place it between my lips, light it, inhale, then release a thin stream of smoke into the night air. Before it's finished, I toss it to the ground and crush it.
I turn to go back inside, and freeze.
Logan stands just a few feet away from me.
What is he doing here? How did he get here? Am I hallucinating?
He starts walking toward me and I instinctively step back. This can't be real. He's supposed to be in jail.
I trip over something and almost fall, but he closes the distance and steadies me.
“Don't be afraid,” he says, his hands gripping my arms. “I just want to talk.”
“Let go of me.”
He frowns, then releases me, taking a few steps back with his hands raised.
He's clean-shaven, looking nothing like the man I met in that room. I only recognize him because of the mugshot I saw online.
“Did you follow me here?” I ask.
“I came for business,” he says. “But I saw you on your way out and thought I'd say hi.”
“Aren't you supposed to be in jail?”
He smirks, and it does something to me that I don't quite understand. “I'm a free man. Proven innocent.”
Relief washes over me, and I don't even know why.
“Can we at least sit down and talk?” He asks.
“About what?”
“Anything you want,” he says. “And before you say you have to get back to work, I'm your client tonight. No room for escape.”
He holds out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, I take it. He leads me to a parked motorcycle and helps me onto the pillion.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask.
He smirks again. “You'll see.”
My pulse pounds. “I don't want to die.”
His expression turns unreadable. “I'm a bad guy, but only to people who deserve it, you don't.”
"That's not what I mean," I say as he pulls the only helmet from a handlebar.
"Tell me what you mean, then," he says, his focus on the helmet as he adjusts it.
I sigh. "I've never been on one of these."
He laughs, and it's sexy. "All you need is to hold me tight."
He slides the helmet over my head before helping into his leather jacket. "You'll need it."
That leaves him with just a vest, his muscular arms stirring wild thoughts in my mind.
I stay silent but alert as he hops on, sliding my arms around his torso and holding on tight. My eyes close the moment the ride begins, opening only when he brings the motorcycle to a stop. We're at the same café he'd sent me to weeks ago.
“Let’s grab a drink,” he says, hoping off the bike, and lifting the helmet from my head. “That wasn't a request.”
Inside, he orders coffee for both of us when I don't respond to the waiter, who doesn't look shocked to see him here. It's like he's a regular.
He studies me for several minutes, completely unbothered by my silence.
“What do you want from me?” I finally ask.
He sips his coffee. “People don't cross my path by accident, Elizabeth. Not twice.”
His eyes lift to mine. “I want to get to know you.”
Neither of us speaks again.
When he finishes his coffee, I stand, leaving mine untouched.
“I'll take you home,” he says outside, noticing that I'm trying to order a ride.
I don't refuse, even though I should. I follow him to his bike, and he rides me home without asking for directions.
That only worsens my fear.
How long has this man been watching me?
And worse, how do I escape him?
- Writer
