CHAPTER FIVE: A THIEF AND A ROBBER
1149 Words
LIORAÉ
A firm hand gripped mine and pulled me back. I turned, and my eyes connected with something I had never seen before. Low, dangerous and vicious.
“Hello, pretty lady.” His gruff voice felt itchy as I shook my head, knowing what was happening. Who knew that men like this stayed on this side of the city?
“Please, sir, let me go. I will give you all I have,” I stuttered as I tried to pull out of his grip.
“I do not want money,” he spat out, and a chilling grin spread over his face. “Why would I take money when I can have a pretty girl like you?”
“You are hurting me,” I cried when his finger dug into my skin.
“Oh, honey, I do not want to hurt you,” he murmured, his teeth parting so his yellow tooth shone through. “If you come quietly with me, then I won’t need to…”
“Please, sir, just take my money and my bag, but please let me go,” I pleaded; tears fell from my eyes.
He bent over cackling, while his grip remained on me. I wiggled, but he held on tight. I pulled and pushed until his grip faltered, and then I took off running, my feet almost touching the back of my head.
“Damnit,” I swore as I wondered why I wore heels on a day like today.
My mouth let out breath as my heart rammed against my chest. Why was I so unlucky? Hands gripped me and this time pulled me until I dropped to the ground.
“Where do you think you are going?” He sneered as he hovered over me. My palms pressed onto the pavement as pain surged through them. “I haven’t had my fill yet.”
I opened my mouth to beg, but I knew that with a man like him, it was going to be useless. I raise my leg and kick him in the groin. He tumbled over, and I stood up again, this time running back in the direction of the restaurant.
He caught up once again and slapped me across the face. “How dare you?” he screamed, spittle splashing all over my face.
“You know?” His tone lowered as he whispered. His breath fanned my face, and a shiver ran down my spine. “Your actions are only making me harder for you,” he added and then let out a dry laugh.
He pulled my hand and tried to place it on his groin, and my eyes closed shut. The action never came, and when I opened my eyes, I saw him thrown on the floor with a figure hovering over him.
I stayed down, gulping and trying to make sense of the situation.
“How dare you?” I heard the voice. Soren? It clicked in my mind almost instantly. Had he followed me out? My eyes finally caught the car we had ridden in sitting silently by the road, humming on its own.
Soren held him by the collar as his fist connected multiple times with his face. He was grunting and muttering a string of unintelligible words. Blood was already oozing out of the corner of his mouth.
“Soren,” his name escaped my lips, and strength found my legs as I rushed to him and pulled him back.
“Please stop,” I cried when it seemed like the man on the ground was already half-dead.
Like a switch, Soren suddenly stopped and got up; his eyes ran up and down my body and landed on the side of my face that he had hit. His finger trembled and grazed against my cheeks.
“HE HIT YOU?” Each word was pronounced as if it were some kind of verdict. He turned to him and pulled him up until he was at the same eye level as him.
“Please, sir…” he groaned as Soren pushed him to a kneeling position. I could only imagine the amount of pain he was in.
“Don’t beg me; beg her,” he muttered, pressing his head down. “Until she agrees to forgive you,” he added.
“Soren let him go.” My heart heaved as I shook my head. “Please”
He finally let him go, and the man stumbled to his feet, running off as he staggered until he was out of sight.
“What are you doing?” I started screaming. I knew I should be grateful that he saved me, but what if someone saw something and his name was being dragged through the mud?
“Are you okay?” He ignored my scream, his hand holding my shoulders as he frantically searched my body.
“I am fine.” I pulled away. His hand held my face, and my eyes caught it: blood seeping out of his knuckles.
With how hard he hit it, it would have been a miracle if his knuckles did not bleed.
“Your hand.” I held onto his hand before my brain could even register what was going on. “You are hurt,” I added.
“I am!” His voice, which carried worry, seemed to be calm now. I blinked and looked at his face, a smile sitting on it.
“What?”
“You care about me.” His eyes twinkled like a child in awe of Santa.
“You got hurt because of me,” I muttered, looking down at my feet.
“Then take responsibility.” I looked at him, wondering what he meant. “Take responsibility,” he repeated as if that was going to make it clearer to me.
“What do you…”
“Treat it.” He pushed his knuckles closer to my face. “So it does not hurt anymore.”
“I will go find a pharmacy for that; you just stay here.” I turned to leave, but his hand held my elbows and spun me back to him.
“No need.”
“But…”
“I have a first-aid kit back at my house, and it is only a few minutes away, so come with me and get it treated there.”
“I…” He pulled me away to the car before I could refuse. I slid in, promising myself that I was not doing anything more than getting his injuries treated. He got them because of me after all.
“I will only treat the injuries and leave after,” I said as he slid into the driver’s seat. He nodded and started the car, but from the smirk on the corner of his lips, I knew he had other plans and yet I did not want to run.
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