The second guy struck again, this time across my stomach.
I choked on a cough, unable to catch my breath as the man with the tire iron came closer, blocking out the light with his shadow. He gripped my shoulder with a gloved hand and leaned close to speak directly into my ear. His voice was muffled by the balaclava, but familiar. Too familiar. “See how much better you are than everyone else now, you piece of shit.”
Fuck.
The rope creaked as it was pulled as tight as it could go, cutting into my skin before the room tilted down and my head hit the floor.
Chapter 38
Lily
I arrived for my shift an hour late. When Jen and Xavier asked why I was so late, I blamed it on traffic. And not on the fact I had procrastinated so badly that I almost called in sick. I needed my phone though, so I forced myself to book a ride to The Den using Kira’s.
It quickly became clear, after turning the lost and found box in the staff room upside down and inside out, that no one had brought my phone upstairs. The thought of going back down to the basement sent a rush through my system of nauseous butterflies.
What if I ran into him?
I didn’t know if I could speak to Dean again after that dream. Whenever I thought of his face, I couldn’t help but see the images my mind had created of the way he touched me. So, if I saw him again in person…
“I think the glass is clean,” Jen said over the music.
I snapped out of my stare and glanced down at the over-polished glass.
“What’s got you so distracted?” she said, opening the till beside me.
Her question was so different from the reprimanding I had received from Mom this morning on the same topic. I had been daydreaming and doodling on the back of a piece of office paper when she found me. She scolded me for missing an important client call and then forced me into attending her upcoming bible study group on Sunday.
“Susan will pick you up so there’s no chance of you getting out of it,” Mom had said. The second she walked away, my mind drifted back to the fact Dean wanted to kiss me and to that dream.
“I left my phone downstairs last night. I’m just wondering if it’d still be there,” I told Jen. I tried to shrug casually but my movements just came off as awkward.
“You can go down and check if you want. I don’t think the fighting starts for another hour or so. The basement should be empty.” Jen nodded at the staff room door, indicating where Roxy was inside. “I’ll cover for you.”
“Great.” I forced a smile and turned for the back door on shaky legs. Now I really had no choice but to face up to the reality of the situation I created.
I politely excused myself as I passed through the crowds milling around the bathroom doors. Each person was too drunk to notice when I ducked behind the red curtain at the back of the room. My fingers shook as I closed the door behind me and stepped down into the empty corridor. Taking a deep breath, I made my way past the walls of peeling paint to the basement door at the other end, straining to hear for any signs of life on the other side of said door as I got closer. It didn’t sound like there was anyone downstairs, so I picked up my pace.
Shouldering the heavy door open, I stepped out onto the landing, finding the first half of the basement completely empty. Not even the metal barriers of the fight pit were assembled yet.
I quickly descended the metal staircase. Each of my footsteps clanked loudly across the open and quiet space. Once I left the last step, I hastily made my way through to the back room. The last time I saw my phone was on the coffee table in the lounge area. As I got closer to the musky couches and sofas, I found the coffee table empty and one of the lockers on the back wall wide open.
Dean’s locker.
I frowned, and as I glanced around the basement in case I had missed him, I slowly made my way over to the lockers. Passing the back of the sofa, more of the floor below the lockers came into view and suddenly my eyes widened.
I rushed forward, all thoughts draining quickly from my head as I dropped to my knees beside an unconscious Dean. My body switched to autopilot as I quickly unraveled the jump rope from around his neck. Repeating his name and pinching his shoulder for any kind of response as I tossed the rope aside.
“Dean, can you hear me?” I tapped his face, but his head only rolled to one side.
I leaned over him, listening to the crackling of a shaky, faint breath barely coming from his parted lips. Without a phone to call 911, and unable to leave his side, I began CPR.
30 compressions.
I held myself over him with straight arms. The heel of my left hand rested against the center of his chest as I interlocked my right hand on top and pressed down. Using all my body weight as I paced myself through each of the compressions.
Two breaths.
I tilted his head back and pinched his nose shut, pushing aside all hesitation as I parted his lips and brought my mouth to his, sealing away any chance of air escaping. His lips were soft but cool against mine as I steadily breathed air back through his airways and into his lungs. The only thing going through my head was counting and timing. All on repeat.
