I smile nervously and struggle even more fiercely. "Sir, can you let go?"
He finally does, but he does not step back. His gaze falls to my phone, folder and my murder weapon, also known as my bat for big bugs, lying on the ground.
He picks them all up, and for some reason, I suddenly feel shy about taking them back.
He gives an amused chuckle. "Hmm, and what would you need an iron bat for this early in the morning?"
I just grab them, say nothing, and sprint off to go save Mr. David.
It does not take long before I reach the factory and sight long brown hair tied in a ponytail with a baseball cap over it.
Tessa is already there, in front of the large double wooden door which was slightly ajar with the sun glaring at her face. Considering the fact that she wore the cap backwards, it’s no surprise she’s glaring right back at it while performing her security duties.
She’s tapping her foot impatiently, glancing inside, then around the place when she spots me. She grabs her bat, waving it urgently.
"Quickly, quickly, quickly!" she yells.
I sprint toward her avoiding the sea of people minding their business not caring why a corporately dressed woman was running towards a gangly teenage boy.
By the time I get to her, my heart is pounding in my chest.
I drop my belongings on the floor next to the door, only carrying with me my registered weapon, and together, we shove the door open.
Without hesitation, I shout, "What the fuck do you think you are doing here?"
The men harassing Mr. David whirl around to face us. They do not hesitate either. They immediately start charging. So, naturally, we charge right back.
I know exactly what you are thinking. You are probably thinking, what can a couple of girls do against three grown men? I know the physical difference between men and women.
But they do not have an iron bat. I do. And I am not afraid to swing it. I am not saying Russia is particularly dangerous, like some people make it out to be, but when you are dealing with greedy politicians who harass a man for his property, you have to get creative.
One way I got creative was owning this iron bat. I even sleep with it.
Back to the fight. I swing and hit one of the guys square across the face. He probably does not expect it to hurt so badly, considering I usually keep it wrapped with gauze.
He looks handsome, almost pretty. I’m sure his partner won’t mind me toughening up his face a little. A little scar goes a long way to raise one’s attractiveness.
Tessa is hitting another guy, this one on the uglier side but also shorter.
I feel bad for him. Imagine being short, angry and on top of things you were considered the ugly one of your group. Yeesh.
These men though, are not going down without a fight. They struggle, trying to take the bats from us.
I am so focused that I do not notice when the third one sneaks behind me and lands a punch right in my stomach. Pain shoots through me, and I double over planting my heel on a loaf of bread.
"Stop, stop, stop!" the leader, Pretty boy, shouts angrily. "Why the fuck did you hit her?"
The lackey who punched me scoffs. "Oh, so she's allowed to hit us and almost kill us, but when I hit back there's suddenly no equality?" I squint at him memorising his ugly face and cropped military style hair.
I’d need it while filing a report on assault. Anything to take that senator down.
I nearly spit at his shoes while Tessa swings her bat again at his face. Pretty boy grabs the bat from her hands, shaking his head.
"We're stopping here," he says, glaring at us. "But old man, we're coming back." He makes a threatening gesture, dragging his thumb across his throat.
They finally leave, and Tessa rushes to help steady me. "You alright?" she asks, her voice full of worry.
I smile weakly before looking down and successfully taking my heel out of the bread. "Yeah, I'm okay."
