I sighed and shook my head.
“You’re a fighter. I get that. But you really would have been better off running away. The same goes for your bosses. They really should run away, too, but I already know they won’t. Like you, they’re also fighters.”
The man went limp in my arms.
I let him go and left him on the floor as I stood and dusted myself off.
“Unfortunately for them, I’m a fighter, too.”
I scoffed when I noticed the dirt stain on the knee of my pants. This suit was a favorite of mine, cut just sharp enough to be impressive without looking too intimidating. Plus, the dark gray color was a great complement to my skin tone.
Well, at least there were no bloodstains. Hopefully, dry cleaning would take care of the dirt. I’d hate to have to throw the suit out.
Retrieving my briefcase, I was happy to find it completely unscathed. Splurging for the expensive reinforced metal design had been a good investment. This wasn’t the first time I’d had to use it as a weapon and probably wouldn’t be the last.
That was the problem with taking on such dangerous cases. I had a habit of making enemies out of powerful people, but I was prepared, and I wouldn’t go down without a fight.
I left the thugs on the floor of the parking deck. They’d wake up in a few minutes, bruised and battered, but alive. That particular corner of the parking deck was a blind spot in the security cameras, which was likely why they had chosen to attack me there in the first place. This meant there was no record of our little scuff, which had only lasted about two minutes total. If those men were smart, they’d slink back to their bosses without making any more fuss.
The ride on the elevator up to my apartment was completely silent. I spent the time wiping off my hands with a handkerchief.
Why did those kinds of thugs always have such bad hygiene?
Surely, they didn’t think that their ability to swing their fists would be adversely affected by the number of showers they took. I couldn’t stand to go more than twenty-four hours without showering and felt disgusting if I so much as skipped a day of shaving.
Just the thought of it made me shiver.
I managed to reach my apartment without issue. The door had several heavy-duty bolts, which I very carefully locked behind me. Then, I set my briefcase down on its designated table and sat down on the couch in my living room.
That was when the shaking started.
I knew it was coming. I was just glad that it held off until I was safely inside my home.
I’d spent years learning how to defend myself, so I’d never feel helpless again, and I’d been in dangerous fights before, but that didn’t make it any easier. The surge of adrenaline allowed me to think clearly during the fight, but now that the fight was over and I was safe, it was like crashing headfirst into a wall.
Leaning forward, I braced my elbows on my knees and let my head hang. My eyes were closed as I focused on my breathing, but behind my eyelids I could see every moment of the fight. Every movement I’d made and every attack they’d launched replayed in my mind with stark clarity as if in slow motion. The knife had come so close to me. If I hadn’t reacted fast enough, if I’d faltered for even a moment, I would be bleeding out on the floor of the parking deck right now.
The difference between life and death could literally be measured in inches. If I had died today, nothing would be fixed.
With a deep breath, I managed to sit upright. My shaking had lessened, but not completely disappeared, and I fumbled with my cellphone when I pulled it from my pocket. It was here that I found another annoyance. Sometime during my scuffle with the thugs, the screen of my phone had cracked. It still worked, but it was an eyesore.
Ignoring it for now, I dialed a familiar number. I’d specifically refused to add the number to my list of contacts to keep myself from calling it so easily, but that didn’t stop me from memorizing it.
Anticipation gripped my heart when the call started ringing. However, after only one ring, the call went silent. I tried texting the number instead, just simply saying hello. I immediately received a big red “undelivered” notification.
It was as I expected. My number was still blocked. I don’t know why I expected anything different. I’d been blocked for five years now, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon.
Not until I made things right.
Looking down at my phone, a strange idea came to me. My phone was cracked. Getting it repaired would be just as much hassle as simply getting a new one. If I did get a new phone, I could use the opportunity to change my number.
Then I wouldn’t be blocked any more, and my messages would finally go through.
For one, desperate moment, I actually considered it.
But then the moment passed, and the insane idea disappeared as quickly as it had come. That line of communication was closed to me. It would be cruel to force it open again. At best, I’d be able to get one message through before the new number was blocked as well. I would gain nothing and would probably ruin any chance I had to make things right in the process.
Letting the phone slip through my fingers, it landed hard on the floor. The crack spread farther and the whole screen turned to colorful static.
