A group of men start to stomp past us right then. We’re standing in front of the door, so the Blue-Eyed Bastard—let’s call him B.E.B. for short—pushes me up against the nearby wall. His hips bracket mine, and his height means that his chest is roughly level with my face, so I get a double-barreled inhale of his scent.
It’s like dipping my head in a forest river. Bracingly cold, dark and mysterious. I feel a little dizzy.
Through the gap underneath B.E.B.’s armpit, I see the booted feet of the passing men slow, as if they’re eyeing us and wondering what’s happening, whether to intervene, or maybe whether to join in, I can’t be sure. The fear starts to ratchet up in my chest before I hear?—
“Move along, gentlemen. This little filly is all mine.”
B.E.B.’s tone is half-joking and half-extremely-fucking-serious. He somehow manages to keep his smooth, polished, educated enunciation, while also taking on this rough edge, the kind of unspoken violence that the men in here begrudgingly respect.
He gets a few harsh chuckles in response. Then the booted feet resume walking, and we’re once again alone in the short hallway that leads to the door.
I wriggle until I can get my hands on B.E.B.’s torso. Then I push him away. He moves reluctantly, and even though I know he’schoosingto move—because, despite my thrice-weekly Pilates, upper body pressing strength is not exactly my calling card—part of me feels a savage satisfaction, like I’m reasserting my authority here in this situation.
“You really need to educate yourself on the meaning of ‘boundaries,’” I inform him.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is,” I fire back lamely, aware of how stupid of a comeback that is. I might as well have gone withI’m rubber, you’re glue. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go home, please.”
This was all such a mistake. What was I thinking? What kind of person did I think I’d suddenly become?
No, better question: Am I a coward? I was going to justoutsource my vengeance?Giana deserves better than that.
I suppose, in a strange sort of way, I have Mr. Refrigerator and B.E.B. here to thank for putting me back on the right path. I’m going to go home and pick up where I left off: handling this shit all by my damn self.
Or so I thought.
But when I crane my neck up, I see B.E.B. shaking his head. “Home? No. I told you already: You’re not going home just yet. In fact… you’re coming with me.”
“Excuse me? I’m not goinganywherewith?—”
Completely ignoring my request, he grabs my hand and starts pulling me toward the back of the bar. His grip isn’t painful, but it’s absolute. I try to yank free and get precisely nowhere.
“Hey! Hey, stop. I saidno.What part of that is unclear to you?”
He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow down.
“I swear to God, if you don’t let go of me right now, I will scream so loud that?—”
And then I’m upside down.
A blur of motion, and then gravity does a flippity-doo-da. It’s almost funny how fast it happens, how quickly and abruptly I go from on my feet like usual, to thrown across B.E.B.’s broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes. My hair flaps in my face, my purse whacks me in the back of the head, and all the blood rushes into my eyeballs. I feel like they’re gonna pop out of my sockets.
“Put medown!”
He doesn’t put me down. He walks. I bounce against his back with every step, my fists pounding uselessly between his shoulder blades.
“This is assault! This is kidnapping! This is?—”
“This is me keeping you alive,” he corrects, calm as anything, and pushes through a swinging door into what looks like a kitchen. Only then does he set me down.
Not on my feet, though.
He plants me ass-first on a suspiciously slippery steel countertop. “There. That’s better.”
“Better forwho?” I sputter, shoving hair out of my face.
“You,” he says.
