Page 17 of Protecting Christina

I marched toward the back, ignoring the stares of the other patrons in the bar. Although I was wearing black tights and a white hoodie, I knew the name brand plastered across my chest and my high tops screamed money. I didn’t care. I worked hard for what I bought.

“Simon,” I said when I reached the table. Four heads shot up, and three brows furrowed. Simon, on the other hand, looked furious.

“What are you doing here?” he seethed.

“Where’s my sister?”

He looked at the men around him, but they still had their eyes on me.

“You saw her. She’s fine. Now go away.”

“She’s not answering her phone, and no one has answered the door when I’ve come by. I want to talk to her now.”

“No,” he said, and then to the men. “Just forget her. She’s some crazy bitch.”

I’d been called a bitch many times. It wasn’t the word itself that infuriated me. It was his dismissive tone.

“That’s right. And this bitch will make your life miserable until I speak to my sister away from your prying eyes and ears.”

“What’s going on, Simon? Who is this girl?”

“She’s nobody.”

“The name is Christina Polito and I’m an attorney.”

“You got beef with a lawyer, man? What the fuck? My lawyer was the reason I went to prison last time.”

Simon stood from the table and grabbed my arm. I let him drag me away from the men because I’d finally gotten his attention. Maybe now he’d listen.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I told you. I need to speak to my sister privately.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because your sister now belongs to me. And I say who she speaks with, and you’re not on the list.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I can. And I will. Now get the fuck out of my way.”

I watched helplessly as Simon sat back down at the table.

How the hell would I get through to this guy? I could send the police there, but after speaking to my sister, I wasn’t sure if they would take this seriously.

But I had to try. I would have to use any connection I had and find someone who would help me.

However, I wasn’t prepared to leave the pool hall with Simon thinking he had won.

I walked over to one of the men at the bar.

“Hey,” I said, nodding toward Simon at the back. “Do you know which one is his car?”

“Simon?”

“Yeah.”

---