Page 102 of Giving In

I finally take the time to look at him. He looks in his early 30s, strong build but not very tall. His skin is so pale I can see his veins bulging on his arms and around his neck. He’s wearing jeans that look slightly too long for him, the extra length accumulating around his ankles, but his black shirt looks too small for his huge arms.

“I’m fine, thank you. Did you want a coffee?”

“Did someone come here and bother you?”

His lack of answers regarding what he came for – aka a drink – and his tone make me take a step back and away from him. He sounds insisting for the wrong reasons.

“Honestly, everything is fine. My colleague is at the back getting the cleaning supplies,” I lie.

I have this strange instinct that tells me not to let him know I’m alone in the café.

“Alright, alright. Could I use your bathroom? I’ll buy something after.”

I nod, not wanting to make this longer than it should be. “First door on your left.”

“Hallway over there?” He points at the hallway behind me and I nod again. Fear is starting to creep up and I just want him to leave. His black eyes are looking at me intensely and I notice when they quickly glance down to my chest.

I remark a familiar tattoo on his inner arm, on his bicep. Where did I see this before? A tattoo of the moon cycle in a line. Seven moons lined next to the other, the full moon in the middle.

As he walks around me and toward the bathroom, it hits me. It’s the Wolves’ tattoo. Volkov’s gang. My heart drops from my chest and I’m about to turn around when I feel a movement behind me, a hand grabbing my shoulder and a blade against my throat.

“HEL–”

My scream is cut off by his sweaty hand on my mouth.

“You make one noise and you’re gonna choke on your own blood. And that’s a horrible death, little girl.”

I freeze at his words, barely biting back a whimper.

“I’m gonna take my hand away now. You keep those pretty lips sealed, alright?”

I nod slightly, his voice and words making my stomach coil and bile rise up my throat. I’m scared, I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.

His hand moves away from my mouth, but the blade of his knife stays at my throat.

“There’s a hundred dollars on the counter. Take it. Take the whole till,” I say with a shaky voice.

I always thought I would be braver than that if the café ever got robbed. I ran this sort of scene in my head a hundred times. Now that I’m living it, I only want one thing: to make it out alive and untouched.

His blade comes closer and I feel its sting on my flesh. “I thought I just told you to keep quiet.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whisper as quietly as possible.

“Unfortunately, I’m not here for the money.”

Tears break out as I hear this. I squeeze my eyes shut trying to wake up from the nightmare.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

I stay quiet at his question. Why does he want to know my name? What has it got to do with anything?

“Answer.”

“Ja–Jamie.”

“Williams?”

I can’t refrain a sob. How does he know my name? What does he want? I only nod as an answer, feeling like this is sealing my fate.

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