Page 19 of Nightmare

He looks back down at his drink.

Once again, I make zero progress with him.

I’m running out of ideas to get him to talk to me.

I can hardly demand he has a conversation.

I get back to work, and by the end of the night, I’m far too tired to even think straight. I get changed, take my car keys, and groggily walk out of the club to the back parking lot where my car is waiting to take me to my bed. I’m about three feet away when a hand curls around my arm, spinning me. Shocked, I squeak as I’m faced with two men, one of which is hanging onto me.

Dazed, it takes me a moment to recognize that the situation I’m in is incredibly dangerous.

The smirk on the man’s face, the one closest to me, is that of a vile, evil monster. His eyes are the color of the black night, his hair is covered by a dark hoodie, and he has a smirk on his face that’s colder than any smirk I’ve ever witnessed in my short life.

I know, even before he opens his mouth, that I’m in trouble.

He isn’t here to talk.

That much is clear.

“Scream, I’ll gut you like a fish.”

The words send chills up my spine and my entire body goes into freeze mode. I can’t move my legs or my arms, I can’t scream, I can’t even breathe. Everything has stopped, everything except my racing heart that feels as though it’s echoing in my brain. He’s going to hurt me, and my body isn’t doing a single thing to help me out of the situation.

“Don’t hurt me,” I finally manage to wheeze. “If you want money, you can have my money. I have tips from t-t-t-t-tonight.”

He smiles, showing a row of rotting teeth. “I’ll be taking your money, but not until I take you first.”

No.

I attempt to squirm, but he takes a menacing step forward, grip tightening on my arm, and the cold steel of a knife presses into my stomach. He’s not joking. One plunge and I’m dead. A tear bursts forth and rolls down my cheek as I realize what’s about to happen, but, mostly, it’s the fact that I am powerless to stop it. Never in my life have I felt so terrified.

Pathetically, I try once more, “My name is Bonnie, I’m only twenty-seven. I have a family. I have friends. I have a job and a home.”

I can’t remember where I saw to tell your attacker about your life, hell, it probably almost never works, but right now I’ll do anything to get away from this.

“Shut up,” he growls, pushing the knife in a little, just enough for it to remind me that he could kill me in seconds.

Closing my eyes, I can only pray.

Pray that I make it out of this alive.

Tears roll down my cheeks.

Then, as if my prayers are answered, the weight of the man is suddenly gone. Eyes slowly opening, I stare in shock as Western stands, holding the man by his shirt, the knife somehow now in his own hand. He tosses the man onto the ground harshly, as if he weighs nothing, before turning on the other one, panting with rage, the knife dangling from his fingers. The other man turns, scurrying off, not taking his chances.

From the ground, the remaining man stands, staring at Western as if he’s actually weighing up whether he can take him on or not, then, he turns and disappears into the night. Without a single word, Western managed to get two men to run into the cold night. Meeting his eyes, tears still rolling down my cheeks, I try to think of something to say but nothing comes out. My entire body goes limp, and I fall to the ground as a pained sound leaves my lips. It’s not a sound of relief, it’s a sound of pure shock and terror over the situation that very nearly unfolded.

I can’t breathe.

Hunching forward, bringing my knees to my chest, I drop my head into them and struggle to get any air into my lungs.

Figuring Western will turn and leave, I am surprised when I hear the gruffest, deepest, most masculine voice that my ears have ever had the pleasure of listening to, say, “Breathe.”

Lifting my head, I see Western squatting down in front of me, that knife still in his hand, elbows on his knees as he looks at me.

I’ve never been so close to him.

My breath hitches as I meet his gaze.

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