“Charlie,” I whisper. My heart sinks because who else’s blood could it be but Charlie's? In a moment, a sea of memories flash in my mind. Her blonde hair and green eyes appear before me in a series of snapshots from her life, she is on the same t-ball team as Lucy and Abbie. Then again, she is 12 years old, having a slumber party, and eating popcorn in my kitchen. Most recently, her smiling and waving at me, her long tumble of blonde hair blowing in the Wyoming wind. She slips into her car, leaving the gas station, just a pump away from me.
I stand for a moment, and the air is silent. There is nothing except the beating of my own heart. Turning slowly, I jump at the sound of a blood-curdling scream.
“Charlie!” I roar, racing through the diner searching for her and pausing only for a moment as I see the hooded figure on top of her with his hands clasped tightly around her throat. He's killing her.
Immediately I jump on top of him, crushing Charlie under the weight of us and pulling him to the floor as his head smacks against the cabinet. We both freeze and stare with our fists raised.
“Raul?” I gasp, staring at the dark eyes of the ex-con. His face is covered in tattoos, and he smiles as blood fills his mouth. I only have a moment to process this information as his quick fist collides with my face, landing with a sickening punch. I see stars and my vision is hazy. The blow to the temple is enough to daze me. Raul uses this to roll himself on top of me. He grasps me by the collar of my leather jacket and bangs my head against the floor. My ears ring.
“Noah,” she whimpers, rolling onto her side to look at me. Seeing her face, I snap into focus, raising my left arm to block, and clocking him with my right. He curses as blood splatters across my face. I busted his lip, but I wanted to knock out his fucking teeth. They’re still there, but he won't have them anymore when I'm done with him for touching her.
His blows come back with a frenzy as his fist collides once more with my jaw and surprises me with the cheap move. The bastard pulls out a skinny silver knife and slices deep into my chest burying the knife a few inches above my heart. I cry out in pain and raise my hand, clasping it tightly around his throat, I start squeezing as hard as I can. My hands are strong from years of mechanical work and I know that the pressure on his carotid arteries will have him blacking out in less than a minute. He has one choice, let go, or blackout.
The seconds drag on as beads of sweat pour down his forehead, and I gasp in pain as he holds the knife in my chest, still trying to twist it slowly between my ribs. The knife won’t turn between the ribs, but the pain is ripping through me. I try to hold it in, but I can’t. I cry out in pain as well as determination to live. I'm not going to die today and neither is Charlie.
Suddenly Raul's hand goes slack, and he flings himself backward off of me. Raul lays on the ground across from me, choking for air, his hand wrapped around his throat.
“Noah,” she whispers again, and I try to sit up. Casting one last glance to Charlie, Raul stands and then runs, knocking over pots and pans as he escapes.
I sit up gasping under the weight of the knife in my chest, while Charlie crawls over to me, her face covered in tears and blood.
“What are you doing here?” she sobs, her hands hovering over the knife as if she's unsure what to do. “God, Noah, I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help,” she cries, looking around and quickly grabbing a hand towel to apply pressure.
“It's fine,” I groan. Clenching my eyes shut, I yank out the knife.
I am not a weak man, but I feel like a knife in the chest is as good an excuse as any to shed a tear. Leaning forward, I press my face into my knees while clutching the towel she gave me. I inhale slowly and deeply. I can marvel at the pain and fear, later. I need to focus now on Charlie. Though my eyes sting, I think about what I just walked in on; and I feel a new course of adrenaline.
“God, Charlie, what the hell happened here? Why was he here? What did he want from you?” I demand, looking up at her blood-splattered face, a bruise forming on her forehead.
“I don't know,” she cries, sniffling and wiping her nose on her sleeve, drawing my eye to the gaping cuts on her forearm.
“What did he do to you?” I demand, no longer feeling my own pain, but suddenly fearing the worst for Charlie.
Raul is the slime of the earth, and I know that if someone put enough effort into investigating him, they could find a whole string of crimes that would send him away for life. Now, if only her father would focus more on Raul than he did on me, maybe she wouldn't be here in this situation.
“He came in and locked the door, and then he attacked me,” she cried.
I reach forward, pulling her close to my chest, letting her sob into my shoulder.
“I don't know why. I don't understand. He didn't say anything. He just pulled out a knife and tried to kill me. I ran and I hid, and he found me.” She sobs, and I grimace in pain as her face presses hard against my wounded chest. “I hit him with a flashlight and then I ran again. When he caught me I couldn't get away. I thought I was dead Noah,” she whimpers.
“Shh, I know,” I slide my hand up, clutching the back of her head, holding her close. I find that I need this embrace, just as much as she does.
Sweet Charlie, who never did anything wrong. Why would Raul want to hurt her? It doesn’t make sense.
Raul is evil, but he isn’t the kind of man who would just walk into a diner and attack someone. When he’s violent, there is a purpose behind it; unless you’re his girlfriend. To my knowledge, though, he didn’t just walk into places and murder people.
I don’t think this was a simple robbery gone wrong either. If he wanted to rob a place, he would choose somewhere other than Denton’s. Denton’s doesn’t have more than two hundred dollars in cash in the register and everyone knows the stingy bastard wouldn't be leaving money lying around in a safe, either.
While there are rumors of Raul’s more salacious desires, he didn't try to harm her that way. His main focus was simply to end her life. Why would he though? Charlie is one of the sweetest, most gentle people I've ever known. I can't imagine her offending him to the point that he would try to murder her in cold blood.
Relaxing my grip on her head, I push her to get a better look at her.
“Charlie, I need you to think hard. Have you done anything that would have pissed him off?”
“Well, no, I can't think of anything. I've never even seen him before,” she sniffles, her eyes bright with fear and emotional exhaustion.
“Are you sure? Are you sure that you've never seen him, never spoken with him?”
“No,” she frowns, and I believe her.
Why would a girl like her be entangled with a drug lord like Raul, or even me? She has too much sense. She has her father to thank for that.
“Okay.” I nod, sliding my bloody hand up and caressing her damp cheeks. “Well then, I think we need to get out of here and get you cleaned up. It's not safe here. He might come back,” I say, looking around the cluttered kitchen.
“Do you really think so?” She frowns, looking around the diner.
“Yeah, I do. You said you hit him with the flashlight?”
“I did, pretty hard. I'm a little surprised that he's still conscious.”
Saying nothing, I nod, chewing over the information.
“He didn't say anything at all?” I mutter. “He's a very dangerous man, Charlie, the kind of person you just don't cross. He has a mean streak that’s a mile wide.”
“Oh? I would never have guessed,” she says, her voice sarcastic.
“Seriously, Charlie, we call him Ruthless Raul because he has no empathy. No mercy. What he does, he does with everything he has. There is no stopping for him. If this man really wants you dead…” I say, looking hard into her eyes, hoping she understands the gravity of the situation. “He will stop at nothing to achieve this goal. You won't be safe until he is dead, or behind bars. We need to get you out of here and somewhere safe. I'll take you back to my apartment and clean you up.” I
gesture down at her torn arms and cringe, knowing that it must hurt terribly. It’s definitely going to scar.
“What about you?” She gestures to my chest. “You should go to a hospital,”
“No, I’ll be fine. Believe me, I’ve been through worse.”
Chapter Three
Charlie
I shiver in the front seat of Noah's Chevy Impala. I don't know if it's the nerves or the cold February air, but it has me doubling over, clenching my healthy fist tight. My teeth won't stop chattering.
“Are you okay?” he asks, looking around at me— his silver eyes glinting in the dark.
“I'll be okay.” I am forcing myself to breathe deeply as I shudder once more. Looking down at my forearms and hand once more, I feel a wave of nausea. The deep gashes make me feel woozy. Am I going to faint? Forcing my hand open, the fingers extending painfully, I cringe in pain.
“Don't worry; I'm going to get you a medical kit,” he says, looking over at my injured limb.
“Do you have any medical training?” I wonder, still looking at my hands.
“Officially? No, but I have tended my fair share of knifings. I don't think a slice will be much different than a stab.”
“Do you know how to do stitches?” I frown, looking up at him.
“Yep. I've stitched myself.”
Closing my eyes, I groan internally.
“Maybe I should go to a hospital.” Turning my hand over I look at my forearm, I feel as if I'm going to vomit. I don't do well with blood and gore. I don't even watch scary movies!
Looking at myself, I feel as if I am living one.
“Do you think it'll scar?” I ask him, holding my arm up to the dim light coming from the streetlights as we drive past them.
“Probably,” he says simply.
Ugh, I don't want the scars. Maybe that sounds vain, considering I could have been murdered, but I'm only twenty-two years old. I am allowed some vanity. My bloody fingers trembling, I reach up and flip open the visor.
“God, I'm such a mess.” My sea-green eyes are wild from the fear and trauma. My sun blond hair is matted with blood and sweat.
Ugh, so gross. How many times will I need to shower before I can wash away this feeling? I feel tainted, like the memory of fighting for my life is somehow tattooed on my skin. Is it something that I'll carry with me forever?
Closing the visor, I look down at my uniform, torn and stained.
“Oh my god,” I gasp.
“What?” Noah asks, looking over at me.
“I left the place such a mess. Look at me; I'm so engrossed in how I look that I haven't even thought about what Denton will find when he shows up tomorrow at six am! He's going to open up the diner in a couple of hours and find that mess,” I exclaim, waving my arms and cringing at the pain. “Christ, he's going to kill me,” I say, clenching my fists and then crying out in agony. “Damn it! How do I keep forgetting that my hand is basically shredded?”
“Charlie,” Noah says, his voice gentle. “You survived a murder attempt from one of the most heinous and vile men I've ever known. You know what, no, he is the worst man I've ever known, and I've known a lot of horrible people,” Noah shakes his head, “and you're worried about what your boss is going to think of the mess left behind? What does it say about the man when he is more concerned about having a clean floor than whether or not his waitress is alive, especially after he sees all that blood on the floor?”
I say nothing, knowing that he is right; my priorities are out of whack. I sit in silence for a moment, watching as he turns down a long, dark street heading towards his apartment complex.
I look over at him. “Wait. You know him?” I ask suddenly, and he turns to face me, frowning. “You know who the man who attacked me?”
“Yeah, I know him,” Noah says, his eyes back on the road.
“How well do you know him?” I whisper.
“I know him well enough; More than I'd like to,” he says, and I feel like getting him to talk is like pulling teeth.
“How'd you meet?” I ask, my voice shaking.
I need answers, but I also need the conversation. Otherwise, I might pull a damsel in distress card and pass out from emotional exhaustion. He's silent for a moment and opens his mouth to speak, then hesitates again.
“We met years ago. Probably fifteen years ago now. You know about my alleged business practices,” he says slowly.
“You're a drug dealer,” I offer my voice level. Crap, I hope I haven't offended him. Noah's position in the community is something everyone is aware of, though we don't speak of it; unless you're my father, of course. He's pretty open about the things that Noah does. He doesn't try to hide his distaste for him, or at least, he didn't up until he got together with Lucy. Now, He's toning it down for her benefit.
“Drug dealer? I prefer the term Drug Lord.” He winks, and I roll my eyes. “I had dealers. More than Raul has.” I see the muscles tensing in his arm.
“So is he a competitor?” I ask, “Or a buyer?”
“Raul likes to dip his hands in a lot of pots at once. He's played at being a competitor, but he also dips his hands in darker things like human trafficking,” he says, and I feel my heart beat faster.
“I wouldn't think there'd be many opportunities for human trafficking in Wyoming,” I whisper, watching him in the dark.
“Oh, you'd be surprised.”
“Surprise me,” I say, scared of the answer but wanting to know.
“You'll notice that Wyoming is pretty rural.” He gestures around the dark town. “There's a lot of long highways. There's all this land, just sitting here. Sure, the government claims that it's theirs, and they use it for energy, then you have all the ranchers with hundreds of thousands of acres for cattle. No one is actually watching it, though. It's all just sitting here unattended. It's the perfect place to do business when you don't want to be caught. More than that, everyone knows that Interstate 80 is a significant route for truckers.”
“Are you telling me that there are people in the back of those trucks?” I whisper.
“I'm saying that sometimes there are people in the trucks.”
“Oh my god,” I gasp.
“Yeah, I don't think God gets involved very much anymore,” Noah says, his voice taking on a cynical tone.
“So he traffic's people through Wyoming.”
“Sometimes,” Noah repeats.
“And you just stand by and let it happen?” I accuse, my voice going up a notch.
“Just because I know it happens doesn't mean I'm there when it happens,” Noah states, his voice tense, still looking at the road ahead.
“But if you know what happens, then why don't you try to save them. Why haven't you gone to my dad?”
He gives me a sympathetic look before turning back to the road. “The world doesn't work that way, Charlie. Just because your dad is Chief of Police doesn't mean he can stop it. Trafficking is going to happen whether I tell your father or not. No one can save those people. Not even him.”
“You don't know that,” I snap, and I can feel the anger rising inside of me.
“No, I do know that Charlie. I don't know how often Raul traffics people. I don't know his drivers' names, the trucks he uses, or the businesses he's bought to act as a front, or all the warehouses he rents or owns. I don't know if Raul moves people every month or once a year. I just know that he does. Without concrete evidence or a real lead, what I tell you is useless. I have nothing to say to your father that could possibly help him.”
“It doesn't sound like you've tried very hard,” I mutter under my breath.
I feel a fresh wave of goosebumps spring across my skin. Noah talks about knowing dangerous men, and it's easy to forget that he is one of those dangerous individuals. Noah Knight, notorious drug lord, the father of my best friend with connections to some of the worst that society offers.
He certainly doesn’t look like it right now. His dark hair is disheveled and sticking up at odd angles. His greyi
ng beard hides his face but at the same time draws attention to his eyes' unusual color. He cleans up nicely if you can ignore the fact that his once white t-shirt, is now stained with blood. Blood is still seeping down his chest, just much slower now. It’s hard to believe that he could walk out of that diner, let alone drive me back to his apartment.
It amazes me what the human body can accomplish when it is genuinely, motivated to survive. I've heard stories of people falling from airplanes and getting up and walking, or tales of women who would have bled to death, under most circumstances, but fought to save themselves and their children from car accidents and lived. He is one of those miraculous stories.
Noah fought for me, and he didn't have to. He didn't have to investigate why my car was the only one there after hours, nor did he need to unlock the diner's door. When he saw Raul hovering above me, his hands clasped tightly around my throat, he could have walked away and saved himself, but he didn't. The whole thing is kind of throwing me for a loop. Why would a man like him go out on a limb to save a girl like me? He's dangerous, a felon, or at least the closest thing to it. He's everything my father taught me to dislike. Yet, here I am, in the front seat of his car, alive because of him.
Why was it even necessary, though? I turn my head and look out the window, watching as the dark buildings pass by. Why would anyone want to hurt me? I'm nice to everyone; I frown to myself. I can't think of any time that I've cheated or stolen. I'm a terrible liar. So, what's the use of attacking me; It doesn't make any sense.
Maybe Noah is wrong. Perhaps this is nothing; I'm not a target of some deranged drug lord turned murderer. I am a victim of a robbery gone wrong. Maybe he was going to kill me and then rob the place. I saw him, and he couldn't have any witnesses, so of course, he would chase me down. That makes sense, I guess.
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