Best of 2017

by Alexa Riley

  Pushing my way through the throng of bodies, the air stale, humid, the heat suffocating, I said a silent prayer that the line to use the bathroom wasn’t up the ass. But there were still a few girls ahead of me. I leaned against the wall, resting my head back on it, and stared up. I noticed the video camera aimed right at me. There were several in this hallway, two in the back, one pointing at me, and another aimed at the dance floor. I had no doubt there were a dozen more at other locations.

  Although this place was wild on most nights, it also had a reputation for being safe—well, as safe as a nightclub could be. It had just been renovated by the new owner over the last year, a man I’d heard rumors about, and one I never wanted to meet.

  Dark and dangerous. Violent and psychotic. He’s not a person you want to meet in a dark alley. He’d just as soon slit your throat for looking at him the wrong way.

  Rumors, of course, but it was those words, whispered by everyone and anyone, that told me there had to be a little bit of truth behind them.

  I feel sorry for anyone who pisses off Cameron Ashton, because he’ll solve that problem with a shovel and a six-foot-deep hole.

  Pushing off the wall when it was my turn inside, I used the facility, went over to the sink to wash my hands, and stared at myself in the mirror. The girl who stared back looked sad, and not in an emotional way. My reflection showed a hot mess. My eyeliner was starting to smear under my eyes, pieces of my dark hair stuck to my temples, and the lipstick I had on, once red and vibrant, now looked dead and colorless.

  I finished in the restroom, pushed my way through the crowd, and finally opened the door that led outside. The cool night air washed over me, and I involuntarily closed my eyes, moaning softly. It felt good out here, the crush of bodies and heat a distant memory the longer I stood here. The alcohol that had once numbed me, clouding my head with the nothingness, started to clear.

  Maybe I hadn’t been as drunk as I’d thought. Being behind those doors was like another world. The lights, music, the people trying to get off any way they could, brought you down low to a depraved, sticky and disgusting level. It’s what I loved.

  I needed to get home now, had work in the morning, had to get back to my shitty life. I fished my cell out of the miniscule handbag I carried with me, dialed the cab service I had memorized, and told them the address. Coming here for the last year should have had them knowing me by name. As I waited for them to arrive, ten long fucking minutes, I moved away from the front doors and leaned against the wall off to the side. I glanced up, the streetlight close by bright but not quite reaching me fully. Looking to my left, I noticed another security camera, this one pointed at the front doors. Never let it be said this place didn’t have their shit together.

  The sound of a lighter going off to my right had me glancing over. I saw the flare of the flame, smelled the scent of the cigarette as its owner inhaled and then exhaled.

  “Hey, girl.”

  I exhaled. God, of course the guy from inside, the one with the small dick and the need for me to go home with him, would be out here. I didn’t bother replying, didn’t want to engage. Instead I turned my head in the other direction and glanced at a few people across the parking lot smoking. I felt the lightest touch on my arm.

  The hell?

  I glanced to my right, and before I knew what was happening, that light touch from the asshole turned into him pulling me farther into the shadowy side street.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “HEY,” I shouted, but he clapped his hand over my mouth. Panic welled in me so violently I couldn’t think straight. My heart started hammering against my ribs when he pushed me farther into the shadowy abyss.

  He had me pinned to the side of the wall, the brick scraping along my back. There’d be marks on my flesh, but that was the least of my worries. His forearm on my throat cut off my oxygen. I clawed at his arm, my nails digging at his skin. He hissed and put more pressure on my neck. My head started to grow fuzzy, my body going numb. I was far beyond panicking, the survival instinct rising up violently.

  “You stupid fucking cunt,” he said close to my face, his breath smelling stale, the aroma of the cigarette he’d been smoking making me sick to my stomach. I might have thrown up if I hadn’t been struggling to breathe

  The sound of a belt buckle being undone, of a zipper being pulled down, brought reality crashing down on me. I wouldn’t be able to get out of this, not without a hell of a lot more damage than just the scrapes on my back. The sound of people coming in and out of the club was so close, yet so far away.

  “You should have taken me up on my offer to come back to my place. I would have been gentle with you.”

  Lies.

  “But now you’ll get fucked in this dirty alley like the whore you are.”

  I felt his erection against my belly. I tried to say something, to yell out, do anything that would make me more than a victim waiting to get attacked.

  The flash of headlights pulling into the alley had my attacker stilling and glancing to the side. He kept his forearm on my throat but tucked himself back into his pants. He moved closer to me so I had no doubt that whoever was in that car couldn’t see his arm pressing into me, cutting off my oxygen. It was clear he didn’t care or was too drunk to have a problem with someone seeing us in this position. But I supposed it might look like two people about to get it on…both consenting, even though I wanted to knee this fucker in the balls.

  “Make one sound and I’ll find out where you live, come in through your window, and really do some damage.”

  God, was the frat-boy appearance just a cover for his psychotic nature? But no way in hell I’d take his threat seriously, even if he meant one word. This would be my only chance to get help. Because even if I did nothing, he’d still destroy me.

  The car was a good ten feet away, the headlights shining right on us, the vehicle just idling now. It seemed like forever before the sound of a door opening and closing came louder than the rush of conversation from the club goers just around the corner. And then I heard feet hitting pavement in an easy, relaxed pace; then the sight of a large body—very large—came into view. I could only assume it was a man, given the size. He stayed behind the lights, the shadows wrapping around his tall frame.

  He stared at us for long seconds, and for some reason all I could do was stare right back. I started to struggle. I caught the asshole holding me off guard and managed to push him back enough that his forearm was no longer pressed painfully into my throat. I sucked in oxygen, sweet, life-sustaining oxygen. My throat burned, and a flush stole over me, the pain of being able to breathe again claiming me.

  “You fucking bitch,” the asshole next to me hissed.

  And then there was the sound of another door opening and closing, of a gun being cocked. The shadowy man tipped his head to the side. It was the slightest move, but it caused whoever had just gotten out of the car to start walking toward us.

  “The fuck?” the asshole pinned against me said in a hushed voice, his eyes squinted, the headlights blinding us. I feared the worst, thinking maybe I’d misjudged whoever had shown up as being able to help. Maybe they were worse than the fucker who’d attacked me.

  And then the guy was pulled away from me, the sweet relief of his body no longer on mine urging me to run. But I was frozen in place, the dark shapes still covered in the shadows, the headlights still blinding me, making it impossible to see anything clearly. I rubbed my throat, the burn almost unbearable.

  And then a body was thrown against the side of the building, and I realized it was the would-be frat boy. I stood there shocked, unable to move, as I watched a man approach. He was in front of the car, his body illuminated by the intense yellow glow of his headlights. But his face was still concealed. An air of danger came from this man like a punch to my gut. I sucked in more oxygen, this time not having anything to do with the fact I was struggling to breathe.

  I stared at the man currently holding the asshole up against the brick wall by his
neck. Whoever the man was, he was big, supporting another human as if it was nothing at all. I covered my chest, despite the fact that I was dressed. I was bared, like I was so open my secrets were exposed. When I glanced at the man who’d tilted his head, who’d sent his guard dog to do his bidding, I could feel his gaze on me. I might not be able to see his face, but I felt his eyes on me like fingers touching me, stroking me, holding me down.

  And then my heart seized in my chest as I watched him lift his arm, the gun I’d heard being cocked most likely the one he held. He took a step closer, not to me, but to the body pinned to the wall. The guy was struggling to breathe, clawing at the grip the man had on his throat.

  Just like me. A taste of his own medicine.

  He kept moving closer to the man pinned to the wall, but I knew he watched me, knew he was calculating all of this. I thought I’d be able to see him when he moved away from the headlights. But once he was standing next to his partner or guard dog or whatever the hell the guy was to him, I still couldn’t make out his face. I knew I wouldn’t have known him anyway, but I wanted to look into the face of the man who’d saved me.

  Saved me?

  Yes, he’d saved me from a very dark hole, pulled me out so I could breathe again. But I now had this feeling, this sensation like honey on my skin, thick, almost suffocating me again, that this man was far more dangerous than anything I’d ever come across.

  He said nothing, and the only sound that penetrated my foggy brain was of the man struggling, of his wheezes and gasps as he tried to claw at the hand holding him, keeping him up. I felt nothing, no sympathy for him, nothing but the need to see him hurt the way he’d hurt me. And then, my lungs clenching painfully with every inhalation I made, I watched the man push away his partner and take his place in front of Frat Boy. Instinct, survival told me to run, to get the hell out of here because this was going straight into hell, where the flames licked at me, threatening to burn me alive.

  The man had his head turned in my direction, the fucking shadows making him seem almost unreal, like maybe this was all a hallucination. He was so big, taller, thicker, and more muscular than the man pressed to the wall in front of him. Still he stayed silent; still he watched me. And then he lifted his hand, placed the barrel of the gun against my attacker’s forehead, right in the damn center, and everything seemed to stand still. I knew enough about guns, had seen plenty of movies, to know the silencer attached would make this clean, would have no one panicking and rushing away at the sound of a gunshot.

  I took a step forward, not sure why I’d do that. It was the equivalent of trying to touch a chained, starved dog, wanting to run my hands over it even though I knew it would attack me, tear me from limb to limb.

  “No,” I said. He might have been about to attack me, rape me, God, who knew what else. I couldn’t stand here and watch some man shoot him. I didn’t want that hanging over me, even if he deserved that and more. “I don’t want that,” I whispered. A long moment passed, maybe a second, maybe an hour. It seemed like ages where my body was stiff, my heart thundering, the man with the gun staring at me. He didn’t pull the trigger, even though maybe he should have. I felt dizzy, my head swimming, the feeling of falling having nothing to do with the drinks I’d had or the situation that had transpired up until right now. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it,” I whispered again, but even though I didn’t know this man, I knew that he wasn’t the type to give a shit about what was worth it or not. He did what he did because he wanted to.

  I knew that as well as I knew the man with the gun pointed to his head could be shot dead at any second.

  I was very aware of the blood rushing through my veins, drowning everything else out. The frat guy was saying something, but I couldn’t hear it, couldn’t focus on anything but the man in front of me who held so much power it could have brought me to my knees.

  After a tense second he took a step back, the gun still in his hand, his focus now on the asshole who’d had me in a choke hold. He still hadn’t said one word, not when he cocked the weapon, and not when he had his thug slam the frat-guy up against the building. And he didn’t say anything when he lifted his arm and rammed the butt of the gun at the asshole’s temple. The guy slid to the ground, maybe knocked out, maybe trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable.

  And then there was nothing but him and me, staring at each other, the air thick, the world washing away. He turned and left me standing there, his hand at his side, the gun still in his grasp. The flash of a ring caught my attention, a thick one wrapped around his pinky, seeming much more ominous than it should. He got back in the car and drove off. I followed the car with my gaze, watching it disappear down the road, knowing he was staring at me the same as I was him.

  I had no idea what in the hell had happened.

  I didn’t know if I’d ever be the same.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I WIPED the sleep from my eyes, my dreams from last night consisting of a big, dark man. Even though I couldn’t see his face, I knew he was more dangerous than anything I could have come up against. He’d had ropes around me, laughing in this deep, sick, and twisted way that had made my humanity run and bury itself deep inside of me.

  I’d slept for shit because of it. The dreams coupled with what I’d witnessed last night had been enough to keep me up, a warm glass of tea in my hand…the only thing stable enough to tie me to reality in that moment.

  “Darryl’s got your check in back,” Rita, the assistant manager of this shitty coffee shop, said as she passed me.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled. I had bills stacked against each other back in my shitty apartment, and although I worked overtime, I still wasn’t making it, was still struggling just to survive.

  The story of my life.

  I finished tying on my apron and walked over to Darryl’s office. My pervert of a boss was hunched over his desk, his cell pressed up to his ear as he barked into the receiver.

  “I don’t care what he said. I asked him to be here an hour ago.” A moment of silence passed before he spoke again. “Listen, if he doesn’t show up, then I’ll give his position to someone else.” He disconnected the call and tossed the phone. I stood there for a second before clearing my throat. Darryl turned and looked at me.

  Okay, he’s not in a pervert mood, not when he’s mean mugging me like that.

  I’d take his anger over him slipping in lewd comments any day.

  “Rita said my check was here?”

  He started pushing papers aside until he got to the stack of envelopes. After flipping through them and finally finding mine, he handed it over without looking at me.

  “Can you come in tomorrow an hour early?” he said, still not looking at me. He was such a shitty fucking boss.

  “Yeah.” I needed the extra money, needed another job really. As it was, working at the coffee shop wasn’t cutting it. My electric was going to get cut off any day, and I was barely scraping by enough to pay my rent.

  Cutting out the bar scene is going to have to be a priority.

  I hated myself on some level for going out at all, for spending what little money I had. But if I didn’t get out, I’d kill myself. Maybe not literally, but I’d be stuck in that shitty apartment, no heat or electricity, staring at the wall. I’d be waiting for the world to swallow me up, because that would have been the only thing I had going for me.

  “Actually, I was wondering if you had any overtime?”

  He looked at me then and shook his head. Man, he had a bug up his ass big-time today, but I’d take it over his wandering eyes and his crude comments.

  “Sorry, I’m strapped for hours. What you are scheduled is all you’re getting.” And that was it. He waved at me to leave, and I forced myself not to make an under the breath comment.

  Asshole.

  I got to work because thinking about my problems, about the fact I’d have to find another job, wasn’t what I wanted to dwell on. I had no one to ask for help, no one that really gave a damn a
bout me. I was on my own in every possible way.

  Twenty-two years old and a shell of a woman, an empty vessel that has nothing good going for her.

  I shouldn’t have had to feel alive by clubbing and getting drunk. I should have had some light and happiness in my world. But then I knew that wasn’t how reality worked.

  I SAT on the curb at the back of the coffee shop. I had three more hours before my shift was over with, before I’d go back to the crushing realization of where I actually was in this world. It was times like this where the stress was almost too much to handle, where it tightened its hold on my lungs, squeezing me, trying to make me go blue and wither away into nothing, that I wished I had a cigarette. They were vile things, but smoking would have given me a small out, a tiny thing to focus on as the world went upside down around me.

  The sound of the door opening had me glancing back. Marshall came through, a white trash bag in his hand, his ball cap crooked. He looked just as worn-out on the outside as I felt on the inside.

  “Hey,” he said, his smile genuine.

  “Hey.” I focused on the back of the building in front of me. It was an antique shop. Maybe they were hiring? I felt someone close by, watching me, and looked over to see Marshall staring at me. “What’s up?”

  “I heard you talking to Darryl about needing extra hours.”

  I nodded, not sure where this was going. Marshall was lower on the totem pole than I was, and he barely worked as it was.

  He looked around as if he was afraid, as if he didn’t want anyone overhearing. Then he came closer, the smell of coffee beans coming from him in the same strength I assumed it came from me.