by Jenika Snow
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.
OUT NOW
Where to find the authors:
Facebook
Newsletter
Facebook
Newsletter