Truth Be Told

by Holly Ryan

  “Hey,” I answer. Everything inside me tells me there’s something off about this. He’s being way too fake-casual for a simple request to get his coat back. I need to get back to Lorelei.

  I avoid meeting his eyes and try to slide past him, but he’s blocking my way with his sheer mass. Instinctively, I reach down. My hand hits the bare skin of my leg. I pinch my eyes closed. My switchblade. Fuck.

  He ignores the awkward move I just made and tilts his head toward the club. “I saw you on stage.”

  I cross both arms in front of me and now embrace the bundle of clothes over my most vulnerable parts. I’m sure he did, but I don’t recognize him.

  He looks me up and down. I’ve never felt more vulnerable. I turn my head away.

  “What are you doing way back here?” he asks. “You look cold.”

  I give a nervous laugh, and it comes out lighthearted, just as I’d hoped. I don’t want to give him the impression that I’m suspicious, or certainly that I’m verging on panic. “I wasn’t feeling well, but I’m okay now.” I shrug my shoulders up to my ears. “I’m freezing.”

  He stuffs his hands into his pockets and says nothing.

  “Well,” I say, “I’d better be heading back. Thanks for checking on me, but I’m okay. Really.” I try once more to pass him.

  He puts his hand up, stopping me. “Wait just a minute. Do you, ah–” he rubs the back of his neck, “I’m not sure how to say this. I’ve never asked for anything like this before.”

  Oh, God. I have an idea of what’s on his mind, but I don’t dare think it.

  He laughs. “I guess I’ll just come out and say it. Do you offer any…special services?”

  I’m frozen, both literally and figuratively.

  “Wait,” he says when he sees my lack of reaction. He pulls out a wad of cash and flicks through it in front of me. Two hundred dollars, all in fifties, I note as I count it with my eyes. Bastard. He’s actually serious.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t offer anything like that. None of us do. It’s illegal.”

  He laughs again, but this time the laugh is deeper, more menacing. This time, he’s done putting on a show. “Illegal…” A look of insult crosses him and he shoves the money away, then looks over his shoulder again. “What can I do to change your mind?”

  I feel my pulse start to pound in my neck. Maybe if I count the beats, it’ll distract me enough until this moment passes. One. Two. The beats get faster, closer together. ThreeFourFiveSix.

  “Huh?” He bends down, trying to look into my eyes to pry some kind of answer out of me.

  I don’t let him. I continue to look away. Just relax, Stella, and assess the situation. I take a deep breath in. Okay. The guy’s talking dumb, but he looks innocent enough, not that that means anything… and he’s definitely been drinking, which means a hell of a lot. One thing’s for sure: I’d feel better right now if I had my knife.

  I snap back to the present and I’m greeted by his face, and his breath stinking of beer and his eyes glassed over. He’s still trying to catch my line of sight.

  I shake my head then place my hand lightly upon his chest, an innocent attempt to move him out of the way and free myself of him once and for all. “No. You can’t change my mind, sir. I’m sorry, but like I said, I don’t do that kind of thing. I’m just going to–”

  He grabs my hand at the wrist and twists it around. He still has a smile on his face, one that reaches almost to his ears. “Oh, come on. Come on.”

  I place my hand on top of his, using my fingers to try to pry myself free. “Let go of me.”

  He doesn’t release me, but he does loosen his grip a little. Then he moves us both back toward the wall. “Come on.” With his free hand, he reaches back into his pocket and pulls the money out again. “This is more than two hundred dollars. Right here.” He shakes it. “Don’t you need two hundred dollars?”

  “No, I don’t, and let go of me!” Try as I might to sound brave, my determination is no match for his strength. As I twist in his grasp, he coils around me like a vine; it’s clear that he has me, and he won’t be letting go any time soon.

  Then, in a flash of movement, he releases his pent-up fury and throws the money on the ground. It lands next to where I’d gotten sick. He shakes his head. “Look, I’m being nice here. Don’t make me–”

  He’s interrupted by the distinct sounds of someone approaching. Eagerly, I peer past his shoulder. Two other men have broken off from the crowd and are making their way over to us, their expressions curious and confused. They must have heard me raise my voice.

  Thank God. I let out a sigh of relief. If he’d kept this up, my next move would have been to scream, and that’s something I’d rather not have to do. Screaming would have made it official. It would have meant I’m really in trouble, that I really am being… attacked.

  Immediately, he releases me and takes a step back. My hand falls to my side and I rub at my wrist where he’d held me. It’s sore.

  “What’s up?” one of the men asks, the question directed to neither of us in particular. He comes to a stop in front of us, along with his friend.

  The man in front of me answers for me. “Nothing at all. Just working out a deal with the lady here.”

  “A deal, huh?” the same man says. I squint as I analyze the tone in his voice. He sounds either intrigued or suspicious. I pray it’s the latter.

  “There’s no deal,” I say quickly, stepping forward. The look in my captor’s eyes let me know he wants to stop me, but he doesn’t dare with witnesses around. “I’d like to go back now.”

  I’m safe. I have to be. There are two other people here with me, three total now, and they can’t all be bad. Can they? I move forward again, only to bump into one of their unmoving bodies. I look up. The alcohol on this man’s breath hits my eyes. He’s much taller than the first man, and as they both return my gaze, all I can see are their spacey, piercing eyes shrouded in dark circles. One of them has a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. My lungs rise and fall in a way they never have before, and my throat tightens as though I need to cry. I swallow the feeling away. I extend a hand behind me as I back up, my fingertips feeling for the wall but hoping for enough space to move. I start to shiver, either from the freezing cold or the fear; it’s impossible to say which because both are pulling at every inch of my body.

  The two newcomers start to inch closer, and now there’s mischief in all three pairs of eyes.

  When I hear my own voice, it’s full of trembling. “Please move,” is all I can say. I don’t mean to say it, especially the please part, but it’s all that comes out. I immediately regret it. I just said please to these jerks? Get it together, Stella. You know how to defend yourself. Remember what you learned at the academy. But I can’t. I reach for the memories, in the back of my mind, and come back empty-handed. And I try to scream, but the trembling has evolved into silence.

  Their response is to finish closing in on me, and one of them extends a hand toward me, possibly making for my neck. I recoil. I want to sink away. I want to be anywhere but here.

  I’m about to do just that – sink down against the wall that I’ve been backed against, simply because there’s nowhere else to go, when I spot another shimmer of movement.

  “Please,” I think to myself, and I don’t realize I’ve spoken it out loud until it’s already left my lips. I have no idea who this person is, but I’m begging the universe for this to be someone who will help me.

  The first man grins with delight at the realization that he can continue his quest, and he leans in, his mouth making for my neck. Whatever happens now, I’m about to be changed forever, one way or another. I’d just rather not have to witness it firsthand, so I close my eyes.

  Right then, when I feel like this could quite possibly be the end of me and my entire little world – or at least my relative innocence – I hear the clap of a hand against clothing, followed by a yank. I still don’t dare open my eyes, and I don’t dare think
this could be anything other than more shit that’s about to go down. I ready myself for the worst that’s yet to come. It feels safer. So much for Stella Montgomery as she once was, I think. Here she lies.

  “Who do you think you are?”

  “Stella,” comes a deep, rustic voice. It’s commanding and firm. It has no time for bullshit. “Open your eyes.”

  I blink a few times. His hair is dark and unkempt, and his thick layer of stubble matches the rest of the careless look. His eyes meet mine, and I’m relieved to see that they’re tired, or maybe just pained, but they’re not drunk. Then, they change. A curtain of ferocity closes across those eyes before he turns from me. Even deeper chills, this time ones of realization, not fear, run through me. He’s the man from the corner, the man who’d been silently watching me with those nearly-invisible eyes. I recognize him first by that unbuttoned shirt, but seeing his features this closely leave no doubt in my mind that it’s him.

  He steps closer, placing himself between me and the three others, and suddenly I’m shielded by his body, facing his back, and this man doesn’t reek of alcohol or dirty thrift store clothes; he smells like clean, masculine flesh, and freshly washed laundry. Most importantly, he smells safe. I never knew that “safe” was actually a smell, but it sure as hell is.

  “I said, who do you think you are? What the hell is this?” All this from the man who was close to burying his mouth against my neck.

  The man protecting me doesn’t answer, but clenches his fist at his side. Looking around him, I can see one of the men standing a ways away. He’s partly bent over and he’s clutching at his shoulder with a grimace on his face.

  The stranger turns back to me. He says loudly, “I’ve been looking for you.” His voice has authority laced throughout it, as though he doesn’t care what happens as a result of his words because he has nothing left to lose. That might be the scariest thing of all.

  I furrow my brow.

  He raises his. “You weren’t waiting where we were supposed to meet. It’s two. I was looking for you.”

  I get what he’s trying to do, but why he’s doing it is beyond me. I want to trust this man, but I don’t. Who does he think he is, anyway? Like I should trust him to save me after two others wanted to join in? How do I know he’s not trying to trick me? As far as I’m concerned, he’s just another client, and look at what clients can do to you. This all goes to prove that I the last thing I should do is trust him.

  He holds out his hand.

  I can’t afford to consider my options. I have nothing else to lose. I release my hold on the pile of coats and let them drop to the ground. I place my newly-free hand in his, and together we start to walk away. I instinctively turn my head and see the three with looks of shock and disappointment on their faces. They mumble among themselves, and one of them lights up a cigarette. The first man, the one who’d offered me the cash and who I thought to be the most harmless of the three, flips us off.

  “Don’t look back,” my savior tells me as we keep going.

  I concentrate on my steps and trying not to fall in these heels, which is even harder now that my legs literally feel wobbly. I can’t stop feeling their piercing eyes on me as we walk away, either. That hurts. The feeling almost takes my breath away, and I have to force myself to try to relax so that I can continue to breathe normally. So instead, I focus on his hand, the warmth of it and the softness. I don’t even notice that he’s been holding a coat in his free hand this entire time, his coat, a black business-type sports coat, and I also don’t notice when he pauses to throw it across my back before continuing on.

  The relieving sight of Lorelei brushes all other thoughts aside, including ones of the man who helped me. I slide out of his hand and run to her with the last of my remaining strength. “Lorelei,” I breathe. It feels so good to be back in her familiar presence.

  “Stella?” She turns from the man she’d been talking and smiling with. Things have remained casual here, without a hint of drama. She had no idea I was in any trouble. “What’s wrong?”

  I hold my forehead. I’m exhausted, and I need to find my boss to report all this to her and to take the rest of the night off. After I do that, there’s nothing I want more than to get home, lock my door, and slip out of this outfit and into a hot bath with candles, a good book, and a big slice of cherry pie.

  “You’re freezing,” she says. “What happened?”

  The fire truck must have arrived several minutes ago because the alarm now shuts off. The firemen start to exit the building and give everyone the all-clear to head back inside.

  “Here. We need to get you in where it’s warm,” she continues, briskly rubbing my shoulders up and down from underneath the fabric covering me. I didn’t realize how cold I truly am. I feel hot. I guess adrenaline will do that to you. The coat is helping now, though. It was already warm when he put it on me, and the silk interior feels comforting and smooth against my skin. I stop.

  The coat.

  My rescuer.

  I’m about to explain what happened to Lorelei, but my mind comes back to life. I remember what happened, who helped me. I turn, scanning the crowd for any sight of him. I can’t see much through the crowd as they try to make their way back inside the building, but finally I spot a tall man with dark, mussy hair. He’s walking away from the building and crowd with his hands in his pockets and his head down… and he doesn’t have a coat on. I rush up and touch the sleeve of his upper arm. The man looks over his shoulder and then pulls away from me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, my stomach dropping. It’s not him.

  He scans my body as he continues walking away, no doubt surprised to see a woman approach him who’s dressed – or rather, undressed – the way I am, and then he shakes his head and leaves me.

  I turn back around.

  It’s safe to say my heart is somewhat broken; I desperately want to thank the man, not to mention return what he kindly gave me. But really, the biggest part of me desperately wants to learn what it was about him when I saw him watching me dance – why he acted so mysteriously, and why he disappeared so quickly once he knew I was watching.

  And especially why, minutes later, he reappeared when he did.

  Although no words were exchanged between us, he ignited something inside me in the midst of my dance, in that moment of confusion, and he ignited it further still when he pulled me to safety, away from those who were dead set on hurting me.

  I’m alone now. Most everyone has returned to the club, and from here I can hear the music resume. The bass pumps through my chest. I’m about to return to Lorelei when I hear the screech of tires. I turn, holding his coat closed so tightly around me that it strains against the nape of my neck. I’m just in time to see a black BMW sedan speed its way out of the parking lot, pull out into the dark, empty street and in the blink of an eye, disappear down the road.

  COHEN

  I sit up in bed, startled by a sudden pounding against my bedroom window. I fling off the covers and walk the few feet from the bed to the window, drawing open the curtains and peering outside. It’s storming out, and the tree that lives on this side of the house whips in the wind.

  My father planted that tree before he passed, leaving his business to me, and that tree has been through exactly one hundred and forty-two storms. Major storms, at least. That tree is one tough son of a bitch. My father was a self-taught meteorologist; it was a kind of quirky hobby of his, and one that he shared with me at each possible opportunity while I was growing up. The numbers of those opportunities just so happened to reach one hundred and forty-two until finally, one day, there were no more available to us.

  We haven’t had a big storm like this since he passed.

  One hundred and forty-three, I think to myself.

  I lift my arms above my head to pull the drapes together, but I pause before I can complete it. There’s something outside, in the storm and behind my father’s tree, but I can’t quite see what it is from this angle. I lean forw
ard to get a better look, closing the distance between myself and the window’s glass, which fogs in response to my breath.

  I think I see someone standing behind the tree, near the road. There’s a figure there, standing motionless, shrouded in rain. From this view, it looks to be female; I think I catch a glimpse of long hair blowing in the wind.

  What is someone doing outside my house, in the middle of the night? And in a storm?

  I no longer bother with closing the curtains. Instead, I grab my robe from where I last laid it, slopped over the back of my computer chair, and head downstairs.

  I take the long, spiral staircase multiple steps at a time, turning on a few lights as I pass. There was once a time when pulling a stunt like this in the middle of the night wouldn’t have been possible without me waking the help. My footsteps thud and echo in the tall ceiling. My butler, who lived with us for several years, had ears like a hawk’s eyes. He’d have been asleep at this hour, and I’m sure he would have joined me once he heard what was going on. He’d probably have come out, told me to go back to bed, that he’d take care of it himself. You couldn’t put anything past my security guard, either. It seemed like that man never slept.

  It’s times like these that I question my decision to let them go – and not because I’m afraid.

  Outside, the storm rages. Rain hits the pavement and creates a steady, deafening roar. It’s so thick that I have to use my hand to shield my eyes in order to see, as if I’m being blinded by the sun.