Trying to calm my heart, I moved my eyes to meet his. It’s hard to explain the feeling you get when you look someone in the eyes. Usually, an emotion strikes you, whether it be joy, or anger, or even confusion. They said eyes were the gateway to the soul. If that was so, I was almost sure his were dead. If the color of his eyes was any indication, it was frozen over.
“You’re little boyfriend and his club…” he started. Beneath his perfectly manicured and gray streaked mustache, his lip twitched a couple of times, the only indication he was anything but calm and collected. “I need to get a message across. Since the one that I left for Romeo didn’t seem to hit home hard enough.”
His gripped lessened just slightly, and I fought the urge to take a big breath and suck in as much air as possible just in case he was fucking with my head. I just needed to listen to what he had to say and get the fuck out of there without pissing him off. I could have sworn I felt my heart stop when his hand began moving down the center of my chest, his eyes following. Just as he reached the curve of my breast, I knew I couldn’t let it happen, I couldn’t just sit here and let him touch or hurt me.
I wasn’t that girl anymore.
I refused to be that girl.
With all my strength I smacked his hand away and then shoved at his chest, the force behind it making the patrol car rock. I opened my mouth to scream, but a harsh blow to my cheek threw my head to the side, slamming it against the no doubt reinforced window. Dazed and in pain, I groaned loudly, curling my body toward the door and reaching for my head, wondering if I’d split it open. My cheek already felt like it was two sizes too big, and I was trying really hard not to just openly sob due to the pain being that excruciating.
Unfortunately, it didn’t end there.
He grabbed a fist full of my hair at the back of my head, the fresh injury causing me to scream out in pain as he wrenched it so far back that my body was bent back over the center console, and I was almost in his lap.
I didn’t know what to do. Whether I should scream for help. But all I could do was a struggle and try to fight back. Even though my vision was still blurred, and in my head, everything seemed a little foggy, all I knew was I was in trouble, and I needed to get the hell out of here.
“Stupid little bitch,” he muttered, using his free hand to slap my cheek again, the one I was pretty sure he’d just driven his fist into, and that was now blowing up like a balloon.
Twisting and turning, I struggled against his hold, my feet kicking at the door and the window trying to make as much noise as possible. I spotted the police call unit that was on the dash and reached out, not having any idea what I was doing, but wondering if I could maybe alert someone on the other end, or at least do enough to have him panic. My fingers brushed the microphone, and with a growl deep in his throat, he suddenly pushed me away, sending me flying back against the door. My hand fumbled as I fought to find the silver door handle, the sleek and smooth surface under my fingers lit my body on fire and shot my heart up into my throat.
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
At first, it felt like a paper cut, or when you catch your finger on the edge of a brand new knife. It was so sharp and defined. There’s that moment where you think ‘ouch,’ and maybe you curse for those two brief seconds before you feel the blood rush quickly to the surface and spill over the edge. The sting was distinct, and it’s almost like you can hear it cutting through your skin.
It’s chilling.
And it was all I was feeling right then as I felt him run a hunting blade from just behind my ear, down my neck.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t see what he’d done, but as he pulled the blade away, I just stared at him in horror. The smallest amount of blood staining the pointed tip of his knife.
My first instinct was to reach up and hold my hand over it. I was already struggling given the two strikes to my head, but with this added, I was fighting hard to stay awake and somewhat alert. It stung badly. But I could already tell it wasn’t deep and only a couple of inches long.
But it was bleeding enough to scare the fucking shit at me.
Bleeding is bad.
Make it stop.
Hurry!
I stayed still, my eyes focused and narrowed on him as I pressed my palm against the cut, while my back pressed against the door like an animal stuck in a cage. My fight or flight instincts were alive and well, and I’d already exhausted both. Now, I was in a lot of pain and ready to do whatever it took to get out of there alive.
“You’re fucking crazy,” I snapped, glaring at him, trying to keep my eye on every move he made in case he came at me again.
“You done?”
“Screw you.”
He didn’t respond. The both of just staring at each other, his glassy emotionless eyes glaring straight through me as I huffed and puffed in exertion. After a few moments had passed, he decisively spoke again. “Finally.” He slipped the blade back into an obviously specially designed holster beside his gun and baton. “You listening?”
Quickly, I nodded.
I just wanted this over.
I wanted to go home.