Charity's Warrior (2 page)

T
he hand over my mouth and nose is as infuriating and terrifying as the arm around my neck. Maybe it was even worse that I have no idea where it came from, or that I now have no control, like a puppet on strings. A powerful scream was stifled into nothing more than a short, muffled whimper with no escape against the stronghold. My hands grab and rip at the arms around me, but their masculine strength is intense and unyielding. Somewhere beneath me, I feel my heels sliding along the floor as I am dragged towards the back, further into the quiet, away from everyone.

My head swims and my hands fail me. The arm around my neck is stopping more than my breath, and all my senses, sight, sound, are lost into a shrinking tunnel. Everything was lost with the blood supply cut. I give into the emptiness, letting it pour around me, filling up the spaces. It was easier to surrender, better.

Nothing was left but a pinpoint, and it had only been seconds ago that I was a world away from here, sitting by myself eating dinner, having a drink after a long, wasted day. Now it was all just a dot after a trip to the bathroom, a trip that I didn't even get to make. The hands had grabbed me from behind in the dim hallway just as I pushed the bathroom door open to go in.

The pinpoint disappears.

There was a hard, sudden thud that ruined the peaceful quiet. I'm not able to decipher if I had heard the thud, or felt it, but the world shook from it. It made a crack in the blackness, a sliver of color and sound that was growing quickly.

Shouting voices banged into my throbbing head, which seemed to swell and shrink with my pulse. They are deep and thundering, as if the gods are arguing over me. And they seem so far above me, until I realize that I am on the floor, and it suddenly makes a little sense. All types of feet had surrounded me, and several pairs of hands scoop me off the floor.

Lights and faces bobble in front of me as I am clumsily carried into an office and laid out on a short couch. Softer, but no less panicked, their voices came into me.

"Are you okay?"

"Did you know him?"

"Does anything hurt?"

I take a quick, deep breath, scream, and pass out.

I WAS ONLY OUT
for a few seconds. I don't even know why it happened, I mean,
Christ
, I was safe now! Maybe that's just what your body does, gives you enough to get through the moment. But now I can feel the embarrassment seeping into my face.

A woman kneeling in front of me, my waitress I think, has a single tear hanging on her right eye. That pisses me off because now my eyes are swelling and I didn't want to do that, not right now, not in front of people I don't know.

I sit up and adjust myself. "What happened?" I ask, doing everything I can to stop the quivering in my voice.

The other two in the room are men. One of them is definitely the cook, judging by his white, stained apron, but I'm not sure about the other.

"Some guy grabbed you, tried to drag you out the back door," the cook said through a heavy Spanish accent.

The other guy spoke up. "The police are on their way. I called them right away." He seemed very nervous and jerky. I think his voice cracked more than mine. He fixed his inexpensive tie, making sure it was lying flat across his blue dress shirt. There is something so fragile about him that it's hard to believe he may have helped.

"Did all of you stop him? Did one of you save me?"

"No," the cook said, swinging his black hair away from his slightly wrinkled forehead, "it was so fast it was over before we knew. One of the other customers stopped him."

"Justin," the waitress said, her dark, pretty eyes now tear free and dry. "Justin helped you. He knocked him so hard he dropped you. I swear I thought he was going to kill the guy."

"He just might be," the cook said.

I didn't know what he meant by that, but the other faces told me they did, they knew exactly what he meant.

"Where is he?" I asked. "I'd like to meet him, to thank him." I tried to push myself up.

"You need to just sit," the man in the tie said.

The waitress agreed, nodding and holding me down gently by my arms.

"He's not here," the cook said sharply.

My eyes snapped in his direction, capturing his face in my view.

"He ran out the back after him," he finished.

"Did you know him, the one that grabbed you, do you know who he was?" the waitress asked.

"I didn't even see him. I have no idea," I answered flatly.

"That was some crazy shit," the cook said.

Yeah, that about summed up my thoughts too.

We all suddenly seemed to notice an odd murmur coming down the hall. It had been loud before when I was eating, lots of voices and laughter. Now it was so quiet the overhead music seemed loud. I had brought the night to a screeching halt.

Great!
They were all going to be staring at me like some freak.

"I'm going to go and take care of the front and wait for the cops," the other man said, obviously the manager of the place.

We can hear him as soon as he left the room, telling everyone things were ok, that I was ok. He told them all to go back to their business. I can picture him ushering people back to the bar and their tables, asking who needed their food warmed or remade, anything to get their focus off the hallway.

"Your neck is pretty red, are you hurt?" the waitress asked, concerned.

Just as I tell her I am fine, a door creaks open from the back end of the hall. My skin tenses, hoping it is only the police, or the guy that helped me. We can't see from the office, so the cook leans his head out.

"You find him?" he asked.

"No, the bastard ran too fast. I lost him after a few blocks. Is she okay?"

Oh my god, his voice sounded sexy. My embarrassment tripled. I can only hope he doesn't look as good as he sounds. This was not my finest hour. My nerves are shot and have me shaking like an addict, and my eyes are still swollen and trying to hold back tears. And apparently my neck is a red mess.

"Yeah," the cook said, "she's right in here."

He steps into the office and the waitress instinctively moves over out of his way, as if he'd commanded it. My hand is in his, not sure when that happened.

"Are you alright, does anything hurt at all?" Justin asked.

"Just my pride," I answer.

Christ! I had trouble looking at him, into his eyes. They are such a bright green they seem to have specs of gold in them. It should be the furthest thing from my mind. I should just be concerned about me and what had happened tonight, but I can't stop myself. His face had been chiseled in granite and so the artist had been forced to do the same with his body. You could see how thin but solid he was right through his black Gucci shirt. All I can really think about at the moment is wanting to be wrapped up in his strong arms, to have my face touching that small area of flesh above his collar.

The heat was back in my face again. This time it was worse because it started with a twinge between my legs that I felt everyone in the room knew about.

"You mind?" he asked, motioning at the empty cushion beside me.

I nodded yes for him to sit just as I realized he was still a little short of breath, and I remembered that he had run out after the guy for me. He slid himself beside me on the couch. Heat radiates off him, at least it seems like it does.

"Listen," I said, "I can't thank you enough for helping me. He had me, and if it wasn't for you I'd be gone now. Maybe—"

"Don't think about the maybe," he interrupted. "Don't worry about any of it. I'm glad I could help. When I saw him grab you, I got so god damn mad I had to do something. I didn't even think. I don't think I even breathed."

"Still," I insisted, "I'm so grateful."

He smiles at me. I believe it's the first time I've ever wanted to lick a man’s lips. I could tell myself that maybe I felt I owed him for saving me, but really I just wanted to taste his perfect mouth.

Suddenly, his hand is reaching for me and my heart thumps. I don't know what I was thinking, but he simply moves my collar to see my neck.

"Are you sure you're okay? I don't see any bruising yet, but he had you pretty tight. And your back, you landed hard when he dropped you, it's not hurting you?"

"I'm a tough girl," I said, fixing my dark blonde hair back over my shoulder when he removed his hand. I’m trying to hide my neck since I know I look like hell. I realize his hair is only slightly darker than mine.

He smiles again. "I'm Justin," he says, offering me his hand. "Justin Collins."

I shook it as I said, "Charity Powers."

"It's a pleasure, Charity; I just wish it was under better circumstances."

We both turn as we hear the sound of hard shoes clapping down the hallway. I didn't notice until now how quickly the bar had gone back to sounding normal. An officer rounded the doorway and came in. The waitress and cook instinctively backed off to give him room.

He stopped and stood right in front of me, assessing everyone for a moment. "Are you hurt?" is the first thing out of his mouth.

"I'm okay. He choked me out, but I'm okay now," I answer.

"Okay," he said. "An ambulance is coming. They'll check you out to be sure when they get here, but you don't have to go with them if you don't want to."

I nod that I understand.

"What's your name?" he asks.

"Charity Powers."

"Can you tell me what happened, Miss Powers?" he asked, writing my name down in a small, leather-bound notebook.

I nod again. "I had eaten dinner and was finishing a drink—"

"Were you two together?" he interrupts, pointing between me and Justin.

I answer, "No, he helped me, though. I went to the bathroom, but before I got there I was grabbed from behind. There was an arm around my neck choking me and a hand on my mouth and nose. I never saw who it was. He was dragging me toward the back. I was passing out, and then I was dropped. There was some commotion, but I was mostly out of it, and he was gone by the time I knew what was going on."

"You helped?" the officer said to Justin.

"Yes." Justin's voice stayed calm. "I had noticed her, Charity, when she was eating. I was attracted to her, so of course, I kept an eye on her."

I was blushing again. I'd had no idea that he'd noticed me, and he wasn't a bit nervous to blurt it out.

He kept right on talking. "When I saw her head to the bathroom, and I knew she might leave soon, I watched her. She hadn't even noticed me at all yet," Justin admitted. "But as she went down the hall, I see this guy come through the front door, straight through the bar, and hurry up behind her. He grabbed her like she said, and I was up and running at them. I wanted to beat the shit out of him for touching her like that. He had her in front of him...walking backwards toward the door at the end of the hall, so I plowed into them instead and knocked her out of his arms."

"It worked, or I wouldn't be here," I added.

Justin smiled again, and I think there was a hint of red in his face this time. "As soon as he dropped her, he ran out the back door.
He
was there by then." Justin motioned at the cook. "And Trisha," the waitress. "I knew they had her, so I jumped over her and ran out the door after him."

"Did you see his face?" the officer asks.

Everyone—me, Trisha, the cook—we are all on edge waiting to hear.

"Not really. He was up more than a block by the time I got out there, and he kept on going, turning down the blocks until I couldn't find him. I just came back then."

The officer turned to the cook and asked him to get the manager.

"When he entered the restaurant, what did he look like? What was he wearing? Did you see his face?" the officer asked rapidly.