nine Selena
nine
Selena
Two hours later, my legs are numb, and I’m just about to give up and go home when I see people start flooding out of Shadows.
I jump out of my car in a flash, moving through the sea of people.
“Hey, is it over?” I ask a man who is obviously drunk and stumbling.
A friend goes to help him walk, and they pause as I step in front of them. “Yeah, the guys kicked everyone out,” the drunk man slurs.
“Where are they?” I ask.
The friend shakes his head. “They wouldn’t dare walk out with the rest of us peasants,” he mocks. “They leave out the back. Sometimes on their bikes, other times in their vehicles.”
They walk off after giving me their answer.
Feeling more empowered, I stand tall as I watch the last few people drive out of the parking lot. It’s eerily quiet as I stand alone in the sea of darkness. A light wind whips around me like a whisper. I shudder, starting to wonder if I’m acting logically or not.
I’m a woman alone in a dark and abandoned parking lot in the warehouse district. If something happened, no one would hear me scream. I’ve written stories about people disappearing, and each one started in a scenario just like this one…
Just as I’m about to head back to the safety of my car, I hear the sounds of engines roaring.
Headlights break through the blackness around me.
As my pulse quickens, I take a step forward.
Three vehicles emerge from behind the club, all driving in a single file line.
The first one is a dark Range Rover. The man in the green mask drives past me, not even glancing in my direction.
The second car is a sports car, and the engine roars as he passes.
He turns to look at me once and shakes his head as he speeds past me.
Then, the third vehicle appears. A large truck slowly creeps toward me.
The yellow beams from the headlight almost blind me.
He’s driving straight toward me, and instead of moving, I take another step forward.
I hold out my hand, motioning for him to stop, but he just keeps creeping toward me.
What the hell am I doing? Is he even going to stop?
I stand firmly in place, praying that he isn’t about to run over me. He keeps coming, inch by inch, and my heart thunders inside my chest like a racehorse.
The front of the truck is only inches away from me, and then, he slowly stops just as the front slightly touches my stomach. I gasp, my heart plummeting to the pits of my stomach.
He hit me…sort of.
“What the hell are you doing?” I scream.
He throws his arms up in frustration from inside the cab. “You are in my way.” His voice is deep and velvety.
“I want to talk to you,” I demand.
He shakes his head, no. He says nothing. Just hold my gaze, let the moment hang. He’s tall, with a jaw built for breaking rocks and hair even blacker than the facade behind him. I can see his muscles through his dress shirt and that ass… He hasn’t missed a squat in the gym, and it shows.
“I’m not moving,” I say, stomping like a brat.
“I will just go around you. We don’t talk to anyone,” he says.
“Why not, Warren?” I ask.
My bold move of calling him by the name I heard sends shivers down my spine. He stops, then suddenly bolts out of the truck and is in front of me in a flash. Startled, I jumped back—my chest knots, tight and sweet and dangerous.
“What did you just call me?” he asks, his anger coming out in waves. “Do you want an autograph, or a warning?”
Suddenly, I’m too afraid to speak. It’s just him and me in the parking lot.
“I heard one of the other men call you Warren. Is that your name?” I question meekly.
“I’m no one to you,” he whispers. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Aren’t you scared? I can hear your heart beating inside of your chest,” he says, glancing down at my breasts.
“No,” I lied.
“You should be.” Warren looks me over, really looks, as if he’s weighing whether to finish me or let me run. “You’re persistent,” he says. “But you’re not careful.”
“I want to ask you a question,” I continue, trying to put on a brave face even though I feel anything but brave right now.
“I don’t answer questions. You have no idea what you are doing right now. You are playing a very dangerous game right now,” he notes, and then starts to walk backward toward his truck.
He watches me as he moves, like he’s almost afraid of me.
“Why do you wear the masks?” I call out after him. He turns, but I push. “Why the secrecy? Why the games? What’s the point?”
He stops. For a second, the mask slips.“Because fear and secrecy are the only things that make you honest.”
He laughs, low. “Do you know what happens to people who dig too deep into our lives?”
He gets back in his truck, but before he starts to drive off, he calls out the window, “Our masks are more for your protection than ours.” Then, he turns the wheel and veers to the left, his tires squealing as he peels out of the parking lot.
I stand there, panting, heart slamming in my chest. The street is silent again, as if nothing happened.
I’m left standing alone, completely terrified but somehow, turned on.