Charity's Warrior Page 2

  "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.

  "It was fast," Justin said. "He came in on a mission. I think he was waiting, either for any woman or her specifically, to get into the hall. He had a dark hoody on with the hood up, hiding himself. And honestly I was looking more at the back of her than at him when he came in."

  Definitely more red on my face now.

  "When I hit them, I only got a glimpse of his face. It was all distorted from struggling with her and bracing for me when he saw me coming. His eyes were winced, almost shut. He had a wide mouth, it was open and he was gritting his teeth. I didn't see much else. He had black jeans on, I saw that when I chased him."

  The cook came back in with the same guy that was in here before, with the blue shirt and tie.

  "Did anyone see this guy's face or recognize him, or have anything to add to what's already been described?" the officer asked in an easy tone.

  Everyone in the small office was quiet.

  "Okay," he continued, "a Detective will be here shortly, so let me take all your names." He looked at the manager. "They'll want to take a look at the security tape, so you might want to get that ready."

  The manager nodded, relieved that he didn't have to do anything difficult. He bounced over to the desk where his computer was waiting.

  The officer got all of his information from us, and the whole thing was starting to freak me out a bit. Detective Barns and several other officers pulled up and all of the officers were sent to check around the back and drive the neighborhood. Trisha and the cook had been sent back to work. Justin stayed close by, and I desperately needed that, his is the only face that isn't making my nerves worse.

  At some point my fingers started shaking, and Justin had put his hand on my shoulder softly and asked the detective if I would be able to have something, a drink, to calm down. She told him, soon, but not yet.

  She specialized in female victims, usually rapes, and she told us she was very glad this one hadn't gone down that way. Right now she wanted my head as clear as possible, which I understood. This was why my nerves were so shot, at first I was just so happy to be okay, that people had saved me, that I didn't think about what would have happened if they didn't. I had an idea, of course, but I still felt separated from the possibilities.

  Now I am thinking—I was almost kidnapped! I was one person's reaction away from being taken, most likely killed.

  She took all of my recent history to make sure it wasn't someone I knew, even though I assured her I didn't know a soul capable of this. I had only been in the city for three weeks. I didn't have friends or enemies yet. I was staying at a hotel and looking for work. My family and friends were spread around the country a little bit, but mostly in Pennsylvania. The only one I'd left behind that was seriously upset was my ex-boyfriend, and he was harmless, he just wanted me to stay.

  It was becoming obvious the attack had been random. Soon there was nothing left to do for tonight. The medics had checked me out. The police had all the information they could get and a copy of the security recording from the bar.

  Justin was cleared to get me that drink he'd mentioned, and he found Trisha and whispered to her. I saw her nod and head to the bar, and when she came back she was holding a mug. From behind her I hear Phillip Philips version of Beggin' start in the bar, just as she passes Justin the drink and he passes it to me. A wisp of steam floats off the top and I wonder what the hell he had them make me.

  "It's called a Cinnamon Toast," he said, seeing my slightly concerned expression. "It's nothing crazy, just some rum and apple cider, but it's incredible for calming you down, trust me."

  I was going to have to, because it doesn't sound good, but I desperately want a drink. Now that we are done, I’m becoming nervous at leaving the protection of the office and facing the crowd out in the bar area.

  I've never been a fan of apple cider, but he was right, mixed with the spices of the rum it tastes like something my grandmother would have given me. Within minutes my nerves are settling, and my hand
s have stopped shaking.

  And the crowd in the bar can kiss my ass!

  "When you're ready, let me know. I'll get you back to your place safely. You should try to get to sleep while that drink is still working its magic," Justin said, smiling.

  Justin hailed a cab right out front of the bar, not very difficult to do in New York as I had recently learned. We both get in; Justin lets me in first of course, being very careful as if I were glass. I give the driver the name of my hotel and we are off, knowing it was going to be a quick trip since the hotel was only a handful of blocks away.

  "So I heard you tell the cop you've only been in the city for a few weeks?" Justin asked.

  "Yes, about three weeks. I wanted to take a chance, get out of the rut I was in before it became my life. My boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—was starting to make plans, long term ones, and I hadn't been anywhere, tried anything. I probably should have planned it better, though. Things are getting a little rough, and if I don't find a job in the next week or two, I'll be heading home."

  "That’s pretty brave," he said.

  I rolled my eyes. "And stupid," I added, laughing.

  Justin laughed too. "Depends on how you look at it, I guess," he said.

  There were a few moments of silence, the first in over an hour, and I realized my ears are ringing. Streetlights stretched into long streaks across the windows as the blocks passed.

  "A friend of mine is a recruiting officer for some big company," Justin said. "If you want, I can give her a call and see if she has anything for you?"

  "No," I said quickly, maybe too quickly. Maybe I should think about this. "You've already done more than I can ever repay, I can't let you do any more."

  "You don't owe me anything, and it's just a call," Justin said.

  I recognized the street, and the front of the hotel as the cab pulled to the side.

  "Keep it going," Justin said to the driver. "Only she is getting out here. Give us a minute."

  The driver nods, and Justin gets out, turns and helps me out beside him.

  "Are you okay to get in on your own?" he asks.

  "I'm fine," I reply. It crosses my mind to invite him up. If it were any normal night, I might grow a set and do it, but not tonight. It's been an emotional rollercoaster.

  "Okay. What about the call...to my friend?"

  "No, really," I answer.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Justin smiles. "Okay, just try to get some rest tonight." He backed away slightly, closer to the cab.

  "Thank you again," I said. "I really, really mean it."

  "I know," Justin said, smiling some more.

  He truly is a gorgeous man.

  "Just get inside."

  HOLY SHIT, DID I sleep! Actually, my body just quit for 10 hours. I think that is a much better way to describe it, since I have no recollection of going to sleep or even getting ready to go to bed. I just sort of woke up in it a couple hours later than I wanted to.

  I felt better, that was the point of it all I guess. I am ready to be strong, ready to get over it. Nearly as soon as my eyes opened, I thought of Justin, of how he had taken care of me, finding a way to do that without treating me like an invalid.

  Of course I also thought of his face, and those arms, and I desperately need an orgasm. My Bullet is just across the room in my bag, but I'm suddenly feeling guilty from getting up so late. I'm cheating myself, wasting time I should be spending getting a job so that I don't have to go crawling back home.

  I promise myself I'll take care of things later, and I pulled myself out of bed while still imagining how strong Justin's hands would be on my body while being gentle between my legs.

  God! I should have brought him up here last night, but it just wasn't in me to do that. Granted, I was not in the right frame of mind last night, but even if I was, I'd never have the courage to do anything like that.

  Right in the middle of staring at myself in the mirror as I put on my liner, I stop to ask myself a harsh question.

  "Isn't that exactly why you're here, the very reason for coming— to be who you want to be instead of who you were?"

  Of course that was a yes answer, but it was going to be a hard, scary change. I have only slept with two men in my life—if we can call them men for the sake of the conversation. They were boys, really.

  The first was a relationship that started when I was seventeen. He was on the football team, and I was trying to be a cheerleader. It was very typical, sexually, for two high school idiots. I was getting good at blowjobs. He was doing his version of going down on me, which meant licking me and occasionally hitting the right spot for a moment or two before moving off in the completely wrong direction. When I was getting closer to eighteen, we decided to go to the next level. My first time ended up being with a high school football player on a blanket in the back of his pickup truck.

  Holy fuck, I was such a cliché! I should have a double name, like Bobby Sue, and a Corn Husk Beauty Queen trophy.

  Once we'd done that, when he finally had what he wanted, we stopped talking. Even at the time, I was not surprised. I think a lot of it had to do with the fact that he didn't take very long. He just had a hard time facing me after that, embarrassed that I might tell someone. Really, I didn't mind that at all since the first time was not the most comfortable experience. I was glad we were done.

  I don't know why people retry bad things sometimes, but a little over a year later, I was in a new relationship that was pretty serious. I'm glad to say that it was definitely better. He had the same problem with his tongue as the first guy, but he knew what his fingers were for, and he could do the job almost as good as I could for myself. And I even got used to, and began to enjoy, intercourse. Most of the time I didn't get there, but it was good material to fantasize about after Steve went home or fell asleep.

  He was an okay guy, and we stayed together for a few years, up until about six weeks ago when I broke the news to him that I was breaking it off and moving away. I honestly don't like reliving how that conversion went, it was so much more heartbreaking than I'd expected—and I expected the worst. I knew he was starting to plan things, so I thought it was a good time, nip it in the bud, but it turned out to be well past the bud.

  There turned out to be a ring.

  No one was prepared for what I did. My family was in shock, but they came around as much as they could, mostly with my mother's help. She got it, telling me she was glad I hadn't gone into a marriage that didn't have my full heart. Better I did it now than end up in divorce. I feel she also understood that I needed to go find my own way as well, something women didn't do often enough.

  If I didn't find work soon, my way was going to be calling to have my mother wire me enough gas money to make it back home.

  I finished and assessed my makeup as I put my hair up how I felt it looked more professional. Until I was working, I couldn't afford new clothes, but I also think something new would help me get a job. I felt helpless, grabbing a dark blue pants suit that I had for over a year.

  When I was ready, I grabbed my portfolio and left. I had my list of opportunities all set, and I was dropping off my resume in person to all of them. At three, I have an actual interview for a magazine. I started my day with my fingers crossed, and Justin's body on my mind.

  AT THE END OF the day, I had only a lighter portfolio and the image of Justin on top of me. Twelve resumes went out, ten of them didn't get past reception, but two got me to a hiring manager or someone in human resources, which was the goal. They had a face with the paperwork. It didn't land me an on-the-spot interview, which would have been great, but I think I might get calls from both of them.

  My interview at the magazine went okay. I say just okay because as well as I thought it went, I wasn't pulled in for a second interview immediately, which almost always happens when they want you. I'm betting they already interviewed someone earlier in the morning that knocked them dead, and the rest of the interviews they were running through just i
n case, comparing everyone else to that one. Right or wrong, that's how it felt.

  Another day just like they had all been lately. Actually, that's not true. Today I was in a much better mood, and I know why.

  Justin.

  I'm back in my room now, wrapped in comfortable clothes watching TV while sprawled across the king size bed. I am coming to a decision on tonight's great debate, room service for dinner and my vibrating bullet while I fantasize about Justin, or be the new me and go back to the bar to get the real thing.

  What's to lose, I decide. My bullet will still be here if Justin isn't.

  Money really is becoming an issue, so I skip the taxi and walk all the way to the bar, Manhattan Grill on Franklin Street. It was about eleven blocks from my hotel, and despite the sun having dipped below the tall buildings, it was a hot walk. I'd found the place through a Google search yesterday, needing something different than the places around my hotel. Inside, it's all red brick walls and dark wooden floors, mixed with modern tables and sleek lighting. It had a Chicago feel (not that I was ever in Chicago) that was a nice beak from the constant New York feel everywhere else.

  I walk in and do a slow scan of the bar and the tables in the dining area, looking for Justin anywhere, in any corner. I didn't find him, he isn't here, but Trisha, the waitress from last night, is. She looks shocked to see me as she waves me over to a table.

  "Oh my God, you got balls, Girl," she said. "I don't know if I could ever be so brave to come back like you."

  I laughed, trying to hide the embarrassing little snort that had plagued me my entire life. "I don't know that I'm really brave—maybe crazy?" I said, as I sit at the table she gave me.

  "You need a drink?" Trisha asks, batting those pretty, dark eyes of hers.

  "God yes! Vodka and Red Bull." I check around the room again as I answer, hoping to find Justin in some small place I'd missed the first time.

  "He's not here—yet," Trisha said.