Shattered (2 page)

As I nursed my smoke, a strange feeling
started to settle in my bones. I was uncomfortable, anxious—the
exact opposite way I usually felt during a cigarette break. I found
myself glancing around, wary of my surroundings. My eyes scanned
the street and fell upon a group of men across the way. They were
congregated around the dive bar opposite the coffee shop, yelling
and shoving each other. They weren’t wasted by any means, but it
definitely seemed like they’d had a few.

My heart skipped a beat when I spotted one of
them starting back at me unabashedly, with a twisted grin spread
across his hideous mug. They were big guys, burly types whose
muscles seemed the result of hard labor rather than time spent in
an expensive gym. Not wanting to attract any attention to myself, I
crushed the cigarette beneath my heel and hurried back inside. I
tried to shake off the apprehension that had taken up residence in
my body, but it wasn’t going anywhere.

I hurried back to the front counter of the
coffee shop, eager to close up and head home. It was nearly
midnight, and I was opening the following morning at six. It was no
small wonder that the past three years had flown by—I never got a
break from the damned coffee shop. In a flash, I had gone from
twenty-two to twenty-five, and what did I have to show for it?
Better latte art skills and blisters on my feet, that’s what. I had
had such grand ambitions for my twenties, too. More than anything
else in the world, I longed to travel. Growing up, I never felt any
real attachment to my home town. My parents raised me the best they
could, but they were so content to resign themselves to
nine-to-five jobs and meatloaf for dinner. I grew up constantly
reading, especially fantasy novels. I wanted to see the far-off
places that I imagined as a little girl, wanted to taste exotic
foods and breathe in the winds of distant lands. Moving to New York
had been a stab at that dream, but it hadn’t gotten me very
far.

The tip jar on the counter was far from full,
but I tipped it out regardless. As the only barista on the night
shift, I was entitled to whatever tips were thrown my way.
Unfortunately, most of our customers were not the tipping type. I
folded the two one dollar bills and tucked them into my pocket, and
then counted out the coins. As I added up pennies, I almost wanted
to laugh. I was actually paying my rent with pocket change. What a
woman of the world I was.

As the clock struck midnight, I started to
sweep and mop under the feet of the couple customers who were still
lingering in the shop. They left, grumbling all the way about my
bad attitude. As I tossed out the stale muffins and pastries, Joe
headed for the door ahead of me.

“Goodnight sweetheart,” he smiled.

“Bye,” I said curtly.

“Hey, if you need an escort home, I’d be
happy to be your man,” he went on.

“No thanks,” I said, “I’m pretty sure I’ll be
safer walking a whole three blocks without you.”

“Suit yourself,” he sniffed, and let the door
slam closed behind him.

I drew in a deep breath as the lock clicked
shut. I was finally alone, after eight grueling hours in the
company of jerks and lowlifes. I hurried to complete my closing
tasks, looking forward to falling into bed as soon as possible. I
gathered my things and hurried to the front door, bemoaning the
fact that in a few short hours, I would be right back here to open
the shop to the neighbors once again. Against everything I was
feeling I willed my mind to dwell on happy thoughts. After all,
things couldn’t possibly get worse than they already were. Surely I
could find some comfort in that.

As I made my way out the door, the sound of
raucous laughter bombarded my ears. I felt my stomach twist with
dread as I spotted the group of men across the street. The herd had
thinned a bit—there were only four men standing outside when there
had been closer to ten before. But I could tell from the way they
were swaying and shouting that they’d gone past the point of merely
tipsy. They were clearly drunk, and not exactly shy about their
inebriated states.

I felt my pulse quicken as I locked the front
door and hurried away from the coffee shop, praying that the men
wouldn’t bother me with their boozy cat calls. For a brief, shining
moment I thought that I’d escaped without attracting their
attention. But then the volley of bullshit fell down around my
ears.

“Hey, mama!” a slurring voice called out from
across the street. “Come here! I have a question for you!”

I quickened my pace, eager to put as much
distance between myself and those men as possible. “Wait, baby!”
came the next voice, “Where are you going?”

“Don’t go, sexy,” said another, “We need some
company. Why don’t you come over here and—”

The pounding in my ears drowned out their
insistent calls, and I sped up even more. I was practically running
down the sidewalk when I came to a terrible realization—their
voices were getting closer. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that
the pack was moving toward me, laughing at my attempt to outpace
them. The men lumbered my way, charging toward me with terrifying,
inevitable inertia. I broke out all the speed I had, pumping my
legs as fast as they would go. My apartment was only a couple
blocks away. Surely I could reach it in time to get upstairs and
call the police...

My hopes were dashed as two heavy shadows
loomed ahead of me. Two grinning, drunken faces swum up in the dim
light of the street lamp, directly in my path. I spun around and
saw two more lumbering bodies boxing me in. The men were closing in
around me, making any escape impossible. I glanced over their
shoulders, hoping that some shop keeper or neighbor might be around
to help me. But the midnight street was empty, except for me and
the four men penning me in.

“You know,” said the fat, balding man
blocking my way, “You were being awfully rude to us just now.
Didn’t you hear us calling?”

“Please move out of my way,” I said, fighting
to keep the tremor out of my voice.

“‘Please move out of my way’,” said a
red-faced, bearded man behind me, raising his voice an octave in a
mockery of my own.

“We just wanted to talk to you for a second,”
insisted the barrel-chested blonde man before me, “You’re so sexy,
we just couldn’t help but wonder whether we could make your
acquaintance.”

“It’s spring, you know,” said a wrinkled man
at my back, “It’s the season of love.”

“Or at least love-making,” said the bald
man.

I struggled to keep my face composed as I
inched my fingers toward my purse. “Look,” I said, “I’ve had a
really long day, and I just want to go home. I don’t want any
trouble from you. Now please, just go back and have another drink,
and I’ll be on my way.”

“That doesn’t sound like very much fun to
me,” said the barrel-chested one. “And I want to have fun tonight.
You seem like a fun girl...why don’t you be nice and show us a good
time?”

He took a step toward me, grinning. His
yellow teeth glistened sickly in the low light. I could feel them
all closing in, their grubby fingers itching to grab at me. I
slipped my trembling hand into my purse, bracing myself.

“Don’t take another step,” I warned them, “I
mean it.”

“Or else what?” the blonde man sneered.

“Or else nothing,” said the bald man. “Enough
fucking around here. I want a piece of that—”

He lunged toward me sloppily, reaching out
with groping hands. The world seemed to stop around me, moving in
slow motion as I grabbed the canister of pepper spray from my purse
and leveled it at his eyes. I let loose with a spray of the vile
stuff, catching the man full in the face. A furious roar tore out
of his throat as he was blinded by the stinging spray. He reeled
sideways, smacking his head hard against the brick wall there. His
skull let out a sickening crack as it collided with the hard
surface, and as he crumbled to the ground, two meaty hands twisted
my arms painfully behind my back.

The pepper spray fell from my hands as I
slammed into the dirty sidewalk, pinned down by one of the men. My
vision was spinning wildly, and I lost track of my attackers. I
could hear them grunting and cursing above me, and felt my body
spun around until my back was pressed hard against the ground, the
ridges of my spine scraping against the concrete through my thin
tee shirt. In the dim street light, I could barely make out three
bloated, angry faces looking down at me. Their expressions were
fixed into masks of lusty fury, and I felt my blood run ice
cold.

A bloodcurdling shriek ripped through the
air. It took me a moment to realize that the sound was coming from
me. I began to trash against the ground, punching at any attacker
that I could reach. I tried to recall the self defense lessons my
dad had given me as a girl, but my mind was a terrified blur. I
reached for the nearest man’s eyes, trying to claw them as I
screamed and kicked. My horror only made the men laugh, the sound
of their mirth was the scariest thing I’d ever heard.

“Get off me!” I shouted, my voice echoing off
the empty storefronts all around us.

“Hold still,” grunted one of the men, pinning
my shoulders hard against the sidewalk.

I cast my eyes desperately around the street,
searching for someone, anyone who could help me. How could this be
happening to me, out in the open for everyone to see? I thought of
all the people tucked away in their apartments all around us. Could
they hear my cries? Did anyone care about what was happening to me,
right outside their homes?

“Please,” I cried, “Just let me go. You don’t
want to do this.”

I watched as the fourth man stumbled back
toward me, his head bloodied where it had hit the brick wall. There
was no way that I could overpower even one of these men on my own,
let alone four. They were staring down at me like I was a slab of
steak bleeding on a platter. There wasn’t an ounce of empathy to be
found in their faces, not a trace of guilt or shame at the
atrocious thing they were about to do to me. The man directly on
top of me grinned drunkenly and waved his friends away a step.

“Gimme some room, guys,” he slurred, reaching
for his belt. He undid the buckle with a sloppy motion and licked
his lips. “Help me get her into the alley, would you? I can’t wait
to tear into that sweet—”

His words were cut off as a heavy boot
collided with his mouth. The man’s teeth shattered spectacularly as
he fell off me, crumbling onto the sidewalk. With his bulky weight
lifted off me, I scrambled away as fast as I could. In my panic and
fear, I could hardly keep my limbs moving in the right direction. I
dove into the shadowy alley before me, hiding myself in the
darkness. Chest heaving, heart pounding, I willed myself to peer
back toward the men who’d attacked me. I peeked around the corner
just in time to see a huge figure send a staggering kick directly
into the gut of the man who’d been straddling me not moments
before. The creep was curled up on the sidewalk, grunting as the
heavy boot fall caught him in the ribs. For a wild moment, I
thought that one of the men had turned on the others—but that broad
back, those rippling shoulders, that perfectly balanced collection
of muscles beating my attacker into oblivion had not been there
before.

The unknown fighter rolled the felled man
into the gutter with his foot and straightened up to face the
others. As he turned toward the remaining three, the dim street
lamp illuminated his face in profile. In my shadowy hiding place, I
felt my jaw fall open. I’d never seen anyone like him in my life—I
thought, madly, that he must be some sort of super hero, risen from
the pages of a comic book somewhere. No honest-to-goodness man
could possibly be so perfect. He was a solid 6’ 3”, and looked to
be built entirely of thick, hard muscle. As he stared down the men
who had tried to hurt me, he looked absolutely bulletproof. His
razor sharp jaw was set, and a pair of endless, dark eyes glared
down a shapely, aquiline nose at the drunken buffoons before
him.

Where the hell had he come from? The street
had been completely empty not a moment ago. But now here he was,
standing over the groaning heap that had been pinning me to the
sidewalk. The three remaining drunks were staring at him,
uncomprehending. My hero took a deep breath, his fists tightly
clenched.

“I’m going to give you three seconds to
collect what’s left of your friend and get out of here,” he
growled. His voice was like rich dark chocolate and black coffee.
It was smoky, low, and absolutely irresistible.

“You mother fucker!” cried one of the men,
“What did you do to him?”

“Three,” my savior said.

“You think you can take all of us on?” said
another drunk, trying to cover the wariness in his voice with a
bellowing laugh.

“Two,” said the fighter.

“OK, tough guy,” said the man whose head was
bleeding, “Let’s see what you’ve—

“One,” grunted the unknown hero. As I watched
with bated breath, he collected himself into a powerful, low stance
and sprung toward the three drunken men. His muscles moved like a
perfectly tuned machine, like water. In one sweeping motion, he
kicked out the legs of the already bleeding man. The drunk’s head
came crashing back down onto the sidewalk, a look of shock
plastered on his face. This time, he stayed down on the ground.

My fighter planted his foot and squared off
against another man who was flailing towards him. With a windup
that could only be described as graceful, my savior brought his
heavy fist up under the man’s jaw, catching his advance and sending
him reeling away to stumble against his fallen friend in the
gutter. The final man let out a ludicrous battle cry and tried to
come at the fighter from behind. The hero collected the drunk in an
effortless motion, rolled the man over his back, and slammed him
forcefully onto the sidewalk. He straightened up and surveyed his
work, brushing his hands against his perfectly-fitted jeans.