Two - Serena

 “Nothing but trouble.”

 

 

 

Dinner with Playboy—er, Khol, short for Kholton—turns out to be quite pleasant.

Although he shows zero interest in knowing anything about me, I, on the other hand, ask prying questions. Lots of them.

What surprises me the most is his lack of hesitation with his responses. He doesn’t hold back, despite his attention being either on his plate, his phone screen, or the hostess across the room. He’s so forward and open it makes me suspicious.

I learn he has two siblings. One older brother and a younger sister. He’s a once-upon-a-time trust-fund baby who got himself disinherited when he refused to follow in the path his father chose for him. Born and raised in California, then later relocated to NYC after being stripped of his easy privileges. He likes the gym, the beach, and comics. He also has a rather blunt and optimistic view of life.

See? No one is this open with their personal life. Unless…he’s feigning insouciance and candidness to throw off suspicions.

Or, maybe, my father’s strangling paranoia is rubbing off on me. Ugh.

I want him to keep talking. I want to know more. I want to crawl inside his head for just five minutes and assess his wiring. But before I know it, the hostess comes over to whisper sultrily that she’ll be “ready in five.” It feels ridiculous that an hour has passed already.

Shortest hour of my life.

Feeling a pang of resentment toward the hostess, I pay for our meal without asking him—though he doesn’t seem to care—and get up to leave.

He doesn’t look up from his phone and I don’t say goodbye, too annoyed and…and…I don’t know what I feel. It’s stupid anyway. I’m never going to see the guy again. 

“Serena!” someone calls when I’m halfway out the restaurant.

I groan and swing my attention in the direction of the voice.

One of my father’s business associates and his wife. I would offer a wave and smile and keep it moving, but public indecorum is not encouraged where important business partners are concerned. So I have no choice but to plaster on my practiced fake smile and amble over to the couple. They ask me how I’m doing and I reply politely before asking how they are doing even though I don’t care. Small talk, small talk, lots of fawning smiles and compliments, and then I’m free to go.

Exiting the restaurant, I’m surprised to see Playboy Khol leaned against a post, an impatient pull to his brows. He looks up when I walk out, then sags in disappointment when he sees I’m not his cute hostess.

“Aww,” I say jeeringly as I walk past him. “That’s the same look she had when her manager stopped her on her way out. Don’t worry, she’ll come.”

His half-smile is cockily salacious. “Damn straight she will.” He then surprises me by pushing off from the light post to follow me. “Where are you going?”

“Home. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Okay.” He drags the word out as if he doesn’t understand the concept of home. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but all the street lights on this stretch are out except for this one. You’re a woman. A sexy woman, I might add. Alone, in tight clothes and expensive brand-name accessories. You know, that LV purse, those diamond earrings and thumb ring…criminals live for dark moments like this. Stay here where people can see you and get a cab.”

I pause for a beat but don’t turn around. Huh. So he has been paying attention to me. Down to my diamond thumb ring. For some reason, this pleases me.

“I don’t take cabs. My driver is right there.” I point into the darkness where a white Bentley is parked four cars down. “And what do you care anyway? I thought you didn’t like me.”

“Call your driver,” he orders. “Tell him to come up here.”

Eyes rolling to the heavens, I turn to face him. “I’m not one of your students, Playboy. I can take care of myself.”

Just then, the hostess walks out of the restaurant, glancing left and right. When she spots him, she grins and calls, “Hey, you ready?”

“Go on,” I tell him. “It’s not like I’m offering you anything.”

He hesitates, then mumbles, “Fine,” as he turns and strides toward his impending orgasm, shaking his head.

Something foul fills my nostrils. It smells like indignation. Or is that stench jealousy? Whatever it is, it’s stupid, unwarranted, and it stinks.

He’s…he’s…he’s a playboy! With white hair. I cannot be interested in him. Nope. Nope. Nope.

As he reaches the hostess, she launches herself at him and cups his face in her hands.

I turn around before I can witness the collision of their lips and continue toward my car. My heel snags in a crack and I stumble and almost fall, but I’m able to right myself. Five steps later, I trip over something and this time I do fall.

“Dammit.” It really is dark. I probably should have listened to Playboy, but with the street being one-way, my driver would have to circle two other avenues just to get back in front of the restaurant.

As I’m pushing up to my knees to right myself, I hear the screech of a car. Bright lights almost blind me when I glance up. Three giant, masculine figures in all-black are suddenly silhouetted in the headlights. Are they wearing…masks?

Holy shit. OhmyGodOhmyGod.

Panic jolting through me, I hastily attempt to clamber to my feet. But I’m not fast enough. Rough, powerful hands seize me, one clamped over my mouth to kill my scream and the other crushing my rib cage. Unable to scream, I wildly kick my legs out, flailing, fear growling like a caged beast in my belly.

This isn’t happening. This is not happening. Again!

“Hey! HEY!! The hell are you doing?!”

That voice. It’s Playboy. Kholton. He saw. He’s here. He’ll help me!

“Mhheeelppp!” I scream into my abductor's gloved hand.

“Call 911! Now!” he shouts at someone. “Let her go, asshole!”

Struggling, I try to turn my head to see him but I can’t. I’m being hauled off to a waiting van.

“Walk away, man,” a gruff voice warns. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“Like hell,” Khol growls back.

There’s a tussle. Grunts. The sounds of a fist fight.

My assailant tries to stuff me in the back of the van, but I don’t make it easy for him, kicking and wailing. He’s stronger than me, though, so he gets me in and has me cuffed to the van in no time.

I can hear Kholton’s curses at the assailants, undaunted and provoking.

Another cracking punch.

The “zzzzt” of a taser.

Seconds later, two men roughly stuff him inside the back of the van with me. In the next second, he’s cuffed beside me and the van is screeching off with us.

Sprawled belly-down on the floor of the van, a spasm jolts through his body when he turns his head to me. I expect to find fright and concern for me in his face, but instead I find rage and accusation.

“See?” he grits out, “This is why I give myself a restraining order against redheads.” Another spasm rocks through his body and he snarls with belligerence. “Nothing but trouble.”

Yikes.