Chapter Five
Jaxon
I’m glad to be out of that restaurant and that fucking tie. I don’t care for my work clothes either, since they prefer our shirts to be snug, but I’ll take it over that noose around my neck any day. Not sure which noose I’m referring to—the actual tie or the figurative one my dad keeps trying to put around me.
Pulling into the parking lot of Ambrosia, the club I barback at, I notice the place is packed tonight, which further irritates me. It’s Thursday. I should have expected it. Ladies night always draws a big crowd.
Going through the back door, I head to the office to clock in. My boss, Paul, is sitting at his desk, probably doing inventory or counting money—something official that’s back here, away from all the noise and lights and headaches.
Paul has worked here for over ten years, starting in the same position I’m in now. He prides himself on having worked every single job at this club, so he knows how to fill in anywhere he’s needed. And he knows how exhausting every position can be. It makes him empathetic when your back hurts from carrying too many cases of beer around. Or your feet are aching from how much you’ve been running back and forth behind the bar. Or you’re feeling sticky and gross from all the booze that’s splattered onto your hands.
“Hey, we’re running short on some of the liquor behind Macey’s station. Go ahead and get her stocked up before you do anything else.” He tosses the keys to the liquor closet my way.
Catching them, I answer with, “Sounds good,” before heading out into the lights and commotion.
When I applied for this job, I didn’t try for anything more than just a bar-back. I’m not lazy, I just don’t have goals of the bartending variety, so I don’t mind what I do. Not only does it feel like I’m getting a little extra training because I’m constantly lifting gallons of liquid, and booze is heavy, but I can also let my mind drift. I don’t have to talk to people. I don’t have to make nice. I don’t have to be fake because I rely on the tips. I have seen way too much fakeness over the years and have fallen for it too many times, only to find out later that my new “friend” wanted to meet my dad. This way, I can focus, do my job, and get paid. It works for me.
“Hey Macey,” I call out as I make my way behind the bar where she’s at. She tilts her head up in a gesture of recognition and turns back to her customer. I’ve worked with her enough to know that’s as much greeting as I’m going to get when she’s slammed like this. Her bar is already three-deep with patrons, and it’s just after ten. I don’t take her lack of response personally. Instead, I grab the empty bottles she threw to the side to I can get them out of her way and make room for fresh supplies. Since she works next to Colin, I take a quick glance at what he’s going to need as well. Might as well make only one trip if I can help it.
Looking down the bar, I see some girl wiping off the back of her leg and yanking at her skirt. Yep, the drunkards are out in full force if people are already getting spilled on. She looks as irritated as I feel. I can already tell it’s going to be a long night, so I better pace myself. If things get out of control, the bouncers are going to need some help.
Gathering the empty liquor bottles and dropping them in the recycling container next to Paul’s office, I head back into the liquor closet. It’s more like a huge room stocked with all our supplies. There’s liquor everywhere—every kind you can imagine. I load up the crate we use to easily carry bottles with everything I’m going to need and head back to the bar.
I start by restocking Macey’s supply and finish up with Colin’s side. As I place the crate under the counter, Macey turns to talk to me. Before the words are even out of her mouth, I already know by the look on her face she’s about to ask about the dreaded chore.
“Jax. Hey. Do you mind taking this trash out to the dumpster? It’s really getting in the way.”
I cringe. This is the job none of us want to do. The trash can get really gross around here. It’s all booze, people’s dirty napkins, used straws. I always feel like I need to go through a decontamination room when I’m done.
Macey laughs under her breath at my reaction. I don’t say anything as I gather all the trash from behind the bar. It’s my job, so there isn’t much I can do about it except get it over quickly.
Moving out the side door, I head to the dumpster and toss it all in. Hearing what sounds like a thump, one of the bags falls right back out.
“Shit,” I mumble under my breath and haul it right back in. The last thing I want to do is pick the bag up off the nasty ground too.
As I turn to walk away, I hear the thump again. That’s weird, I think to myself. It sounds like it’s coming from behind the dumpster this time.
Then I hear what sounds like a low moan.
My body runs cold, and my feet are frozen in place. Something in my gut tells me I need to go see what’s going on. It could be something as simple as a feral cat. It could be a homeless guy taking a dump. It could also be someone coming down off a bad high. Still, my feet inch forward, and as I peak around the corner, my entire stomach drops.
It’s a man about my age on top of a woman, and it’s clear she’s unconscious. Her skirt is wrapped up around her hips, and her head is at an unnatural angle.
The anger I’m already feeling increases exponentially at what I’m seeing. I have a sister. I have friends who are women. Seeing this girl, this woman, being violated like this has me seeing red. Without even thinking, I yell, “Hey!”
His head whips up and he looks at me, a startled expression on his face. Then he scrambles to his feet and takes off running. My reaction is instantaneous, and I take off after him, sprinting faster than I ever have on the field. It takes only a couple seconds for me to reach him and tackle him to the ground. We immediately begin scuffling, throwing punches here and there, with him shrieking, “Get off me!” and me knowing instinctively that I can’t.
“You goddamned motherfucker!” I scream as I continue to scramble to pin him down. “You think it’s okay to treat someone like they’re less than nothing?” I land a punch to his nose and blood squirts everywhere, but he doesn’t stop flailing, and I don’t stop fighting back. “You can’t get laid any other way? You have to wait until someone is too drunk to say no, you piece of shit?”
I finally have him immobilized, but I can’t stop screaming at him. “What kind of fucking coward takes advantage of someone like that, huh? Answer me, asshole!” I scream and pick him up by the back of the shirt, only to slam his head back into the ground.
As I open my mouth to shout at him again, I hear a moan and look over, only to see the girl rolling on the dirty concrete. She looks almost dead. Her top is torn, exposing one of her breasts. Her skirt is up around her waist, her panties ripped to shreds. And there’s some sort of thick liquid coming out from underneath her. It’s not coming from her head, but I can’t tell if it’s blood or vomit or…I can’t even fathom the possibilities.
All I know is my anger dissolves into something else. Fear.
Oh god. Oh god. I hope she’s not bleeding out everywhere. Oh god.
In a split second I have to decide: Do I hold this guy down and wait for the cops to get here? Or do I help her? It’s both the easiest and hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.
Jumping off him, I race back over to the girl, knowing he’s taking off as soon as I let him go. But I don’t care. Right now, her life is the most important thing.
As soon as I get to her, she moans again.
“Are you okay?” I ask, not really expecting a response. Instead, I check to make sure she has a pulse and she’s breathing. I don’t know what the liquid underneath her is, but I know it’s not blood. That’s one good sign anyway. Still, she needs help, and she needs it fast.
“I need help over here!” I scream as loud as I can, praying that someone will hear me but knowing it’s a long shot. Turning my attention back to the girl, I say calmly, “It’s okay. He’s gone. You’re going to be okay now.”
Her eyes flutter open for a split second, and I swear she looks right up at my face. I breathe a sigh of relief. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m right here.”
She sighs deeply and closes her eyes again.
“Help! I need help!” I yell into the alley again.
“Jaxon?” Thankfully, I recognize that voice.
“Paul! I’m over here, behind the dumpster.”
He comes around the side, eyes widening as he takes in the scene. “What the fuck?”
“I don’t know man,” I try to explain, my words coming back in a rush. “I came back here to take the trash out and some guy was on top of her, doing…that fucking piece of shit was fucking raping her! Oh, god.”
“Oh god,” Paul repeats, squatting down next to me, taking in the scene but not trying to touch her. “Have you called the cops?”
“No man. I just got over to her. I don’t think she’s bleeding.” Suddenly, I feel the overwhelming need to protect her. And not just from harm. But from prying eyes. “Dude, give me your shirt.”
“What?”
“Give me your shirt. Don’t look at her!”
Quickly, he realizes what I’m getting at and pulls his shirt over his head, leaving him only in the white Henley he was wearing underneath. I grab it from his hands and position the shirt over her to cover her private areas. There’s no reason for anyone to see her this way.
I see red again, as Paul pulls out his phone. How could someone do this to another person? How can someone call themselves a man while fucking by force, not by choice?
Keeping my voice as calm as possible, I keep talking to her, hoping she knows she’s not alone. “You’re okay,” I chant over and over. It may be more of a wish than anything else.
I barely register the sound of the sirens in the distance. I’m too busy looking at the girl. Who is she? Where did she come from? And how did no one see what was happening before it got to this point?
She whimpers and starts to move, so I do what comes naturally. Very gently, I scoop her up into my arms so she’s not lying on the filthy ground anymore. Her body stiffens, and her eyes open again.
Gently, I talk to her again. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I won’t let him hurt you anymore.”
I feel her body relax and watch as her eyes close again.
Paul is still talking to the person on the phone, the sirens getting louder now.
It takes hours, or maybe seconds, until the EMTs arrive. One approaches us cautiously before squatting down next to me.
“Sir, what happened?”
“I don’t know. I came out here to throw the trash out and some guy was on top of her and he was…he was…” I can’t get the words out, and I realize I have to blink back the tears burning my eyes. I keep going back and forth from angry to concerned. The emotion of it all is overwhelming. I can’t believe this is happening to me. I can’t believe this is happening to her.
“We’re going to have to check her out, sir.”
“Be careful,” I demand, the overprotectiveness kicking in again. “I don’t know if she’s bleeding anywhere, but she has a pulse, and she’s breathing.” As they begin to move the shirt to get a better look at her injuries, I look over at my boss, who is watching the scene unfold. “Paul, don’t look at her.”
“What?”
“I said don’t look at her,” I growl. “She’s already had too many people see her like this.”
He nods in understanding and holds my gaze as they work on her. I can see some of it in my peripheral vision, but I refuse to look directly, out of respect for her privacy. She has very little right now. Several minutes go by before the EMT finally says, “It’s okay, sir. She’s covered again.”
That’s when Paul breaks eye contact with me, and we look back down at her. It’s clear she took the time to get all dressed up to come here, and now she’s lying in a back alley, behind a dumpster because some guy treated her like trash.
My stomach rolls at the thought of her getting ready for a night out with her friends, only to end up like this. I swallow back the bile. I will not let myself lose control until I know she’s being taken care of.
“She’s ready to be transported now,” the EMT says, but I don’t move. I can’t. He puts his hand on my arm and continues. “You’ve done a really good job, young man.”
I nod, but I’m not really hearing his words. Suddenly a gurney is rolled next to us, and before I know it, they’re strapping her on to take her away. I refuse to leave her side, though. Not until she’s safely on that ambulance.
As we come around the side of the dumpster through the back of the alley, I’m glad to see a police officer has already taped off the entrance, keeping people from taking any pictures. I know I don’t want to end up on social media for this. I’m sure she doesn’t either.
I walk to the back of the ambulance and as the medics load the gurney, I turn to them. “Where are you taking her?”
“To Memorial Hospital. It’s the closest one. I’m sure the officers will give you more information since you’re a witness to the crime.”
“Sir?” A woman is suddenly standing next to me. I didn’t hear her come up, but my mind kind of feels like it’s in a fog now that I don’t have adrenaline coursing through me. “Sir, we really need to check you out.”
I look at her feeling confused. Why would she need to check me out? I’m not the one who was attacked.
“Sir, your hands.”
I look down, and that’s when the pain finally registers in my knuckles. They’re red and raw and streaked with blood, the skin broken open.
“Oh yeah,” I say, “I forgot. I caught the guy.”
“You did?” Suddenly, she seems very interested in what I have to say, and just as fast, I seem to have lost my ability to put together coherent sentences easily.
“Yeah, um, he tried to run, and I tackled him to the ground, and I guess we threw a few punches. I think I broke his nose.”
“Is he still here? Do you know who he is?”
“No. She…the girl…she was moaning, and I thought she was bleeding out, and I was afraid she was going to die. I got up to help her, and he ran away.”
She pats my arm and flashes me an empathetic grin. “You did the right thing. You may have saved her life.”
I nod, but I’m still feeling stunned, my thoughts swirling a hundred miles an hour though I’m only halfway comprehending anything.
She guides me over to the back of another ambulance, and as she’s disinfecting my hands, an officer comes up and asks me questions about what I’ve seen. In the course of the conversation, he convinces me to give him my blood-stained shirt. Something about it being evidence. Paul must see what’s going on because before I know it, he’s handing me a clean logoed shirt.
“Jax,” he says, “take the rest of the night off. Don’t come in tomorrow or the rest of the weekend.”
“But, you’ll be short-staffed.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he says. “You know I can fill in anywhere. You’ve had a rough night. You need a break.”
“Yeah,” I say absentmindedly. “I guess call me when you put out the new schedule for next week.”
“I will, man. And thanks for what you did tonight. You’re a real hero in my eyes.”
Hero. I don’t feel like a hero. I feel like a real ass for letting that motherfucker go.
A picture of the girl flashes through my brain again, taking me by surprise, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to get rid of the image, so I don’t clench my fist and make it harder for the lady next to me to clean my hands. But she looked small and fragile and vulnerable. Is she someone’s sister? Is she someone’s girlfriend? Is her boyfriend somewhere in the club, looking for her right now? Are her friends? Who is looking out for her?
Once I’m deemed medically sound, I hop out of the ambulance, patting my pockets to make sure my keys are still in there. Crossing the parking lot quickly, I keep my eyes down, avoiding any questions I don’t want to answer. Instead, I jump in my car and drive. There’s only one place I want to be.