FINDING LOVE IN DARKNESS

Karen

I stir my drink absentmindedly, resting my head in my hand. I'm sitting at a bar on Third Street, waiting for my date, who is now fifteen minutes late. I glance back at the door, noticing how unusually empty the busy Chicago street is for a Thursday night.

I'm getting more and more irritated. Where the heck is this guy? I knew I should have just stayed home.

I tap my phone screen to check the time again. He was now twenty minutes late. I am most definitely being stood up. The guy I was supposed to be meeting was a blind date, set up by one of my coworkers, Clara.

Clara was a self proclaimed matchmaker who unbeknownst to me, had set me up on a blind date with a guy from her gym named Paul. All I knew about Paul was he was tall, had blonde hair, and blue eyes and according to Clara, "looked really impressive in gym shorts."

I had a few forced conversations with Clara in the break room after she cornered me. I had accidentally let it slip that I was single and she had taken it upon herself to set me up on a date. The thing was, I didn't really date. Men in this city were all the same to me. Uptight, douchey assholes who throw one woman out when a newer, shinier one, comes along. So I hadn't been too pleased with Clara's brown-nosing, but also didn't want to upset her. So here I am being a testament to my own theory that men are shallow creatures.

I release a big sigh. Punching my phone screen again. I would give him another five minutes, but by then if he didn't show, it would be his loss. I wave the bartender over and order another gin and tonic. The bartender, a big burly guy, pushes the glass in front of me. I take a tentative sip, but think fuck it, and pluck the straw from the glass. I drink right from the rim, downing the burning liquid.

"I'll have what she's having." A deep, husky accented voice sounds beside me. Startled, I whip my head around to find that the barstool beside me is now occupied and it's definitely not Paul.

The guy stares straight forward, so I only get the pleasure of his side profile. A defined nose and jaw, his hair a deep shade of brown, cut shorter on the sides but longer on top. He's wearing a well tailored suit that most likely cost more than my rent.

He stirs the gin and tonic around with the straw and then like me, takes the straw out and drinks right from the rim of the glass. His throat flexes as he swallows the liquid, and I find myself mesmerized by the gesture. He must note my staring and finally meets my gaze. His eyes are gray, like a sky full of dark clouds, so full, just waiting for the bottom to fall out. I can't seem to function, only stare.

"Long day?" He asks, tearing his gaze from mine. I suddenly regain the ability to breathe and study my empty glass intently. I squeeze my eyes shut scorning myself for being so blatantly obvious with my ogling.

"I guess you could say that." I breathe. The guy looks so out of place. He looks like he should be on the cover of GQ, not in a hole in the wall bar like this.

"Waiting for someone?" He says. I don't dare look back over at him, afraid that if I do I won't have the nerve to look away.

"Uh, no." I lie, my cheeks reddening. I don't know why I feel like I should save face to him, but I feel stupid admitting that I was being stood up.

"Well in that case, let me buy you another drink." He says, lifting his finger in the air, signaling the bartender.

"No it's okay. I've had plenty." I quickly say. He ignores my refusal and orders me another gin and tonic and himself a whiskey.

"I insist. I need to hear about this bad day you've had." He says, a slight smile playing upon his features. It seems pleasant enough so I relax a fraction.

I drop his gaze and instead, fidget with my ring. What is wrong with me? I am never this nervous around guys. It's like he's playing silent mind games with the fixed gazes and confidence. I'm not used to guys being so forward. Maybe that was the difference.

The bartender slides our glasses to us and the guy slips him a twenty dollar bill.

"So, about this bad day you're having?" He says, swirling the whiskey glass around before taking a sip.

"Oh yeah, well my boss had meetings all afternoon and waited until the last minute to tell me he had a conference in Vancouver tomorrow. I had to stay late after work to schedule him a flight, hotel, rental car, the whole nine yards. So I guess I'm just a little tired and cranky." I spout, taking a big drink of my gin. He studies me intently, and I feel my cheeks growing even hotter.

"So your boss is an asshole then."

"That's a good word for him."

"So why do you work for him?" His gaze darkens a fraction when he says this. Something about his eyes, his gaze, it's so intoxicating. I am pretty good at reading people, but with him I can't determine anything. It's seriously fucking with my mind.

I roll his question around in my head. I had worked for Trey Freeman, who made up one half of Freeman and Brambly, ever since I moved from my small hometown in Texas to the city. I was Freeman's assistant, which required me to tend to all of his personal affairs. I rarely had any moments to myself at work, I was always busy scheduling appointments, arranging meetings, and booking flights.

Freeman kept me on my toes, which left very little time for a personal life. I didn't mind it though. Choosing a life of simplicity versus the life I had growing up was a no brainer.

I realize I've been staring at my glass in thought for longer than what would be deemed normal. I clear my throat, shaking my head lightly. "I don't know really...I guess for the money and stability." I say, releasing a breath. He nods like he understands my situation.

"What about you?" I ask, trying to get the spotlight off of me.

"What about me?" He says quirking a brow.

"Do you have a boss that demands all of your attention?" He gives me a hard gaze and then turns his attention back to the TV mounted above the bar.

"I used to take orders from people, but now those people are dead."

I snort. Probably very unattractive, assuming that that was this guy's version of a joke. He doesn't seem like he's joking though. Okay.

"So are you like your own boss?"

"I guess you could say that." His voice is deep and controlled, the thick accent making it seem more commanding.

"I detect an accent. Where are you from?" Mimicking his gesture by quirking my brow.

"I have a feeling you already know." I meet his suffocating gaze again and swallow hard.

"Russian." I say more of a statement rather than a question. He nods once and finishes off his whiskey.

"Do you live here in the city?"

"No." Okay then.

"So what brings you to Chicago?" I am rather curious to hear his answer.

"Tending to business." He simply says. That statement only leaves me with more questions.

"What do you do for work?"

"I run a business of sorts."

"What kind of business?" I ponder, taking a sip of my gin.

"I do a lot of dealing." He straightens, undoing one of the buttons on his jacket.

"Dealings? Like selling things?" I risk a glance in his direction and find him watching me. I sit the glass down tentatively on the bar and straighten my spine a bit.

"More like trading." He answers, his jaw set in a hard line. I draw my brows together, his statement puzzling me. I laugh lightly, the sound coming out nervously.

"So what kind of business brought you here?" I ask, finishing off my gin.

"You."

I almost laugh, thinking that was another attempt at making a joke. But I don't think he was joking earlier, and he's definitely not joking now. It's like a mask has overtaken his features. His eyes are pools of obsidian, all remnants of a possible smile gone. A chill makes its way down my spine, sending goosebumps up and down my arms and legs.

"What?" I say, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. It comes out as more of a whisper. The alarm bells are definitely ringing a frenzy in my head right now, but my limbs seem frozen. I glance over at the bartender. He's tending to some customers on the other end of the bar. Maybe if I can get his attention, he can kick this asshole out.

"You work for Trey Freeman do you not?" I simply think I might fall off this bar stool. Did he really just say my boss's name? This definitely was not a joke and this was not a by chance meeting. All I can think is I need to get the fuck out of here.

"How do you know Freeman?" Maybe if I can keep him talking, I can get the bartender's attention or everyone else's for that matter.

"Freeman and I go way back." I gulp. I feel like my mind is scrambled, but I try to reach into my filing cabinet of shit I need to know for work. I try to come up with a name that would fit this guy who is in cohorts with Freeman, but nothing is ringing a bell.

"How did you know I work for him?" He glances over at me and I think I can hear my heart pumping out of my chest.

"I hired someone to track you down." He says so fucking nonchalantly. I feel lightheaded, blood rushing to my head. I know I should scream or flail my arms for help, but something tells me this guy likes confrontation. So I release a shuddering breath before I speak.

"Why?"

He seems to think over my question, swirling the amber liquid around in his glass. "I cannot tell you that." I almost laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. He hired someone to follow me around for god knows how long and then when he finally catches up to me, he can't tell me why he had me followed me in the first place? This has to be some sort of cruel joke. Maybe I was being set up by Freeman to see how far my loyalties lie. It was something the sick bastard would come up with.

"Well, if you can't tell my why you hired someone to follow me around like some fucking creep, then I think I will just leave." I say. I move to hop off the bar stool but something cold presses into my thigh, stilling me.

"I don't think so. We're not finished here." A cold sweat has broken out on my forehead. I glance down to confirm what I already know.

"I'll scream."

"Go ahead. See if anyone here will help you." I glance over at the bartender, he gives a head nod to the guy and continues wiping down the bar. The two guys sitting down from me refuse to meet my gaze.

"What do you want from me?" I bite out.

"What do I want? I want to kill you right here, right now, but I can't. At least not yet." Steaming breaths are coming through my nose and a whimper almost escapes. I refuse to give this fucker the satisfaction of seeing me afraid.

"For now I will settle for you getting up and walking out of here. My car is waiting out front. I want you to get in without a fight and keep your fucking mouth shut."

He can't seriously think I would just walk out of here and willingly get into his car without a fight? I weigh my options. This is obviously some kind of set up. These people are being paid to keep their mouths shut. But what does Freeman have to do with all this? If it's some kind of bad business deal, it had nothing to do with me. I just book his flights for fucks sake.

I have no other option than to willingly walk out of here. The only chance I have of escape is out there on the street. Maybe someone will walk by and I can get help. But I can't forget the fact that this fucker has a gun. He would mow me or whoever tries to help me down.

Fine. If he wants to play, I'll play.

I snatch my gin and tonic and down it, slamming the glass back on the bar. "Let's go." I say. I grab my purse off the stool next to me and stand up. My legs feel like jelly, but I manage to pull my black dress down around my thighs. I straighten my spine and head for the door. The guy follows closely behind, I know no doubt with the gun still pointed at me.

When I push the door open I am met with cool spring air and the toxic smell of the city. A sleek black Escalade is parked directly in front of the bar. It's running and there seems to be someone sitting in the driver's seat.

I hear the door open and see someone coming around the car, right before I feel a pinch on the side of my neck. "What the..." I try to speak, but my tongue feels like it weighs a ton. My limbs feel heavy and I can't seem to put one foot in front of the other. My eyelids droop, I feel so tired like I could sleep forever.

Just before my legs give out, I am being swept up in the air. Suddenly all I feel is warmth, and a smell so intoxicating, it floods my senses. I black out after that.