I had never done such a thing before.
It was late...so late that even the stars and a good portion of the moon had gone to bed, leaving the night so dark that it was like walking through pitch and purgatory to move from one place to another.
I had accepted what I thought had been a kind invitation from a man I knew and thought was a gentle man...unfortunately for me, his expensive car and pretty words had only gotten me through the fancy cocktail party he'd taken me to and then dumped, like so much trash, in the middle of a neighborhood I would not have confined an animal to. And so here I was, in a ridiculously short cocktail dress of emerald green sequins, lace topped stockings and even more ridiculously high heels, with my hair pinned up in sexy disarray, standing in the doorway of a dark, dark street, wondering how I was to get home.
My tiny, beaded green bag might have been impractical, but at least it contained enough to see me safely home...money, a very slim folding cell phone; my small can of mace. Unfortunately, it had been the last thing he'd snatched out of my hand before shoving me out the passenger door and speeding away, the door slamming in the force of his exit, all his anger at me all because I'd refused to...well, to do things to him...orally...while he drove home.
He'd surprised me with the demand, even though I knew he'd had too much to drink at the party, but he'd surprised me even more by reacting as he had, calling me all sorts of vile names before slamming on the brakes and reaching over to shove open my door, and me out into the night. For the moment, I was thanking the stars that remained that the street was deserted and that I had at least a modicum of shadow here in the doorway I'd found, to hide in until I thought of a way home.
I hadn't stood in the doorway for ten minutes when voices emerged from around an alleyway halfway down the block where I stood. The voices were quickly followed by three rather young looking men, early twenties, probably, coming around the corner and in my direction. I felt myself shudder and wrapped my arms around myself in a vain effort to feel safe.
I don't know which happened first...hearing the car approach, or knowing the exact moment when my hiding place ceased to function as such and the boys realized what was standing in the middle of their street in the middle of the night. They were very clear in their crude remarks and suggestions, most of which made me wonder if I wouldn't have been better off with the date after all, that they had found me on their turf, and therefore owned me...
The car arrived an instant before the boys, a sleek, black limo sliding up to the curb parallel to the building that sheltered me in its yawning mouth of its doorway. I think perhaps the car itself saved me more so than the man who slid the glass smoothly down, speaking even more smoothly from within, as all three boys switched their whistles and appreciation to the mass of gleaming metal and away from me. For an instant.
"Come."
The rear door of the limo opened as if by ghostly hands, and all I saw was a black interior so stuffed with shadows that any human would surely suffocate in them. But the voice from within was real, and solid and...reassuring. Warm, with a slight accent of some kind, and oddly compelling. And then a hand appeared, reaching out from the shadows, and in a tenth of a second two things happened simultaneously: the boys realized that I was about to escape, and I realized that escape was holding out its hand to me. Somehow I made it to the car, practically diving into the dark backseat, while three voices behind me made it clear that they were angry at my having been torn away.
I think I must have grabbed for the door handle, slamming it shut, and I heard the metallic snap of a lock and then...nothing. The black shadows were absolute; the car, now sealed and moving away as smoothly as it had come, was tomblike in its quiet. I realized, too, that my diving escape had landed me not on the seat, but on my knees on the plushly carpeted floor between the seats, my left hand on the rear seat, my right on the seat facing the rear. It was only a moment before my left hand was taken into a large, warm, very slightly calloused hand that was certainly male, and that slightly accented voice....French, I thought...spoke out of the corner of the darkness.
"Come. Sit."
The hand tugged gently, persuasively...nearly as persuasive as the voice, and I slid up, finding a seat of such deep velvet that I sighed in relief. I hadn't realized just how uncomfortable the tight, sexy sling back heels I'd chosen for the dress were, when one was forced to stand on concrete in them after standing for so long at the party. And now, what did one say to a stranger who had saved me from...well, something close to certain death, anyway?
"Thank you." It was barely a whisper but it felt like more than my throat could manage at that moment, and I found my self embarrassingly choked with tears.
"You're most welcome."
He hadn't released my hand, I thought...but that didn't seem odd to me, particularly in comparison to the oddity of everything else. And his hands as he was took my left hand in both of his were warm and comforting and made me feel...something...odd. Something dark.
Something delicious.
"If it hadn't been for you," I started, rambling a little because I was so nervous, "They would have...they would...well..." I turned my face away from him, toward the window, my eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness; those hands were doing things to my skin that made it fairly crackle with electricity and the whole weird dream I'd been thrown into tonight was threatening to topple me completely.
"They would have taken you, little one."
I couldn't help it...my head swung back in his direction, surprising me again with his outline..he was big. Very big. He'd spoken matter-of-factly about my having almost been raped, but there was no salacious grin behind the statement. It was just, simply, the truth.
"That's a polite way of saying it."
"Would you rather I be more graphic?"
The accent was stronger now, the outline clearer, and his shadowy figure made the contact of our hands burn hotter. Something was wrong with me...I'm no virgin, for goodness sake, but my sexual encounters had been limited to longtime dates and a few colleagues, none of it very good. None of it generating the kind of heat this man's hand on mine could.
"They would have taken you, little one," he repeated, holding my left hand in his left and smoothing open my fingers with his right. "One at a time, watching one another, waiting their turns...."
A flush of heat crept up into my throat; my face, and I turned away again, but never thinking of removing my hand from his...and not really knowing why.
