The Lawyer
The intercom crackled to life. "Miss Ligane? Your 3 o'clock is here." Clarissa looked at her watch. He was ten minutes late, damn deadbeat.
"Send him in." She touched her slim glasses in vague annoyance. She wore them more for the intellectual effect than any real need. In fact, her entire look was designed to provide the impression of professional, expert efficiency. Her hair, dark as a raven's wing, was tied in a tight, high bun. A rebellious slash of hair fell past her forehead and caressed her cheek whenever she moved. A cheek that always had a touch of darkness to it thanks to her half-Mexican heritage. She never grew accustomed to pantsuits, but she found that a tight black skirt that ended a hand-span above the knees had the odd juxtaposition of being both distracting and respectable.
Tony stepped through the office door, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. He wasn't impressed by her clothes, majestic oak desk, nor any other of the decorations and trappings of her station. He actually looked downright angry. His face didn't show it, but Clarissa was good at reading people, and she read the taut muscles rippling under his hard, onyx skin. She read the twitch of his jaw and the grip of his strong, veined hands.
His clothes were immaculate, surprising, given his occupation. A silk-smooth sports coat over a blood-red button-up shirt. His rippled torso strained at the fabric, tantalized the sharp eye.
"Do we have to go through this bullshit again? This is such a waste of time." His voice was a deep baritone that reverberated down her spine. He crossed his arms as he stood in front of her, his good six-feet-plus looming over her. If she didn't know any better, she'd say that he hated her. Not that she cared, they both had their jobs to do.
She glanced up at him over her glasses with her dark eyes, "I'll be the judge of that." She flipped through a few documents on her desk, looking for the right one before quickly giving it her Jane Hancock.
"Shit, why do you even do this? Pretty bitch like you could get plenty a' work on the street corner. Pay good money too. I know a guy."
She spoke without taking her eyes off of her shuffling, "I am a lawyer, Mister Ross. Graduated top of my class, I have perfect court record and life is going just how I like it, but thank you for your generous suggestion. Sign this." She flicked a page out of one of the many stacked on her desk and slid it across the table.
"Should I read it?" He plucked the pen right out of her hand.
"It is exactly the same as last week's one. The date is just changed to today's. Let me spell it out for you, yet again: this will keep you out of jail. It's my job to keep you out of jail."
Tony signed and threw the pen down. "See you soon." As he had left the office Clarissa bit her lip and let out a long sigh while grinding her hips into her fancy leather chair. Every syllable out of his mouth made her want to grab his shaved head and plough him deep between her legs! No, never in the office. She touched her glasses again. She pressed the intercom,
"Jess? Take the rest of the afternoon off."
"Are you sure, Miss Ligane?"
"Yes. I can do everything else myself today." She sat back and sighed again, feeling her cheeks flushing crimson, matching her lipstick. She looked at her watch. Three-fifteen. Bathroom time, finally! If she hurried, she could still have time for her gym session that evening. Training like a Spartan on steroids was the only way she could excise her frustrations, and there were plenty of those over the last few years.
She left her office and made her way through the empty, echoing hallways of the office complex towards the executive's bathroom which she was privy to. All the execs except her, the lone home guard, were away for some big meeting in Aspin. She fished out the access card from her pocket. Each executive was given two, and Clarissa had yet to report her one absent card to security. She wasn't worried though, and touched the spare to the bathroom's sensor. A green light flashed and the heavy door unbolted. She liked the executive bathroom. It was a holy, clean fortress that only a select elite would ever get into.
The door sealed shut behind her. She thought she had a second to stretch, but the hand that grabbed her hair from behind shocked the wind out of her. The strength in the arm was incredible, throwing her side-to-side, teetering her on her delicate high heels. It suddenly ripped back, sending her cascading into a solid chest. A hand built of meat and steel hooked around her throat.
"You think you're the big boss bitch, don't ya?" Tony's voice came from one of the stalls ahead. His patent leather shoes kicked at the marble floor. She scrabbled with painted, manicured fingers at the tightening noose. Breathing was starting to become a rare luxury.
"Wait, please, Tony, wait." She managed to rasp, fingernails scratching at the meaty paw sealing her throat. The mountain behind her shook violently, her feet coming right off the ground. A third, hooded man came out from another stall, a hair shorter than Tony, but just as well muscled. Fuck. Three.
"More than you bargained for, huh? Well this here," Tony jabbed a thumb behind him, "Is Derrick. My man Big Al is the one showing you how screwed you are." Al gave Clarissa another shake as way of greeting, "Right niggers, you know why we're here. Let's show her what we think of the scary lawyer-lady."
Clarissa could feel her face change colour as she became more desperate for air, just when she thought she was at her limit, Al catapulted her forwards. She flailed helpless across the bathroom, and right as she tumbled forward, Tony grabbed her hair and wrenched her upright. He grasped at the buttons of her blouse, and flung her towards Derrick, buttons exploding across the room. Derrick seized her throat again, his eyes crawling up her ripped clothing, tasting the Double-D's wobbling in her bra. It was a thin black mesh, more shadow than material. It took no stretch of an imagination to see what was behind it.
Before she could regain her balance, Derrick pulled her shirt back, engulfing her wrists and pinning them behind her back. Disorientated, disbelieving and desperate, she couldn't bring coherent words out of her mouth as Tony came up behind and tied the shirt into an inescapable knot. A fucking Eagle Scout? Derrick twisted her around by her shoulders to face the others.
Jesus. Big Al earned his name. Seven foot if he was one, muscles bulging though a tight wife-beater, a neck almost as thick as her thighs. He wasn't cut like Tony or Derrick. He was full-cream coffee, but there was no doubt that he was stronger than the other two put together.
Knife. Tony danced it to and fro across her vision, barely an inch from her eye. "You gonna do what we say?" She gave the tiniest nod. The knife tipped up her nostril. On her toes, head as far back as it went. "YOU GONNA DO WHAT WE SAY, BITCH?" His voice booming in the empty bathroom. Down an empty hall. In an empty office. No-one would hear anything. No-one was coming.
