Shattered

Hazel (e)

Hazel
23.
Two weeks passed by agonizingly slow, weeks that did nothing to ease the tension brewing between me and Mr. Wright. I thought the time would somehow make things go back to normal: me ignoring Mr. Wright, him always annoyed with something I said or did. But somehow, nothing seemed to change. Mr. Wright was still the same cold, emotionless boss, but he barely snapped at me.

I could barely look at Mr. Wright without feeling the urge to hit something.

I did my best not to let the silence bother me, couldn't help but to wonder if maybe Mr. Wright felt the same way that I did. With all the lingering, green-eyed stares that were full of unspoken words, they left my mind reeling.

As if the coffee shop would help me avoid going to the office, I stopped inside.

If luck was on my side, maybe Jules would be working. Maybe she could talk me through what to do about Mr. Wright.

I thought about the last time we'd even seen each other, which was exactly two weeks ago when the whole charade with Mr. Wright took place and she came over. Since then, we hadn't spoken, my texts still unanswered.

Glancing down at my phone, it was still empty of any new texts.

No one was at the counter, but the door to the back room was propped open by a box filled with dark-roast coffee grinds, the familiar containers that sat on the sale shelves were peeking over the rim.

I couldn't see any movement inside the room, even when the bell overhead chimed in another customer.

At first, I didn't think anything of the two men that came to stand in line behind me, but glanced behind me tentatively to take in the new company. They were both dressed nearly identically in simple black shirts and black slacks. One, more lean and much younger by the looks, wore a leather jacket over his shirt, along with an expression that left me wondering what he was thinking. As if hiding something. The other, more stocky and menacing, held my gaze with such an intense stare that when I spun back to face the front, I could still feel it on the back of my head.

A beat of silence made me think I was safe, though I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"I know you." A baritone voice spoke.

Jumping with surprise, I risked a look back, finding that the burly man's beady, sea-blue eyes were locked on me. A stark contrast to the rest of him, the tattoos that peeked out from the neckline of his shirt and snaked like tendrils of black smoke down both of his arms.

"You're the new secretary for Carter Wright, aren't you?"

"Maybe she could help us." The other, more mellow voice said.

I didn't say anything, but kept my eyes locked on the tattoo man—afraid to look away. Help them with what?

He narrowed his eyes. "Just answer me, girl, I'm only curious. Is he as bad as everyone says he is? Pretty girl like you and I bet he's got you doing whatever he wants."

Tattoo man stepped closer to me, my eyes widening with fear and surprise as I tried to back away. Only, tattoo man reached out, quick to grab a fistful of my hair.

Carefully, he inspected my dark strands held between calloused, dirt-encrusted fingers. When his smirking, amused gaze looked at me, I was quick to cover the emotion from my face. My heart in my throat.

"I know you're not mute," Tattoo man's unwavering stare searched my face. "So answer me this—do you want out of that hellhole?"

"No," I said with a shake of my head. "I don't."

Tattoo man shook his head at me in disdain, like he knew I was somehow making the wrong decision. "What a shame. If I were you, I'd run as far away from Carter Wright as possible."