Reaper

I got to work late, soaked, and pissed.

Troy, my boss, greeted me with a scowl when I walked into the kitchen to put down my stuff, but his eyes softened when he realized how miserable I looked. I eyed myself in the reflection cast by the stainless steel shelf – my red hair was a mass of wet knots, my makeup ran in streaks down my face, and my brown eyes were angry red with irritation from the wind. I cursed under my breath.

“Sorry, Troy, I was out and the storm picked up,” I said pathetically as I pulled my hair into a bun on top of my head.

He shook his head and handed me my work clothes. “It’s fine – just get out there quick, there’s a bachelor party out there tonight.”

I sighed. It was nights like these that I detested my job. I made good money and the tips were good occasionally, but being a bartender meant that I had to talk to people. And that’s not my strong suit. I was just thankful that Jesse, the other bartender when I wasn’t working, was also on shift to handle the crowd – he was much more successful at combatting a rowdy crowd than I was.

I yanked on my button-down shirt that Troy had given me and pulled on my black trousers, thankful that they were at least warm, dry clothes for me to wear. With one last look in the mirror, I headed out to the floor, picking up a box of liquor bottles as I headed to my station.

Jesse was already there, leaned over the counter and chatting with two girls. A line of angry customers were waiting to order behind them. I rolled my eyes and grabbed my pad of paper.

“What can I get for you?” I asked quietly, directing my attention to the man standing behind the two girls chatting up Jesse.

My hand froze on the pen. I don’t much notice customers or really think about them much unless they cause an issue, but this guy… This guy was different. He towered over me –and I’m about 5’7”, that’s nothing to scoff at. He scratched is stubble-covered jaw as he looked at the menu behind me, his emerald green eyes scanning back and forth. I watched as he pushed back his curly black hair that had been hanging in his face, wet with what I’m sure mine was wet with as well. His brown leather jacket hung perfectly on his shoulders, revealing his tanned skin and taught white T-shirt beneath.

I reminded myself to shut my jaw before he looked back at me, realizing that I had been staring. I told myself to get a grip.

He looked at me then, his eyes bright. “Scotch, please.” His voice was deep, rumbling, and I couldn’t help but notice how white his teeth were.

I merely nodded in response and went to go prepare his drink, grabbing the bottle and the glass.

Jesse, apparently realizing that he was actually supposed to be working, walked behind me and grabbed my shoulders unexpectedly, making me squeak with surprise. I held onto the bottle, but the glass I’d been holding shattered on the ground, making me jump again in fear.

The man on the other side of the counter stared dead into my eyes as I looked up at him. His expression was strange – hungry, almost predatory.

I sighed, grabbed another glass, and cursed Jesse under my breath.

“Aw, man, Ginger!” His eyes widened as he realized what happened, quickly grabbing the broom from behind the counter. “Dude, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

I put on the best fake smile I could manage and hoped that Troy wouldn’t come in anytime soon. “It’s fine, Jess, I’m okay.”

I finished up the drink for the man and slid it to him. Instead of walking off with it, he perched at the stool closest to me and began to drink, watching me as I helped the next few customers. I felt uncomfortable under his unwavering gaze.

After a few minutes, the bar rush calmed down and Jesse started filling orders again. I leaned against the bar and snuck a few glances at the man out of the corner of my eye. Should I talk to him? I mused, staring intently at a spot that I was cleaning with a rag. No, that’s stupid; just let him enjoy his drink in peace. I hadn’t felt so much like high school since I graduated 3 years ago.

I locked eyes with him accidentally. My breath hitched in my throat as his eyes sparkled with humor, and his lips curled into a smirk. I tried to look away, but every muscle in my body froze.

“You’re name is really Ginger-?”

“Would you like a refill-?”

He chuckled – we said that at the same time. I opened and closed my mouth a few times, unsure of how to react but completely aware that I looked like an idiot. I mentally slapped myself as I felt my cheeks warm up in embarrassment.

“It’s an appropriate name,” he mused, taking another sip of his drink. I was kicking myself for not realizing he didn’t even need a second one.

I bit my lip. “That’s not my name,” I said quietly, grabbing the rag on the table and pretending to clean it. “It’s just what Jesse – the other guy – calls me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Mind if I ask what it is, then?” I detected some kind of accent in his voice. I couldn’t quite place it, since it was very slight – could be British, or something European.

I stopped wiping the counter. “Charlie,” I told him, without looking up at him.

He was silent for a moment, pondering the information. I began to wonder about why he was there – it seemed he wasn’t with the bachelor party that took up most of the bar, but simply on his own, taking shelter from the storm. This place wasn’t just somewhere you showed up, though – it was pretty hard to get to, since it used to be a speakeasy back in the day. I chewed my lip as I thought about it. I knew all the regulars here.

So why didn’t I know him?

“Charlie?” he repeated, a little incredulous. “Short for something?”

“Charlotte,” I told him, still unable to look directly at him. I examined his tanned hands that clutched his glass. They were scarred, rough, calloused – he obviously used them quite a bit. He looked relatively young, probably not much older than me. I wondered what he possibly could have done to have hands like that.

What would it feel like to touch those hands?

I gripped the rag tightly in my hand. That was disgusting! How could I be thinking that about some customer that I didn’t even know? And yet, I found myself oddly intrigued. I couldn’t look away from them, counting the scars that I could see.

“Ah, Charlotte.” The way my name rolled off his tongue was disturbing. I had to remind my knees to remain locked. “That suits you well. Nice to meet you, Charlotte.”

“Everyone calls me Charlie…”

“I prefer Charlotte.”

“Alright then.”

I quickly turned to see Jesse giving me a questioning look from the other side of the bar, where he was organizing some bottles that I had brought in earlier. When I didn’t offer an explanation as to why I had suddenly decided to make friends with the strange man, he shrugged, flipped his blonde hair out of his face, and went back to work.

The man watched me as I worked. I grew increasingly uncomfortable, knocking glasses and bottles over accidentally.

“You’re not going to ask my name?” he asked, laughing a little.

I looked up at him again. He really was very handsome. “What’s your name?”

He smiled at me flirtatiously and finished off his scotch. I watched his chiseled jaw swallow the liquor. Holy hell. He knew he was hot, and he knew that I had been turned to putty. It occurred to me that this was the first time in a long time that someone was actually hitting on me. Completely. I felt my breathing get shallower. Oh, no. No, no, no. This was bad, this was very bad.

Just as he opened his mouth to respond, an even taller man walked up behind him and clasped his shoulder. “We must leave. Now.” The man’s voice was extremely deep – it almost sounded like he was growling.

The new man was huge. He had to have been a foot taller than me, and his shoulders were twice the width of me. He wore a similar leather jacket, like the other guy’s, but his was much more worn around the joints. He had long brown hair that was pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, but his most distinguishing feature stuck out on his face. On his left eye, he had one long, deep scar that stretched from the middle of his forehead to his cheek, splitting the eye in two, though his actual eye beneath it was intact. His eyes were a strange brown color, almost red, as he scanned the bar around him.

The man who had been sitting now stood up. He nodded to the stranger, who then took off, merging into the crowd without so much as a glance at me. I’d never felt so insignificant in my life.

He handed me a few bills to cover the drink. “Thank you, Charlotte,” he murmured.

And with that, he took off, merging into the crowd and disappearing without a trace.

I stared after him for a while, wondering what the hell had just happened. I wasn’t just the kind of person that got hit on at work – normally, the only person who talked to me was Jesse and Troy. I mean, sure, some drunk men cat called at me every now and then, but hardly anyone has ever sat down and talked with me the way this man had. I felt chills crawl up my spine again.

I looked at the cash in my hand, surprised that it wasn’t completely cash at all. There was a napkin tucked into it, poking out of the middle. I pulled it out and unfolded it, checking first to make sure that Jesse was occupied and wouldn’t sneak up on me. The writing was neat, slanted – clearly masculine, clearly the man’s. I was shocked to see that it was a note, one that was actually meant for me. It’s message was short, to the point:

Charlotte – Don’t take the subway home.

I froze. A million thoughts went through my head. How could he know I took the subway? Well, okay, many people do, not just me. Why would he tell me that, though? He must know something to go out of his way to do that, right? And why did he never tell me his name?

I guess I hadn’t been paying attention to what was really happening, because the next thing I knew, Jesse had turned up and was reading over my shoulder.

He whistled. “Hey, did Ginger finally get a guy’s number?” He sounded impressed.

I quickly looked down and crumpled the napkin, stuffing it in my pocket. “Y-Yeah. I guess.” I felt my cheeks flush again.

“You’ll go out with him, but not with your old pal Jess?” He gestured to himself, his blue eyes laughing.

“One, I’m not going out with him, ever,” I muttered, putting the cash into the register. “And two, even if I did, I’d prefer him over your promiscuous ass.”

He feigned hurt. “Ouch, Red, you’re squashing my ego here.”

“Good, someone needs to.”

I sighed. This was going to be a long night.

It turned out to be longer than I expected.