“I'll do that, Viv. Thanks for being an awesome friend. I really owe you one.”
“No problem, Angie. I'll see you tomorrow, maybe. Have a great night.”
“Bye, Viv.”
I turned to Paul and handed him the rest of my drink. “Here, you can have this. I'm going home now.”
“What? Don't be ridiculous. Just calm down, finish this drink, and—”
“No. I said I'm going home now, and that's what I intend to do. Have a nice night, Paul.”
Before he could say anything else, I turned around and hurried back up the stairs, heading straight for the entrance. I'd seen a few taxis waiting outside when we had arrived, and hoped some would still be hovering around now. But, no such luck. When I walked out to the front, there wasn’t a taxi in sight.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. I got out my phone, googled the number of a local taxi company, and gave them a call. I was assured a taxi would be there in a few minutes.
I was eyeing a nearby lamppost and about to use it for support since I was feeling a bit weary and tipsy when a somewhat familiar voice spoke in my ear from behind me.
“You can't go home now, Vivienne.”
I turned around and found Paul standing there, glaring at me.
“Uh, yeah, actually I can,” I replied, my tone holding a hint of defiance. “Who are you to tell me what to do? I only just met you a few minutes ago... and to be frank, I don't think I want to have anything more to do with you.”
“Nobody rejects me,” he snarled. “No girl rejects me.”
Flashbacks of Simon blasted through my head, making what would typically be an already scary situation even scarier for me.
“Look, I'm not trying to offend you, it's nothing personal,” I stammered taking a small step away from him. “It's just that I'm really tired and in a bad mood, and I just need to go home and chill out by myself.”
“You didn't even give me a chance,” he replied angrily. “And like I said, no girl says no to me. You're with me now, and we are going to dance now, and you are going to come back to my place later. Trust me, you'll be begging for this body in a few hours, babe, you'll be drooling.”
“Um, I don't think so,” I replied, stepping away from him more blatantly.
He lunged forward and grabbed my wrist, squeezing it tightly with his powerful hand.
“Hey! Let go! That hurts, let go of me!” I demanded.
“I told you,” he growled through clenched teeth. “You and me are going back inside to dance! That's what we're doing now!”
“I think those steroids you're on have taken hold of your brain!” I snapped, my anger now awoken. “And if you don't let go of me this instant, I'm gonna press charges against you!”
Just then a loud horn honked behind us.
“Taxi for a Miss Andrews,” the driver said as he got out. He was a chubby guy with long gray hair, a thick gray goatee, and a bandanna tied around his head. He looked like he was in his 60s.
“Hey,” he said as he saw me struggling against Paul's grip. “What the heck is going on here?”
“This guy won't let me go!” I cried.
“Back off, Son,” the taxi driver commanded. “This lady wants to go, and that's all that counts. She says no, she means it.”
“You best step back, Grandpa,” Paul snarled, his eyes wild with wrath. “I can bench press 300 pounds. I'll snap you like a twig.”
The taxi driver lifted his shirt to reveal a revolver tucked into his belt. He curled his fingers around the hand grip of the revolver, but didn’t pull it out.
“And I'm a veteran of the Vietnam War,” he growled. “I've killed more men than I care to count – and those were battle-hardened soldiers throwing grenades and shooting AK-47 rounds at me, not spoiled trust-fund gym rats like you who'd wet their pants at the first whiff of real danger. Now, get your hands off the lady and get out of here before you piss me off.”
Reluctantly, Paul let go of my wrist and stepped back, scowling and muttering under his breath.