Suddenly it fell into perspective. I knew that voice. He was the mysterious man I had seen with Anthony when I first started working for him. Only, the alcohol had made him unsophisticated. He spoke like a rowdy boy from a street gang rather than the cultured man whom I had heard the first time around.
"She works here, and she is not at your beck and call." I turned to look at Anthony for some sort of a signal. He blinked once, insisting I stay where I was. His eyes were narrowed to slits and his whole body was tense as he thought over the words he would say next.
"Let her go. We'll take you to some nice place where you can get any girl you like," he assured her. The man ignored him completely, much to my surprise. He freed my hair from my ponytail and ran his fingers through them. The shattered glasses on the floor of my feet were inviting. They were shimmering and ready to be used if things got out of hand.
"You're so pretty, sweet girl," he cooed.
