Abandoned Angel (2 page)

Inhaling deeply, Angelina ran her hands through her long brown hair and then returned it to a loose ponytail. She straightened her slender body, and dusted off her old jeans and crumpled tee shirt in an attempt to look presentable. As she tried to wipe the blood from the corner of her mouth and the vomit from her sleeve, the barroom door opened next to her. She stepped to the side to avoid having the cheap aluminum hit her as it flung pass her body. Two husky men, each sporting black leather jackets, sauntered out. It seemed odd to her that they wore jackets in the warm night air.

“Hey baby, what are you doing here?” the thinner of the two men asked, slurring his words as he spoke.

Angelina, with her bruised face and swollen mouth, startled them as much as they startled her. Fear paralyzed her vocal cords. She could not bring herself to respond to the question. They laughed as she turned towards the open door and walked into the dingy wooden structure, hoping that the men would not follow her. They did not.

The bar was hot and smoky, and smelled of cigarettes and spilled beer. Although Angelina was not a pot smoker, she recognized the smell mixed in with the cigarette smoke. The overwhelming stench caused her to feel nauseated once again. She had to fight to keep from vomiting onto the dirty paneled floor.

Standing alone by the doorway, Angelina tried to figure out what to do and where to go. She struggled to keep her thoughts straight, but assumed she would be safest near an employee. Most eyes stayed planted on her while she started to move again. She slowly worked her way to the bar, every step hurting more than the previous. Rusty had done some damage to her ribs. Although each step caused her side to ache and her head to pound, she managed to find a rhythm that kept her going. Lynyrd Skynyrd bellowed in the background. “Ooooh that smell, Can’t you smell that smell, Ooooh that smell, the smell of death surrounds you.”

Great
, she thought, finding irony in the lyrics. Angelina moved forward trying not to stare at a dark haired woman who swayed to the beat as she danced on top of a round table. As Angelina moved closer to the bar, she became aware of the lanky young Hispanic man standing on the table behind the dancer. He was squeezing her bare breasts with his tattooed hands. The bony woman moved to the music in her black thong as if she had not noticed he was there. An older, more rugged looking man lay flat on his back, leering up at the woman as she swayed above him. His hand rubbed her inner thigh as she jiggled to the rhythm. No one else seemed to notice them, and for a moment, Angelina thought her mind was playing tricks on her. She was not accustomed to that type of display, and it embarrassed her to see it. She quickly looked away when the small-breasted woman opened her dark eyes and glanced in her direction. It was as if she suddenly realized that there was an outsider in the bar. Angelina avoided eye contact with her and everyone else by staring straight ahead, as she made her way to the counter. Every hair on her body felt as if it were standing on end. Angelina had never felt so out of place in her life. The rude whoops and hollers intimidated her immensely. She stood in front of a barstool trying to figure out what to do. Angelina imagined that she must be quite the sight with her bruised face and blood stained shirt, but hoped that someone would offer to help her out because of it.

“Do you have a phone I can use,” she asked the husky man standing behind the bar - her voice barely escaping her throat. Her heart raced as she felt everyone looking in her direction. Angelina didn’t know whom to call exactly, but she needed help. Maybe in her battered state the police would listen this time.

“Nope,” replied the man as he towel dried a glass.

His intense stare fixed upon Angelina’s eyes. She could see an old phone tacked to the edge of the counter, but he offered no explanation. Afraid to say anything, she stood quietly, trying to determine her next move.

“What can I get you to drink doll?”

The bartender, who sported an unkempt goatee that was starting to gray, leaned over the counter, closer to the woman. Realizing she did not have as much as a quarter to her name, therefore, no means to leave, Angelina stood staring at him blankly. Panic threatened to take over. Why wouldn’t he let her use the phone? Again, she was unable to bring any words to her dry lips. Trying to hide the panic and force back the tears that were beginning to crowd her tired blue eyes, Angelina sat on the old tattered stool next to her. She placed her hands over her face.

She did not want a drink, she needed help, but it did not look like anyone in the bar would be interested in helping her. After watching their blank stares and hearing the offensive jeers, Angelina realized that the group, in fact, looked like the type of people who would do anything but help. It occurred to her that Rusty had probably presumed she would be raped or killed in a place like this. He left her in front of that particular bar for that reason. Angelina’s heartbeat quicken as she became more anxious and more aware of her threatening surroundings. She desperately tried to control her breathing. She knew she was in danger, and figured Rusty was probably very amused with himself at that moment. He had successfully taken Justin from her while leaving her abandoned and helpless, in the middle of nowhere. The thought turned her stomach.

“Drinks are on me, Doll,” stated a rugged biker as he pulled up a stool next to Angelina. He sat close enough for her to smell the worked leather he wore and the whiskey on his breath. Angela intended to say “no thank you,” but when she looked into his leering eyes, she froze. There was something very familiar in his expression. She had seen that same look of lust and control many times in the past. At a young age, she first learned what the expression meant, by her father. Later, her husband held the same look. This stranger, who wore a crinkled black and red bandana folded around his baldhead, brought back a fear she had not had to face for quite some time. She sat, bewildered, and could not do much more than stare at this biker as he leaned into her space. Her mind told her to get it together, to say something, but nothing came out of her mouth. Horror-struck by the fear of being pounced, her knee began to shake. The biker drew closer, blowing his cigarette smoke in her direction.

Angela held back a cough. With as sweet a voice as she could manage, she hesitantly mustered, “Thank you, a beer would be great.”

She didn’t know what else to say, and the longer she sat without saying anything, the closer he got.

“You heard her Butch - get the bitch a beer,” he ordered, expecting the bartender to do as told. “Let’s make her feel welcome,” he laughed, obviously eyeing her round breasts. The sarcasm in his voice was deliberate.

“Where am I?” asked Angelina, trying to control the consuming feeling of dread growing inside her chest. Maintaining the control got harder with each breath she took.

Before he was able to answer, two other men were at her side leaning in as close as they could, as if clinging to her every movement. A large man stood behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and then rubbed them as if they were old friends. His thick fingers worked their way closer and closer to the top of her breasts. Angelina cringed but was too afraid to pull away. One of the bikers wore a dark cotton shirt with the sleeves cut out of it. The other wore a dirty jean jacket with patches sewed on. The bright colors on the patches stood out. Although Angelina could not see the man behind her, she could smell the beer he consumed as if it were draining out of his pores.

“Where are you? Are you kidding?” laughed the baldheaded biker who had ordered her a drink. For the first time, Angelina noticed the green and black tattoo markings on his tanned head. The disturbing skull design caught her eye.

“You don’t know where you are?” laughed the man standing behind her. Deep amusement stuck in the pit of his throat. His hands tightened around her shoulders as he laughed.

The biker in the vest followed his lead. “Did you hear that? This little lady is lost - finders keepers.” His hollow laughter rang throughout the room.

“You sure are one messed up bitch,” sneered the hairless biker, spitting slightly as he did so. He seemed to be the leader of the three.

Angelina stared in disbelief as he traced what she assumed was bruising along her jaw line. His slight touch sent wicked chills cursing down her spine. She did not want this creature touching her. He then moved the tip of his finger to her mouth. She wondered if her face was still bleeding. The motion of his finger rubbing against her heart shaped lips repulsed and infuriated her. Her fear, momentarily pushed aside, allowed her anger to set in. She was angry over the situation Rusty had put her in, furious that she was not there to protect her son, and disgusted by the attitude and actions of the bikers. A seemingly bad night had definitely gotten worse.

On the plus side, the anger gave her an inner strength.

Frustrated, she stood as if her whole body didn’t ache, turned to the obnoxious men and shouted, “No, I don’t know where I am Damn it! Is that ok with you?” Her sarcasm rang throughout the air. “My bastard husband beat me, drugged me, and then dumped me in this shithole!” Angelina hesitated for a moment. “And I don’t have any money or a ride, or - anything.” She was starting to lose her edge as the words she spoke rang home. “And now, on top of everything else, I have you assholes to deal with.”

The slender woman did her best to sound threatening rather than intimidated, but her voice quivered as she continued. “You would think that somebody here would be willing to help me out.”

Their eyes fixed on Angelina – each man temporarily caught off guard. Women did not generally raise their voices to them, especially not ones as pretty as she is. Her outburst amused the group of men.

The laughter started up again.

“What the hell is wrong with you guys? How is this funny to you?” she asked, confused by their behavior.

With a shaky hand, Angelina picked up her beer, raised it to her soft lips and swallowed hard and fast. The cold drink felt good on her dry throat, distracting her for a moment. With a loud clank, she sat the beer back down and quickly placed her tired body back on the ripped stool. She almost missed the seat all together but managed to catch herself before losing her balance. The group of men at the bar laughed harder than before, finding her flustered sense entertaining. The bikers drinking at the table behind her joined in on the fun. They had turned to see what the excitement was and found Angelina’s predicament quite comical. Having caught the attention of everyone in the run down bar, she wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. As she lowered her glance, wanting to hide her face, she noticed an attractive man on the other end of the bar. He was not laughing. He sat on his barstool, unconcerned, as he shuffled through papers. With one hand rested on the counter, and the other combing through his dark hair, he continued with what he was doing, ignoring what was happening around him. Apparently, he did not feel the need for Angelina’s problems to bother him. Unlike everyone else in the bar, he did not sneer at her or even acknowledge that she was there. His obtuse nature would have insulted her had it been a different situation.

“You’re in New Mexico baby,” the instigator of the group answered. “And I’ll be happy to give you a ride.” After rubbing his baldhead, his rough hand found its way to her inner thigh. “I’ll give you one hell of a ride,” he continued, leaning in close enough for Angelina to feel his hot breath against her silky skin. He intended to take claim of the woman and made his intentions clear to everyone around.

Angelina looked into his face hoping to find sincerity but lust was all that she saw.

Amused by her bewildered expression he continued. “But it will cost you,” he laughed, squeezing her soft inner thigh hard enough to make her squirm with pain. “And I can’t wait for the payment,” he finished, dragging his pinky across her crotch as he pulled his hand away.

The smirk plastered across his sinful face sent shudders spiraling down her spine, again. Although his gray eyes appeared glossed over, he was well aware of what he was doing. Angelina was too afraid to respond. She wanted to run for the door, but she did not move. This brand of terror, unlike the kind the men in her life had previously caused, was new to her. The bikers waited to see how the stranger would react, getting a rush off her predicament. Angelina downed the rest of her beer as she contemplated her next move, beckoning her mouth to say something - anything. Before she had the chance to speak again, the unconcerned man from across the bar had approached. Confidence controlled his stance.

“What’s your name sweetheart?” he asked, with a raspy edge to his voice. He waited patiently for the woman to answer.

His sudden appearance startled Angelina. He stood tall and at ease with himself. As their eyes met, she matched his stare. She could not help herself. There was something different in his eyes, though she could not pinpoint what it was.

“Angelina Hart,” she finally managed to spit out with unjustified confidence.

“Ok Angel, you’ll be riding with me,” he ordered, grabbing her arm to show possession. His statement was a command rather than a request. He set his gaze on the bald man whose hand had found its way back to Angelina’s thigh.

“Like hell she is,” the man growled.

His grip tightened around her sore leg. His anger was apparent as his jawline tensed, daring anyone to say differently.