This story has been stewing inside me for ages (well, okay, since Daredevil season 2), so I see no cure but to let it out, lol. This story will be pretty different from my usual stuff? The style will be less literary fiction and more MCU, but with a dash of trash, as always. Anyway, lemme know how you like it!
Chapter 1: leather
"I see you haven't heard it's Christmas."
Bonnie looked up in annoyance. She was about to tell someone off for interrupting her with their faux holiday cheer, but her expression changed quickly when she saw it was Jeremy Gilbert leaning against the doorframe.
"Oh, no, I can hear it all right," she replied with a strained smile. The off-beat techno-rap coming from the office Christmas party was hard to ignore. "What brings you here?"
"You, actually," he said, cocking his head to the side in that entitled way of his that made her want to hit him with her stapler.
She didn't have a problem with Jeremy Gilbert, son of John Gilbert, CEO of Mystic-Falls Enterprises. It was he who had a problem with her. Namely, he wanted to sleep with her, and he felt that, as his father's employee, Bonnie Bennett was free for the taking.
She wasn't. Not even a little bit.
But she kept on smiling. She couldn't afford to alienate him. "Oh, well, what can I do for you?"
"You can grab your coat and let me take you out for drinks. I know you're not a fan of the office party. So, let's go some place quiet. Celebrate the holidays. What do you say?"
Bonnie did actually want a drink, but she would rather dress up as Santa Claus than sit next to Jeremy in some seedy bar in SoHo and hear him talk about the latest bash he'd thrown in the Hamptons.
"That's a really nice offer, but I have to go over some assets from the UnionAllied joint venture, and I want to do it now so I don't have to worry about them when I come back to work," she explained in painstaking detail, hoping he would buy it and leave her alone.
Jeremy sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically as if she were a puppy dog who'd refused to perform a cute trick, and not a paralegal in a successful company.
"The paperwork can wait. It's Christmas, Bon."
Bonnie gritted her teeth. She hated when he called her 'Bon'. He'd given her that nickname without her permission, as if he were her self-entitled boyfriend. A terrible boyfriend, at that.
"I don't celebrate Christmas, I'm Jewish." It wasn't a total lie.
Jeremy chuckled. "You're playing hard to get again. I like it."
Bonnie looked down at her phone and begged for it to start ringing so she might have an excuse to stop talking to him. No such luck.
"I'm not playing hard to get, I'm not playing at all. I'm too busy for games."
"You know, one day I'll lose patience. One day there won't be an offer," he teased with a boyish grin.
Oh, please, make that day come faster, Bonnie thought wryly.
"Well, until that day," she said, turning towards her computer screen.
Jeremy watched her for a couple of moments before he turned away with a condescending shake of his head. As he walked down the corridor, she heard him say, "Don't work too hard, Bon!"
Ugh. What a tool.
But he was an expensive tool. His father was ridiculously fond of him and saw great potential in his numerous and, so far, failed projects. Though John Gilbert supported his son, he was very different from him. He didn't leer at Bonnie and he didn't make her feel uncomfortable. He appreciated her for her competence and hard work. True…he was a rather mysterious man, which wasn't always good for a CEO. Mystic-Falls wasn't a very transparent company. She had only skimmed the surface of some of their third-tier partnerships and not all of them were "clean", shall we say. Then again, this was corporate America. If there was anything clean left, it was probably on its way to getting grimy.
Bonnie massaged her temples wearily. She hadn't been lying to Jeremy. She wanted to get the work done sooner rather than later. The office was celebrating Christmas earlier (it was only the 23rd) but she had an early flight to Virginia the next day and she didn't want to go home to her grandmother's and spend the entire holiday on her laptop. Sheila Bennett was famous for her intimidating stares. She didn't tolerate work during family gatherings. Her Grams also didn't like Mystic-Falls, even though it was good money and sometimes even good work. Bonnie almost always avoided talking about her job.
She took out her headphones from a drawer and inserted them in her ears to drone out the techno-rap. Then she hit play on Rihanna's Work and started typing.
Bonnie felt like someone had drilled a nail in the back of her neck. There was a tense knot in the place where her spine met her shoulders. She was stiff from sitting hunched at her desk for hours. She blinked and looked at the time. It was a little past midnight. One more hour and then she'd be able to go home. Thankfully, everything was quiet now. It was just her and some security personnel in the entire building. Bonnie looked behind her. The night sky was dark and empty. There were never any stars over Manhattan. Too many lights, too much pollution, yadda yadda. But she kind of liked it that way. She liked to look at the vast inky space above her, devoid of life, devoid of expectations. A black mirror. It was oddly relaxing.
She decided to go splash some water on her face and return to work.
As she walked down the corridor, the sensor neon lights made a trail of white in front of her. Everywhere else was dark. It was a dreamlike atmosphere. She secretly enjoyed working late because she could soak up the strange aura of after-midnight office life.
Tonight was no different.
She went inside the bathroom and stood in front of the mirrors surveying her puffy eyes and sunken cheeks. She could've starred in Michael Jackson's Thriller. She'd look better in the morning, after a strong coffee and some hot bagels. Her grandmother would be furious, of course. You're only twenty-three!, she would say. And you already look like a forty-something divorcee! It's that job of yours!
Bonnie laughed quietly to herself. She'd read somewhere that being in your twenties felt like being in your forties, and vice versa. It was strange how being young never felt young. Well, unless you were Jeremy Gilbert. Then you were young every day of the week.
She was contemplating these random thoughts that only seemed to come to her after midnight when, as she turned a corner to return to her office, she noticed there was light in the distance. The neon lights could only be triggered by motion.
Was there someone else in the building after all?
Oh, God. Did Jeremy come back?
Bonnie balled her hands into fists. This time, she would say a few things she might regret, CEO's son be damned.
But whoever it was, they must have a clearance card to get in. And they'd also gotten past security. So, she dusted off her crumpled suit and walked confidently towards the light.
He'd checked. He'd checked that the building would be empty, save for some amateur security guards. And then, a young girl showed up.
A kid, practically.
Her lungs were crushed and her whole body hurt. She tasted leather.
She had been slammed against the wall and a glove was covering her mouth.
"Make a sound and you're dead."
The voice was hoarse and ragged and on edge.
She had gone into the archive room with a friendly "Hello? Who's there?" and she had been tackled from behind. He had been a shadow. Not even flesh and blood.
But he felt real now. And so did the barrel of his gun against her temples. Bonnie closed her eyes. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't even cry or scream, she was paralyzed. She'd never had a – a gun – pointed at her.
"Good," he breathed. His face was all bruises and scratches, purple and blotchy and raw, but she could see his eyes clearly and they were two dark and unforgiving chips.
How did he get past security? was her first desperate thought. It didn't seem to matter. If she didn't cooperate, she was dead, she knew the drill.
"Do what I say and you won't get hurt," he added with a rasp, almost guessing her thoughts. There was something strange about his voice. Like he was learning to speak, like the words felt uncomfortable in his mouth. She didn't know why she was focusing on that, but her mind was like a hamster trapped on a spinning wheel and she could think of nothing else.
"Did you hear me?"
Bonnie nodded her head mechanically. He must've breached half of the alarms by now. The police would be here soon. They had to. She'd go insane if she had to stand here with him for a minute longer.
He released her mouth, but didn't lower the gun.
Bonnie gasped, choking on her own breath. It felt like she was coming up for air.
"You work here." It was a statement, not a question. She couldn't deny it.
"What do you do?" he asked, as if they were making small conversation, as if she wasn't peeing her pants in fear.
She contemplated lying to him, but she didn't have a lot of options. A secretary or assistant would not stay in after hours. A higher-up would be on his or her private plane by now.
"Paralegal," she answered reluctantly.
"Hmph. Any good?"
Bonnie blinked. "What?"
"Are you good at your job?"
The question terrified her in its ambiguity, its sheer lunacy. "Good at my…"
"I'm good at my job. So if you say shit to anyone, I'll know. I'll find you. And bury you."
Bury you.
She imagined being buried in Manhattan, in this city of lights and steel. The idea seemed impossible, illogical. But his voice was not speculating.
"You got family?" he continued. "I'll bury them too. I'm used to it."
The mention of family made her seize with panic.
"I won't tell anyone – I don't care what you're doing here – I don't care who you are. Just take whatever you want and go!"
"Take whatever I want and go," he echoed. "You think I'm here to steal."
Bonnie could have sworn he sounded bleakly amused, as if the concept was as funny to him as dry paint.
"That's usually your company's M.O., not mine," he added with a touch of resentment.
"S-so, pointing a gun at people is yours?"
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
She wanted to scratch her own eyes out for saying something so goddamn reckless. She knew better.
He tilted his head an inch, as if seeing her from a different angle would somehow give him new information. His eyes judged her and found her lacking.
"You don't know much for a paralegal."
Suddenly, he pulled her roughly by her elbow until her body collided with his chest. He was wearing some kind of gear, because he felt as solid as concrete.
"Twenty-four hours," he said and it sounded like a verdict.
Twenty-four hours…twenty-four hours…for what? What does that mean?
She didn't find out. He knocked her out.
Her mouth tasted like acid. Her back ached. There was still that tense knot in the place where her spine met her shoulders. She wondered if she'd fallen asleep at her desk again.
She opened her eyes blearily.
She was in the archive room, sprawled on the floor like someone with a serious hangover. Except she was sober.
Twenty-four hours.
Bonnie Bennett shot up like an arrow. Panic spiked through her veins. She had to call the police, she had to call John Gilbert, she had to –
I'll find you. And bury you.
The threat had felt so real. It had been real.
You got family? I'll bury them too.
She shuddered at the thought of that man knocking on her grandmother's door. She remembered the terror she'd felt the previous night. His eyes had been filled with cold, unrelenting anger. It hadn't been directed at her specifically. She hadn't felt targeted…and yet she felt chills everywhere. Because he'd given her twenty-four hours. She'd become a target.
Was he testing her? Seeing if she'd go to the cops?
She knew he could Google the companies' paralegals and find her, find her name. Her office had been unlocked and he must've seen the light from the computer screen. Her mind sadistically covered every possibility until she exhausted herself.
Bonnie managed to find her footing eventually. She even managed to walk out of the archive room. The corridor was empty. Judging from the dim light, it was probably close to dawn, maybe six a.m. But this was a Saturday. There wouldn't be many people coming into the building. She dragged herself to her office. It was exactly as she'd left it when she went to the bathroom. That felt like years ago.
She sat down in her chair. She didn't know if she wanted to cry, or could for that matter. Something about that encounter had left her hollow. She didn't know what she was supposed to do. And that feeling of helplessness was more unbearable than any fear.
She checked her phone.
I hope you are on your way to the airport, young lady! XOXO – Sheila (that's kisses from me! I learned how to spell it from the Internet)
Bonnie pinched the bridge of her nose. That's right. She had a plane to catch. Christmas was here.
Hours later in her seat, glancing absently at the fluffy winter clouds, she felt a cold dread in her stomach, like a snake waiting to bite. She had done nothing. She'd called no one. She'd packed her bags and left for Virginia, as she did every year.
But she could still taste leather on her lips.
The kid hadn't told anyone, hadn't even stayed in town. She'd left on a plane to Virginia. He'd checked.
Bonnie Bennett was her name. A small-town girl's name. Someone who'd worked her way into the city. Someone naïve. But she was a paralegal. She had one foot in the door. She could turn out to be useful.
He'd keep watching.