Chapter 4
It couldn't have been more than five minutes. They were both catching their breaths, Andy bent over, bracing her outstretched arm against Sam, who, however, wasn't very steady himself. When she finally straightened her body his breath caught in his throat. Her pony tail had come undone and he slowly lifted his hand to remove a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. He had grazed her cheek only ever so lightly, but it still made her wince. A black eye, a large laceration across her right cheek, a split lip and eyebrow. And that was only her face. She'd also twisted her knee, staggering backwards when she lost her balance at some point, falling into a wooden pallet – a splinter of which was still lodged in her thigh. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. His voice was rough and full of regret. "Don't, Sam. Just don't. I made you do it, we both know it. And anyway, I prefer this to a bullet in my head." She managed a small smile but not without drawing in a sharp breath, as her lip was split.
"I gotta go, they'll be wondering where I am by now." Sam just managed a quick nod, still not believing what had happened in the last ten minutes. At that point, Andy had already turned around, walking, or rather limping, towards the backdoor.
"Andy?" She turned around to look at him, "you were amazing in there. Your quick thinking probably saved both of our lives." She tried to flash him a smile, but couldn't manage without it turning into a grimace of pain.
She had barely entered the club through the back door when Goon One and Goon Two appeared at her sides, as if out of thin air. "Let's get this over with," she thought, forcing herself to hyperventilate and, biting down hard on her injured lip, she made her eyes fill with tears. Although her ability to lie had significantly improved through her long undercover mission with Nick, she still wasn't the best at it – Andy could use all the props she could get, and tears would help her look the part. They led her into the office.
"Happy reunion?" Mike's voice caught her off guard. She hadn't seen him, standing behind the, coming into her field of vision only after the door was closed and she was alone with him. All she wanted to do was to smack that disgusting grin off his face. "Mike, I….", she launched into her prepared explanation of what had happened in the back alley.
"You can't work like this. Go home." He interrupted her. Apparently he believed her injuries to be quite self-explanatory. And mundane. He had probably seen many women beaten up in his line of work – probably had done a lot of beating himself, too. Her stomach turned, as usual, when she thought about what kind of lowlife would see women merely as a commodity. Still, she was very relieved at his reaction.
"Oh, come on, Mike, I need the cash!" Actually, she wanted nothing more than to go home, but she had to uphold this mask of desperation as best as she could. After a pause, she added "Truth be told, I don't wanna go home. Neil scared the shit out of me. What if he follows me home?"
Mike was unimpressed. "I'm sorry, babe. Really, I am." His words were dripping in sarcasm, "but you can't bring your private shit into my establishment and expect me to take care of it. You gotta go – home, to someone else's place, I really don't give a fuck."
She turned to leave. "Banged-up chicks are bad for business. Only come back tomorrow if you manage to paint a pretty face over that mess." Luckily, she had her back turned to him and he couldn't see her expression, or otherwise he surely would've seen the loathing on her face, impossible for her to hide for a few seconds.