Book 3: Chapter 8

As if someone had hit the pause button on a movie, the scene in front of me stopped mid-action. The two of them slowly turned to look at me and I felt a moment of hesitation. The man was bigger than me, but most of his weight was in his gut that was straining against the buttons of his black suit and red tie ensemble. He reminded me more of a cheesy lounge singer than a man that had brought my friend to her knees. Although, by the look of the rapidly appearing bruises and the trickle of blood coming from his nose, Bethany really had gotten a few good hits in.

“Now, who the fuck is this?” he demanded to Bethany in a horrible replica of a New Jersey accent.

I shrunk away immediately, calling myself every kind of idiot I could think of at that moment.

“She’s no one, nobody. She comes in and cleans the gym every Friday night,” Bethany stated thinking on her feet.

“She’s your cleaning lady?” the man asked her incredulously.

Bethany nodded emphatically and pl