Chapter 20 Twenty
Elara's POV
What I couldn't understand was the level of desperation in Lucas' voice. He sounded desperate.
What was he up to?
He sounded so desperate like his pride had been bruised and this was something I couldn't comprehend.
I have always known Lucas to be so confident. So in control but earlier inside the basement, he seemed so vulnerable.
What was he up to?
It didn't add up. His ability to stay calm in the face of rejection made me doubt my hunch.
I approached my car, yanked the door open and stepped in. I inserted my key, igniting the engine. The car roared to life, the sudden gush of cool air from the air conditioner acting as a pacifier to the tension brewing in me.
“You are such a big fool, Elera.” I queried myself, hitting my head against the steering wheel.
How could I have fallen for his tricks?
I am going to be smarter next time.
I rolled my steering, revving into the highway at full speed.
After about a five minute drive from the secluded part of the lower phase, I arrived at its bustling city. I quickly googled any nearby restaurant.
The Red room came up as among the most sorted out due its assorted, rich varieties of wine and ale.
I sped down the winding roads, the countryside rolling by in a blur.
The sun had dipped low in the sky, casting a warm orange glow over the landscape.
I finally pulled into a small, rustic bar. The sign on the billboard creaked in the breeze.
“The Red Door" it read.
I drove into its mini parking lot and parked. I killed the engine of my car and stepped out and let the cool evening air envelop me. I needed a drink, and time to clear my head.
Lucas's desperation still lingered in my mind, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I had been played. I pushed open the door, and stepped into the dimly lit bar.
A live jazz band stood on a small podium right in front of the bar, opposite its \`. Their performance was interesting but a stark contrast of the emotions bubbling through me.
A guitarist. A lead singer. A backup singer. A pianist and a drummer. Moving in sync as they displayed the talent they had best.
I walked into, my eyes quickly spotting a vacant spot at the right end corner.
I made my way there, my heels clicking softly on the wooden floor.
The smell of grilled meat and old whiskey enveloped the bar, filling my nose. The mere thought of the steaks made my stomach twist in hunger.
I sat down, letting my back sink into the chair.
The live jazz music buzzed in my ears softly but I didn't pay attention. I couldn't. Not when my head was full of Lucas and his stupid offer.
I flagged down the waitress. She approached me. A professional smile on her face.
“Welcome to the Red Room where it's our priority to satisfy your taste buds. What’s your order?”.
“One glass of your strongest wine, please.” I replied curtly.
I said quietly. She nodded and left. I just wanted to drink, forget everything, and clear my messy, tired head.
The waitress returned less than a minute later with a locally brewed ale.
She placed the glass in front of me with a small smile.
“This is a Jamaican ale. Enjoy your I gave a weak nod and wrapped my fingers around the cold glass.
The sharp smell of the ale hit my nose first. Strong and rich. I took a small sip, closing my eyes while letting the bitter taste burn down my throat.
This wasn't the best I had tested so far but it was enough to cure my anger.
I closed my eyes for a moment trying to empty my mind, trying to drown out the noise in my head.
My phone vibrated on the table. I ignored it. Tonight wasn’t for calls. Tonight was for me. No Lucas, no stupid deals, just me and this strong drink. I needed peace.
Just when I thought I had gotten the peace I needed, a shaggy, unkept looking man approached me.
My eyes quickly took in his appearance. His clothes were worn out, his boots dusty like he had been walking for hours. Y
He approached me with a sly smile. He leaned close, his breath smelling like old cigarettes and cheap beer.
I wrinkled my nose in disgust, my brows furrowed.
“What's your problem, man?”. I inquired, my voice laced with anger.
“Why are you sitting all alone, pretty lady,” he said, his voice rough. I tightened my grip on my glass, forcing myself to stay calm.
If only this man knew who I was…
“I’m not in the mood for any company,” I replied bluntly.
He chuckled, revealing his teeth were yellow.
“Thats such a pity. What don't I keep you company, sweetheart.” He offered, his voice his lecherous gaze devouring me.
My patience snapped.
I stood up, my chair scraping loudly. “Why don't you go the fuck away,” I warned, my voice sharp.
His smile faded but he didn't get the message. He refused to back off.
“What's the problem? Are you experiencing a heartbreak? I can take all that pain away if you let me.”
I clenched my jaw trying to maintain my calm but the man in front of me wouldn’t stop.
He took another step closer, leaning further, his gaze locked onto me. His filthy hand reached out to me like he had the right to touch me. Like he was entitled to touch me.
My body tensed in anger. I couldn't sit and let some drunk fool ruin my night.
I took a deep breath, trying to maintain myself. It found its way into my purse. I grabbed the cold metal tail of my gun, my lips twitching.
Slowly and evenly , I pulled my gun out and placed it on the table. Its end trained at him while my fingers rested on the trigger.
His eyes widened in shock, his smile dropping fast like lighting against the sky.
“One more step or touch from you and I’ll blow your filthy hand off, " I threatened calmly, my tone low but deadly serious.
The people nearby went quiet, their eyes now on us.
The man took a step back, both his hands bow raised above his head.
“I… I don’t mean you any harm,” he stuttered.
I arched my brow, my gun still trained at him without moving it.
“Then you turn around and walk the fuck away,” I warned again.
He turned around quickly, stumbling out of the bar as though he would get shot if he didn't scurry away quickly.
I sighed, placing my gun back into my purse.
I sat back down and grabbed my drink, the bitter taste more comforting than ever.