Chapter 11: Touch her Again

~Lora’s POV~

I needed caffeine.

Not the fancy stuff Chard kept leaving on my desk the kind that tasted too much like apology and not enough like fuel.

I needed something bitter and instant from the break room machine so I could pretend my hands weren’t still shaking from the memory of his mouth on mine two nights ago.

The hallway was quiet. Lunch rush had passed.

Most people were either out grabbing food or hiding at their desks with takeout. I slipped into the break room, door swinging shut behind me with that soft hydraulic sigh, and headed straight for the coffee station.

I didn’t hear him come in.

One second I was reaching for a mug, the next my wrist was caught in a grip hard enough to make the bone ache.

Dennis.

He’d moved fast too fast sliding in from the side like he’d been waiting. His fingers wrapped around my forearm, thumb pressing right over the pulse point, and he yanked me back until my spine hit the counter edge.

Not hard enough to bruise. Just hard enough to remind me he could.

“You think you’re untouchable now?” His voice was low, close to my ear, breath hot and sour with whatever cheap energy drink he’d been nursing all morning. “Got the boss wrapped around your little finger? Think that makes you safe?”

I tried to twist free. His grip tightened. Pain shot up my arm in a bright line.

“Let go,” I said. Quiet. Steady. The way you talk to a dog that’s already showing teeth.

He laughed -short, ugly. Leaned in until I could smell the mint gum he chewed to cover the cigarettes he smoked on smoke breaks.

“You always were so fucking dramatic. Crying in bathrooms. Running to big strong men. Pathetic then. Pathetic now.”

My free hand came up fast. I shoved at his chest. He didn’t budge. Just smiled wider, like the push turned him on.

“I said let go.”

“Or what?” He tilted his head. “You gonna scream? Run to Chard again? Tell him I hurt your feelings? Maybe he’ll fire me this time. Oh wait he already threatened that once. Didn’t stick, did it?”

His thumb dug deeper. I hissed through my teeth. The mug I’d been holding clattered into the sink behind me.

Then the door opened.

Not slammed. Just opened. Slow. Deliberate.

Chard stepped inside.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there in the doorway, suit jacket unbuttoned, tie loosened like he’d been working late again. Eyes flicked from my face to Dennis’s hand on my wrist.

Something in his expression shifted—nothing dramatic, no flare of nostrils or clenched jaw you’d see in a movie.

Just a quiet darkening. Like a storm deciding where to land.

Dennis felt it. His grip loosened a bit. Not enough.

Chard crossed the room in three steps. Didn’t rush. Didn’t shout. Just walked like the floor belonged to him and everything on it did too.

He reached us. Wrapped his hand around Dennis’s wrist….the one holding mine….and pried it off. Not gently. Not violently. Just firm. Inevitable. Dennis let go like the touch burned.

Chard didn’t release him right away.

He kept his fingers locked around Dennis’s wrist, thumb over the same pulse point Dennis had crushed on me. Squeezed once. Slow. Enough that Dennis’s face went pale.

“You touch her again,” Chard said, voice so quiet it almost sounded gentle, “and I won’t fire you.”

Dennis tried to pull back. Couldn’t.

“I’ll make sure you never work again. Not in this city. Not in this industry. Not anywhere that pays enough to keep the lights on. You’ll be lucky to get a job asking people if they want fries with that.”

Dennis swallowed. Tried for bravado. “You can’t….”

Chard leaned in. Just enough that only Dennis….and maybe me, because I was close….could hear the rest.

“I can. And I will. One word from me and your life becomes very small. Very fast. Test me. See how far I’m willing to go.”

He let go.

Dennis stumbled back a step. Rubbed his wrist like it hurt more than it probably did. Looked between us….Chard calm, me breathing too hard, wrist already blooming red where fingers had pressed.

Dennis’s eyes narrowed. Settled on me.

“This isn’t over,” he said. Low. Mean. “You think he’s protecting you? He’s just marking his territory. When he gets bored….and he will….you’ll be right back where you started. Alone. Broke. Worthless.”

He backed toward the door. Kept his eyes on Chard the whole time, like he was waiting for the punch that never came.

Then he was gone. Door swung shut behind him.

Silence dropped heavy.

I rubbed my wrist. The skin was hot. Marked. I hated how much I noticed it. Chard turned to me. Didn’t step closer. Just looked.

“You okay?”

I nodded. I couldn’t speak yet. My throat is too tight.

He reached out—slow—brushed his thumb over the red marks on my skin. Light. Careful. Like he was erasing Dennis’s touch with his own.

“I should’ve been here sooner,” he said. Quiet. Almost to himself.

I pulled my hand back. Not because I didn’t want the touch. Because I did. Too much.

“Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t make this about you protecting me.”

His eyes met mine. It was dark and steady.

“Then what should it be about?”

I didn’t have an answer.

Not one I could say out loud. So I just stood there, wrist throbbing, heart slamming, while the break room clock ticked louder than it had any right to.

And somewhere down the hall, I knew Dennis was already planning whatever petty, nasty thing came next.