Tell Me Your Fears

Chapter 6: Robyn

Oh, God. He was out of his mind. Drunk, and completely out of his mind.

That was the first thought that passed me when he threw that punch after Anka called him a colorful drunk.

Chaos erupted inside the bar with chairs and tables scrapping the floor, empty beer bottles shattering with bystanders ignoring their drinks and filming the fight. A fight that never should have happened if the man hadn't stepped in. i***t. He's even more drunk than I initially thought he was.

We ran as fast we could, our soles hitting the concrete as we take turn after turn toward Michigan Avenue. I can hear Anka and his men's footsteps closely behind us. I know Pavlov does too, but he doesn't show his worry. If anything, he must have sobered up now considering his steps were precise, lacking the occasional swaying like did when he was faced with Anka.

I don't even want to acknowledge that this was the man I met last night, of which had the possibility of exposing me. That makes him just as dangerous as Anka.

When we don't hear footsteps following behind us, we slow down.

My back hits a grimy wall and Pavlov bends over, his hands on both sides of his hips.

"You have officially lost your mind," I pant. "Why would you do that?"

"Three guys against one woman? Normally I'd watch if it was a porno," he says, matching my breathlessness.

"I don't know if I want to argue with you insinuating I couldn't handle myself because I'm a woman and ruin the camaraderie that's apparently going on between us. You have some sort of hero complex or what?" I pant.

"Or what." He smiles. "What'd they want with you?"

"None of your goddamn business."

"What happened to camaraderie?"

"That only extends to our desperate need to get away from those people, not sharing secrets while braiding each other's f*****g hair."

When he doesn't say anything, I regard him only to find his gaze are intently on me.

A facial composite was given out to the public this morning of what witnesses at the ceremony described as the 'tinder date gone bad' who took advantage of Neil Peralta's whoring ways. The police sketch didn't even get my nose right. But the wig and contact lenses I wore was enough for people to keep an eye out on the wrong woman. The police never did say Peralta spoke with them. Made sense considering the fact that his millions were founded during his days as part of the mafia.

Some part of me was paranoid that this Pavlov guy could see through my lie.

I abruptly straighten my back. "So, now that we got away. I guess we should both go our separate ways."

"I'm hungry."

I blink. "Then go eat. I'm not your mother."

"Funny. That's not what you said earlier."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever." I nod my head toward the small restaurant across the street. "Food's cheap there, but don't order the scallops. It tastes like s**t. Other than that, the food's pretty decent."

"Great. Let's go."

I don't have time to register his next move before he secures my hand in his and dragged me toward the street to prevent me from leaving of my own accord.

He doesn't let go until we had sat down on a booth. I don't say anything until a waitress comes and takes our order, Levi taking the pleasure of getting me eggs and bacon with a fruit shake.

The waitress seductively smiles at him before leaving for the kitchen.

Not once had my hard glare elevated.

"What? You're not hungry?"

"What am I doing here?" I ask.

"Winding down. Don't tell me you're not exhausted from that fight."

"That's the lack of exercise. You look like you don't run much," I mumble. I cross my arms. "Do you really run a company?"

"I'll tell you when you tell me your name." That's the last thing I want.

"Fine. Keep it to yourself, I don't care. It's just a question."

This time, he was the one whose staring at me. "What?" I snap.

"I'm trying to figure out if you're a spy."

"Because I won't tell you my name?"

"Because you had bad business with Peralta and you're not even shaking in your boots."

I suck in a breath. He didn't take long to break the ice. Nevertheless, I manage to keep my composure. "What makes you think it was bad business?"

"You want to check the camera footage at the bar?"

I exhale. "Please. That bar's too cheap to even afford a decent pitcher of water, let alone invest in technology. Speaking of which, why is a tourist drunk on his ass at a random shitty bar?"

"What makes you think I'm a tourist?" he throws back my words.

"You have business casual on. If you're a local, you'd know the only thing you get from looking expensive at The Mill is empty pockets and a flyer of a shitty band that's playing behind a f*****g dumpster. I'm assuming you're staying at the Marilyn Hotel for a business trip? Not quite how you expected its turn out, did you? Judging by your own little party you decided to throw yourself. By the way, you better check your pockets if your wallet's still there."

That doesn't faze him a bit. "No need. You're paying for our meal."

I laugh. I guess that's how the rich stays rich. Let other people pay for their meals. "You think I have cash to spare?"

"No," he replies without missing a beat.

"Ouch. I know I don't look much but couldn't you have at least pretended to think about it?"

"I meant, you're paying our meal using my money. I know my wallet's in your left coat pocket."

I freeze. "Wha—"

"You want me to check?" A threat clear in his tone. I have no doubt he'll do a full body check on me in the middle of the restaurant. I'm under the impression this man doesn't give two f***s about what other people say.

When I take too long to answer, he gets up from his side of the booth and I hastily dig his wallet out from my pocket and toss it on the table.

Levi sat back down, face smug. "And the hundred dollars."

I roll my eyes, digging my hand into my left pocket. I reluctantly surrendered the bill beside the leather object.

"You can keep the fifty."

I smirk before digging into my bra through the top of my shirt and dropped the fifty on the table. The guy's got keen senses if it wasn't obvious before. "How'd you know?"

The waitress returns with our food. She takes her time before leaving, giving Levi a subtle, yet noticeable wink. I assume this was a regular occurrence.

He thanks the woman before settling his eyes back on me, pocketing the money and his wallet. "Felt you reach for it when I grabbed your hand before we crossed the street. Seriously, couldn't you have done it better?"

Oh, he had no idea. I've done a lot of pickpocketing and none a single one of them had I been unsuccessful. Until now. Which meant either he had experience with being a sneak thief or he was born into a situation that required him to be vigilant.

Much like me.

I lean back against the cushion. "No hard feelings, pal. Nothing personal."

He clicks his tongue. "Now you see, I disagree. The wallet is an object and all objects in due course have an owner. Desiring an object of which is already claimed is not picking bones on the object itself but the person already possessing it, therefore, you automatically, by right, made the act personal."

"Ah. But how do you define personal? It's a manner of concerning one's self, is it not? A wallet's an object, and entirely apart from you as a person. Therefore, you cannot claim me thieving some piece of leather that didn't come from your skin or bones as something personal."

"There is also a case of personal objects. How do you explain that."

I shrug, sucking on the plastic straw of my fruit shake. I made sure not to touch the plate of breakfast delight out of protest. "We're not talking about personal objects, are we? We're talking about my stealing from you as a personal attack or not."

"You're not even going to deny it?"

"Why should I? You already know I did the act, why bother pretending? It's just a waste of time."

I'm struggling to figure Levi out. For one, he's not the usual i***t to stumble inside our bar, nor was he a regular straggler. Of course, my judgement might be clouded by the fact that our encounter last night was anything but casual. And there's also that impeding danger of his eventually knowing my real identity. Who would have thought him of all people would stumble upon the bar I worked at?

"If that's why you brought me with you to the restaurant to return your wallet, then mission accomplished. Can I go now?"

"After you eat. Your stomach's been bothering me the whole night." As if on cue, it grumbles. I didn't even realize my stomach's been growling for a while now. I was used to starving myself that I'd forgotten I was hungry. Starving, more like.

I narrow my eyes at him. "How do I know you didn't poison it?"

"Did you see me walk into the kitchen?"

Fair point.

I abandoned my pride to satisfy the monster waiting to be fed. It takes all of my strength not to hurriedly stuff bite after bite because of my audience staring at me as if he waiting for me to mess up.

"Why is Peralta after you?"

I almost choke on my fifth bite. Man, he doesn't beat around the bush, does he?

I should pretend not to know who Peralta is, but I know he'll only catch my lie. If denial's not an option, second best is evasion. "That's none of business."

"I'll stop asking if you tell me your name."

"Why do you want to know?"

"Common decency, mainly. A shared event warrants knowing your peers at least. Don't you agree?"

I keep eating my meal. Goddamn, this was delicious. "You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. I think there's a song about that."

"Doesn't make it any less of a shared experience. Tell me your name."

"Tell me yours," I throw back. I notice he wasn't eating his pancakes. I think breakfast for dinner was his thing.

"Levi. My name's Levi. Your turn."

"Didn't say I was going to tell you mine. I just asked for yours."

"Are you always this much of a smartass?"

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling. So I settled for sipping my drink innocently.

That was the last noise we made before silence filled our atmosphere as we ate our meal. I'm thankful he doesn't try to say anything because I don't think I was able to retort with my stomach so full.

The waitress comes back, her lipstick redder than the dress I wore last night indicating she'd retouched it.

"Here's your bill, sir. That will be thirty-five sixty."

I frown. Thirty-five sixty for two meals and a fruit shake?"

Levi pulls out the fifty I stole. "Thanks—"

I snatch the receipt, scanning for any discrepancies. Then I saw it. "You punched in two orders wrong."

The lady frowned.

"Pancakes and bacon is what we ordered, not two full steaks and caviar. Do you see a small bowl on the table?"

The woman was speechless. Then she takes the receipt from me. "Apologies, ma'am. The cashier must have punched it wrong."

I'll bet.

She apologizes once more then leaves.

"How did you know she got our order wrong?"

"You rich people are sometimes oblivious to the real world."

Levi looked like he took offense. "How do you mean?"

I look around the room before settling my eyes on the man I took notice when we entered the restaurant sitting on a stool. A habit I picked up after my fifth job was to scan a room for exits in a likely event that I needed one. That in turn also programmed my paranoia to notice little details of my surroundings. Being fifteen and alone in the world made you develop a strong sense of self-perseverance when no one else was going to offer you protection.

"You see that guy near the bar? He's on his third cup of coffee since we sat down. Now, you see that young server next to him pouring on his cup?"

Levi followed my gaze. "Pretty girl."

"She just started her shift five minutes ago and he's claiming he order a bottomless coffee. His regular coffee's already paid before his original server left the restaurant so there's no way the current one's going to know he was lying."

Levi doesn't show any emotion as I talk.

"The world is full of loopholes, a way to cheat life without actually having to go through all of the pain and suffering it brings. I found my cheat in life and that's slipping my greasy fingers into unsuspecting people's s**t. If I found mine, you just found the restaurant's, and that's manipulating your receipts because five—ten dollars of non-existent food inside your stomach doesn't so much as make a dent on your huge bank accounts, does it? Just like how schools don't list miscellaneous fees on the tuition balance to make it seem much cheaper than the next so parents would enroll their kids to their institution. And you can't exactly pull your kid out of school when you already paid almost half of the overall balance. That's a waste of money."

"So they don't exactly have a choice but to settle that payment."

"Exactly."

There was a look that passed his face. Contentment? Pride? Of what, I don't f*****g know because it sure as hell not for me. He barely even knows me.

"That's perceptive of you."

"When you get screwed by life, you kind of catch on."

"You don't look like someone who got screwed over a couple of times."

"When does anyone ever?"

Then he just stares at me again. Now that's getting annoying. "Seriously, if you have something to say, then just say it."

"Are you going to tell me anything about you?"

"If I tell you, I'm going to have to kill you."

"Yeah, you're a real scare, aren't you?"

I roll my eyes at his sarcasm.

He takes a piece of napkin and scribbles something on top using a coloring pencil from a container at the table meant for entertaining kids. I crane my neck to see what he's writing down but the inverted angle made it hard to decipher the words coming from the pencil.

When he's done, he slides the napkin to me. It read:

This contract of secrecy is sworn only to and by Levi Pavlov that he shall not speak a single word of the conversation shared this June 5th, 10:42 p.m. to 12:00 a.m., and should only be discussed with _____________ (name of participant) until the end of time. Failure to uphold this contract will result in consequences _____________ (name of participant) wishes upon the drafter.

It ended with Levi's signature at the bottom.

The sides of my lips quirk up involuntarily. "What are you, twelve?"

"This is a contract, usually written so that—"

"I know what a contract is."

"And you already know I'm a businessman and I do not take contracts lightly. Sign your name below and we have a deal. Worst comes to worse and I end up breaching this contract by sharing this so sensitive information of yours, you could always form a lawsuit against me."

I almost laugh at his ridiculousness. As if I could afford to get a lawsuit against him.

The longer I stare at the napkin-contract, the more I was tempted to sign it. So what, if Levi knew my name. He was an awesome conversationalist unlike the ones who hit on me at the bar every damn minute I was behind the counter. As much as I hate to admit it, I was having fun. Between the escaping Anka together and the late dinner, I don't think I had done something like this in a long while with somebody. Just talking. Didn't have to be deep, nor was it too shallow for me to just end mid-way.

Against my better judgement, I take a pencil from the the plastic container and signed my name.

Before I have time to pocket the damn thing, he snatches it from me. "Hey!"

I reach over but he pulled his arm back far from my reach. Levi begins reading the napkin and I wound the table to his side to try and take it from him. But it was too late. "Robyn Gerber? That's your name?"

Admitting defeat, I slump down on the booth next to him. "Yeah, so what?"

"Nothing. I think your name's cute," he says before tossing the napkin back on the table. I quickly pocket the thing in case he wanted to play

I scoff in disbelief. That has got to be the most overused pick up line.

"Okay, Elle Woods. Now that you know my name, who are you exactly? And whatever we tell each other stays on this table."

"You already know my name."

"That's not exactly what I'm asking, and you know that."

Levi only shrugs. "I'm nothing of importance."

"You don't look like much of an average joe."

"Oh? Care to enlighten me?"

I frown. "Now I don't want to. I don't know how big your ego is and I'm afraid my words would only inflate that."

He quirks an eyebrow, his elbow on the top of the table supporting his head as it sat comfortably on the back of his palm. "Now I'm even more curious by what you have to say."

He was staring at me the same way he did at the bar. Except this time, without a hint of that alcohol flowing through his head. "Tough s**t. You're not getting anything out of me."

In a flash, he was leaning over me and my reflexes jerked me back enough for me to almost fall off the edge of the booth.

He managed to pull my coat to stop me from hitting the floor. That just made our proximity closer that I would have liked.

I'm suddenly all too aware that his breath was fanning my face, the smell of alcohol breath from his earlier endeavor to drown his sorrows with liquor was still strong. His lips were wet from when he had just darted his tongue out, an action I found myself wanting to lean in for a taste.

I didn't see him the way I saw him right now from when we met at at the hallway of that woodland mansion. But having him close made me question my actions. God, this man was gorgeous.

"Frowning doesn't suit you, Robyn." Oh, f**k. My name sounded like a wet heaven coming from his mouth.

Or maybe that's the growing dampness below the netherlands.

"Neither does keeping up with people's bullshit yet you don't see me complaining."

A genuine smile slowly etched his face. Oh, f**k you for being gorgeous. A massive f**k you, indeed. His hand drifts up from my coat to the side of my neck. The heat of his palms was so inviting that I hadn't made a move to push him away.

"Peralta's a son of a b***h, isn't he? What did you do to piss him off?" His voice soft, yet still held that hind of authority. As if he was demanding the answer.

His hand trail across my throat. I swallow involuntarily. His eyes caught the movement.

Levi's thumb caressed the length of my throat ever so softly, like I was going to break if he applied too much pressure.

"I thought you weren't going to push it if I told you my name?"

"Except, you didn't tell me your name, did you? I found it out on my own."

"From the napkin I wrote on."

"Writing and talking isn't the same thing, don't you think?"

"Is our conversations just going over technicalities?"

"You started it. Give me something about you. Anything."

I shake my head. "I'm not going to tell you what I did to Peralta." His brows did a nosedive. "But, I'm going to say it's the same stunt I pulled with your wallet."

"Are you just some petty thief who robs the people you just pass by?"

Something like that.

"You're welcome to judge me if you're down to my level, which obviously, you're not." I pushed him away.

Who the hell was he to question my actions? I'd consider a friend, possibly even an the opinion of my regulars, but this man was a stranger and had no right to have an opinion of me.

When I assume Levi was going to double down on his assumption, he blurts out. "Yeah, because I have standards."

I let out a breath. "And those are? Drinking yourself to the brink of death?"

"Integrity."

I narrow my eyes at him. "And you think I have none?"

"You really want me to answer that?"

Silence. A part of me didn't want to hear what he had to say because hearing it from him, despite having only known him for a few hours, would make it real. Would make my situation real. I can stomach it coming from Sam, from the anchor lady on the news who called me a swindler, and the public who thinks I'm nothing but a gold-digger.

Why did I even care about what he thinks?

Afraid he might blurt out something I didn't want to hear, I beat him to it. "I'm not always a good person. I'm sure you've put two and two together by now."

He mumbles something she couldn't quite comprehend.

"If you knew better, you shouldn't be spending time with me."

The lady came back with our correct bill, but she doesn't outstay her welcome and goes back to the kitchen.

His eyes shifted. I never noticed it before but had this way of sparking when he's speculating. I don't know what he does in this company of his, but I can tell he enjoys it. He loves thinking and creating speculations in his that I'm left wondering if this was some kin of project for him.

That I'm some kind of project for him to figure out. Is that why he keeps asking me personal questions? Is he a f*****g shrink?

"My sense of self-preservation is strong. I cut out the roots of things I sense would eventually be a danger to me before it has the chance to sprout." He leaned ever so slightly. "You don't make my warning bells go off."

I snort despite the growing ache in my belly. "That's a pity. I guess there's always a first time for everything."

And just like that, we both stare into each other's eyes again. Deep longing I didn't know was there before churned at my heart with the realization I've never had someone look at me like this.

Like I existed.

I've been moving from place to place, never once staying too long in a city fearing I might get found out. The sacrifice I made just to make ends meet is not having the luxury of being close to someone, not even a friendship. I'm not even sure I existed.

Isolation sometimes does that to you. Even though you encounter thousands of people a week, you never truly feel alive if you're the only character in your story.

And the way he was looking at me . . . It was as if he was truly seeing me for the first time.

His stare made me feel real.

Something catches my eye from behind him out on the dim street. I suck in a breath when I see a a familiar bald head cross the street. Two bloodied men following suit behind him.

Levi follows my gaze, but he doesn't act surprised.

He turns back to me, flicking my cap so my face was more visible. "I'm afraid our time's up. Hope you haven't stuffed your stomach full. I don't want you to puke your dinner on my suit."

Ass.