Bulletproof. It had to be. And if it could stop gunshots, then surely it could absorb the blows from a man's fists?
The door behind the glass squeaked open on the opposite side. When I saw Anton for the first time, I wasn't so sure about the barrier between us anymore.
I wasn't sure about anything.
Imagine a tiger walking on two legs, suppressing its instinct to rip apart the first tender flesh it finds, if only for a moment. That was him. He moved like he owned the place, instead of being its captive.
I doubted the neon orange jumpsuit he wore even came in a bigger size. And there was a lot stuffed into it – so damned much.
The fabric over his torso stretched like it was about to bust at the seams each time he stepped towards me, the tree trunks he had for arms clasped in front of him, held together by flimsy looking chains. It was the only skin he had exposed besides his face. I couldn't begin to make out the jungle of dark, evil looking ink plastered on those granite muscles.
It rolled up into his sleeves in hypnotic waves, serpents forever bound to his skin. His shoulders were broad, making him a man sized battering ram. Damn if I didn't slide my hand forward and press against the glass, checking to make sure it didn't budge.
Nothing. If this mountain of a man went manic, maybe I'd be safe.
Maybe.
Then there was his face. Short brown hair topped a powerful, angular jaw, a face made for taking a big bite out of the world and spitting it out however he wanted. He'd done that with human lives, I reminded myself, the whole reason he was here.
He didn't have the eyes of a killer. The gems in his head were the clearest baby blue eyes I'd ever seen. For a man who'd rigged up explosives that killed twenty people, I'd expected them to be glazed with death, glassy and mad.
The burning blue fire around his pupils surprised me, melted me in my seat. It flickered with a conscious, eager energy that was almost as scary as the intensity rippling through the rest of his face. The fire held me, forced me to recognize its strange beauty, calling me to look and marvel. I barely caught a glimpse of the faded scar going up his right cheek that completed the ensemble before I forced myself to look down.
Gazing at him too long was like staring into the sun.
Jesus. What happened? Was I seriously getting hot and bothered by this sick demon who'd rip me limb from limb if he knew who I was?
I didn't understand the illusion in my brain, and it scared me. When I looked up, he was close, and I forced myself to see him for what he was: a giant, a killer, more dangerous than a tiger – now separated by only inches of glass.
The identical chair on his side was small for me, but it looked like a child's seat when he plopped down in it. I swore I heard the legs groaning, ready to bust apart under the heavy, livid muscle piled on it.
That shudder I'd suppressed earlier was back. I barely caught myself before I started shaking in front of him, gripping the little notepad until my knuckles were white. He turned his head slowly, a sly smile pulling at his lips, motioning for the phone next to him.
Of course. There was an identical one on my side.
I ripped the old phone off its receiver and pressed it to my ear, watching as he did the same, slower and more fluidly than me. When Anton's face was level with mine again, that smile was bigger, but it revealed nothing.
I held my breath, waiting for his first word.
“You're Sabrina?” He asked, so much like a king talking down to his subject.
The whole world ended in the thud of my heart. I took a long, jagged, ice cold breath. Hearing my name on his lips brought a sick pleasure humming to my skull, like he'd just whispered some dirty, private secret in rich, smoky baritone.
Jesus, girl. You're losing your shit. Screw your head on and remember why you're here.
Don't blow this. It's your lucky day.
It was hard to obey the voice in my head. But I met his eyes and forced my lips to work.
“Yes. Thank you, sir. Thanks for agreeing to talk to me today.”
“Sir? Nobody's called me that since I was a kid, playing assistant manager at my father's club.” He smiled, this time wider, baring several square white teeth. “You've gotta be fucking with me. Come on. Get on my level. You wanna interview me, or sit there worshiping my dick all day?”
If I'd been drinking something, I would've spat it out. Bastard. He had my attention.
I stood a little taller, hid the red blood raging to my cheeks, and nodded.
“Then cut the shit, Sabrina. Call me Anton and let's get this fucking show on the road. You're here to find out why I blew Club Duce to kingdom come, right?”
“Only if you're ready to tell me,” I said, trying to keep the calmest voice I could.
Good luck. The last couple words ended in a tremor. It didn't help that his eyes stayed on me every damned second, heating my skin like he had x-ray vision, a super villain power to match his evilly long gaze. His eyes started where my middle met the little table and went up, stopping at my face.