RENAISSANCE

22. Different

"Um... I..."

All eyes were on me, and I lost myself in them. Sometimes that of the malicious boss, sometimes those of his colleagues eager for unhealthy action. Then came the one I got stuck on. My only support at this table, my only support. I gave him a look of distress, at him who had strictly forbidden me to open it.

His hands, once delicately placed on the table, tensed, gripping the edge of the tablecloth with ferocity.

His gaze was not on me, no, but on the man who stood up beside me, whom I did not dare look at. The atmosphere had become even heavier, each person here waiting with sneaky desire to be touched.

"Conor. Where is he ?" Isaac insisted.

"Johnson, come on. Faster," said the latter, ignoring his question.

Damn, why isn't he doing anything? Say something.

I didn't know if I could rebel or say anything, but from the murderous look Isaac discreetly gave me, the answer was no. He had just abandoned me to my fate, because he didn't care about his bait.

Damn scarf.

Basically I wasn't surprised. He had never considered me anything other than his piece of meat.

"Conor," he growled again, his patience running out.on the tip of a needle.

Behind me, said Johnson brushed away the flyaway strands that were escaping from my bun. Under the dirty looks of his colleagues. Under the ignorance of the only one my eyes never left during this ordeal.

The tension was at its peak.

I held my breath.

It's a nightmare.

"Shoot me and you'll never know where he is," the latter taunted him, fully confident and not impressed in the least. "The same goes if you kill my man."

What the hell is he playing?

And then, the hand of the man supposed to only touch my tissues, brushed my left collarbone, making me jump slightly and giving me horrible goosebumps of disgust.

The tension was heavy.

Heavy.

Ready to explode.

Electric.

Yes, a little more.

It was only then that Isaac turned to us. His face tightened.

My heart was beating fast.

And as if the scene unfolded in slow motion before my eyes, the latter grabbed the bottle of wine in front of him and threw it fiercely at Johnson's face.

I hadn't seen anything coming, and in a reflex I lowered my head under my hands. Shards of glass fell on me, and the sound of the falling body was heard immediately afterwards.

Muffled screams escaped from the other customers, who were now all looking at our table and the terrible scene that had just occurred. The apparent tranquility of the restaurant was violently broken by the chaos which fell upon us like a destructive tidal wave. My heart began to pound in my chest, beating in time with the terror that spread among the guests.

I turned around and saw that the man had pieces of glass embedded all over his face and neck. Some were even lodged in his right eye which was now dripping with blood. The sight made me gag.

In fact, I couldn't even tell the difference between blood and wine, his face was just completely scarlet red, and he was screaming in throat-piercing pain.