I jerk my chin away from Ruslan's hand and duck away from him, putting my back to the mouth of the alley. He stays where I left him, turning to watch me with a leveling gaze as if trying to decide if I'll run away or not. I clutch my backpack to my chest pathetically, having nothing else to defend myself with. This guy knocked out... or maybe even killed, two big men with ease. He could do the same to me if he wanted to. Yet, he stays where he is, watching me in silence with those indecipherable eyes.
I lick my lips, tasting my own blood. "What are you doing here?" I rasp, eventually finding my voice. It's not loud enough over the rumble of thunder, but he hears me anyway, even from his distance.
"I was passing by," He says, unconvincingly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt.
My head pounds, making it hard to think and my eyes won't stop watering. I tear my eyes away from Ruslan's hulking figure in the alley to try and find my bike on the sidewalk and assess the damage done to it in the fall. I glance both ways before emerging from the alleyway in search of it, finding it on the ground beneath a streetlight. As I look down at it, blood drips onto the sidewalk at my feet, mingling with the rain.
I can hear Ruslan come up behind me, but he doesn't say anything, just looks over my shoulder to see what decision I'll make. Will I run away? Or will I stay and find out what this was about? My hands sting as I crouch down to look at the wheel, cursing when I see how bent it is. I sigh and pick it up, shaking at the pain it brings my raw palms and biting my lip against it. "My bike is fucked," I mumble, not sure if anyone is even listening.
Ruslan's voice answers my silent question, coming from behind my shoulder. "Throw it in the dumpster then," It seems like he has a simple answer for everything. "Or leave it."
My hands throb in protest, but I wheel the broken bicycle to the alleyway and lean it against the wall, pushing the kickstand out to prevent it from falling over. My eyes find the two bodies in the shadows again, lying motionless. I swallow thickly, tasting copper. "Are they dead?"
Ruslan is behind me again, his lion head mask still pushed up to expose his face. Why does he wear that anyway? He didn't have it on before. And how did these bikers recognize him with it on, but didn't notice him in the bar without it? His eyes are like flashes of silver backlit by the street light. "Would you like them to be?"
I turn back to the bodies and shake my head slowly. "No," I sling my bag over my shoulder, wincing at the pain in my back. Ruslan follows me as I walk down the street, no longer bothered by the pouring rain on my face. I only stop once I get back to the bar and dig through my bag to find the key, hoping that it isn't still laying in the alleyway somewhere. My fingers brush the keys and I bring them out, my hands still shaking so violently that it takes me a minute to find the lock. I push the door open and hear the alarm beep the warning to enter the code before it starts blaring, waking the whole block.
I hold a hand out to Ruslan, asking him to stay where he is so I can enter the code without him seeing. He may have just saved my ass, but I still don't know him and I'm not about to risk my job by letting him see the alarm code. He's surprisingly patient and waits beneath the awning for my signal to let him come in. I set my ruined phone and soaking wet bag on one of the stools at the bar, rounding the counter for a rag to press against my nose so I don't bleed all over the store I just cleaned.
I hold the disposable towel against my nose and grab a bottle of whiskey from the shelf before heading to the employee lounge, trusting Ruslan to follow. Even if he doesn't I guess it doesn't matter. He doesn't owe me anything, especially after saving my ass from being robbed and raped by a couple of fat guys in an alley. I push through the door, hearing footsteps follow me inside as I look for the first aid kit that we keep in the office.
I locate the kit and bring it over to the coffee table, popping it open to see if there's anything useful. Ruslan is already sitting on the couch with the mask back over his face. I don't know why he put it back down, but something in my gut makes me assume it's when we came back into sight of the security cameras.
"Why did those guys know you?" I ask, peeling the rag away from my nose, now sticky with my blood. My voice sounds nasally from the swelling in my face.
Ruslan observes me through the eyeholes of his mask, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his knees. "They don't. They know this," He says, reaching to flick one of the ears of his mask.
I stand up to retrieve the mirror from the wall, hissing when I see my reflection. My cheeks are scraped raw from being shoved against the brick and my nose is swollen from being punched in the face. I take the mirror back to the table with me and set it in my lap so I can clean the wounds on my face. "So what, you're in a gang or something?" I ask nonchalantly, taking an alcohol pad from the kit and ripping it open with fumbling hands.
"Yes, you could say that," He says, watching as I swear loudly at the sting of the antiseptic against my palm. "Do you want some help?"
I inhale the sharp tang of alcohol as I fight the pain, giving him a distrustful look. "I still don't know why you helped me."
Ruslan sighs and leans forward, picking up the whiskey from the table and unscrewing the lid. He slides his mask aside just enough to press the bottle to his lips and take a swig of the free booze, which I guess he paid enough for earlier when he was a customer. He wipes his lips on the sleeve of his soaking wet sleeve. "As I said, they were on my turf. I overheard James' threat to you at the bar so I waited for you to get off to catch them in the act. I'm sorry you pissed them off so badly. They were a couple of idiots with too much pride."
I regard him with a tired look, surprised to hear so many words coming from his mouth at once. "Can you not sit on the couch, please? We're both soaking wet."
He sighs again dramatically but slides from the couch onto the floor beside me. He takes the alcohol pad from me and trades me for the bottle of liquor, apparently unconcerned by another person's blood. "You're doing a miserable job. Let me do it," His voice is demanding as he wastes no time mopping it across the raw skin of my palm with expertise, leaving no room for me to complain.
I swear at the pain, tipping the bottle back and swallowing a mouthful, eager to do anything to numb the throbbing of my whole body. Once it subsides enough, I tip my head to watch Ruslan dig through the box for ointment and gauze. "So why did you stay to help me?"
Ruslan glances up at me for a moment before continuing his application of the ointment on my palm, his touch surprisingly gentle against my angry skin. His wet hair still clings to his skin behind the mask, longer than I originally thought. I feel so small sitting beside him but try not to let it intimidate me. "Consider it my good deed of the century. I still can't believe you didn't even try to fight back."
I sigh, leaning my head back to look at the ceiling before taking another swig of whiskey. "Money is just paper. It's not worth losing your life over."
"Yet, you won't throw that ruined bike in the garbage," He scoffs, wrapping my hand with the gauze. "That makes total sense." His words drip with sarcasm.
I roll my eyes, grateful to feel the alcohol beginning to take effect. "I was raised to cherish my belongings," The thought of my broken phone in the other room reminds me that I'll have to buy a new one tomorrow, which means all the money I made tonight was for nothing.
Ruslan finishes my right hand and holds his handout for the left one, making me switch the bottle over. He plucks it easily from the bandaged hand and takes a drink, his eyes holding mine as if trying to find out what I'm thinking. I should probably be more afraid of him right now, but I'm just too exhausted to care who he is. He saved me, so that must mean something about his character.
He holds it back out for me to take so he can continue working. "You seem awfully calm," He says after a moment, dabbing my scrapes with a fresh wipe. His hand is so big that it makes mine look like it belongs to a child in comparison.
"Do I have a reason to be afraid?" I counter, shifting my weight off of my knees. They're definitely bruised, but that's the least of my worries. My whole body is going to hurt even worse tomorrow. I still have to find a way to explain this to my grandma. I guess I'll just tell her I got robbed, which is mostly the truth.
Ruslan considers my words carefully as he slathers the ointment onto my left hand. I don't want to know why he's so good at attending to wounds, because I think I could already guess the answer. "Most people would say yes."
"Why?" I ask, feeling bold thanks to the liquor in my system. "Who are you?"
He pinches the gauze down to the back of my hand with his fingers and wraps it around a few times before tucking the tail end neatly into the palm to stay in place. "No one. Who are you, Jun?"
I frown, pressing the bottle to my lips again. He certainly is evasive. "I'm no one either. Are you a criminal?"
Ruslan picks a new alcohol pad from the box and tears it open, pressing it against my cheeks. He keeps my face still with one hand under my chin, so I close my eyes against the sting. Just when it starts to fade, he does the other side. "Yes. If you're not a cop, then don't worry about it."
I consider his words carefully before opening my eyes, startling at how close his face is. "Do I look like a cop?"
He smirks beneath his mask as he smears some ointment on my cheek. "No. Like I said earlier, you look like a kid. Not a threat at all."
I shrug, racing the rim of the bottle aimlessly. "I guess you're right. Not like it matters though, it's not like we'll see each other again after this," I hate the twinge of hope in my voice that I can possibly leave this night in the past.
Ruslan's eyes flicker up to mine as he lets my face go, tossing the used supplies onto the floor with the dirty rag. He makes a noise in his throat that's neither agreeing nor disagreeing with my statement and reaches for the bottle, prying it gently from my aching hands. He takes several gulps that make me admire his alcohol tolerance before he sets it down on the table, making to stand up. "You should catch an Uber home tonight."
I sigh, thinking about the ten dollars I have left in my bank account. I doubt there will be many in the area this late at night either, though I don't exactly know what time it is anymore. I got off work at 2 am, but there's no telling how much time has passed since my phone is broken. I push myself to my feet and say, "If you're a criminal, shouldn't you, like, not touch things?"
Looking up at him again, it strikes me just how intimidating Ruslan is. He shrugs as he heads for the door of the lounge, taking up the entire doorway with his shoulders. "Doesn't matter if I'm not in any databases. I have to go. Stay off the streets."
"I hope we'll meet again," I whisper, watching him open the door of the exit. Despite there being no possible way he could hear me from across the bar, he pauses, turning his head slightly. The light from the street outside illuminates the profile of his mask.
"You'd be the only one."