“No, really,” I say firmly, not wanting him to sense my growing apprehension, “I’m okay.” I don’t like the feel of him, the smell of his breath mingling with the aroma of food that’s stayed out too long.

“Pretty girl like you.” He stands, reaching for my face. His chest rams the bowl of soup I’m clutching and it spills down his shirt.

I jump away, tensing as a sick feeling lurches into my stomach. I can see the rage boil inside the man as it climbs to his face in a red haze. “You bitch.” He holds up a hand, knuckles angled toward my cheek. I flinch, recoiling into a ball, waiting for the blow and ready to roll away from it to lessen the impact. My own fingers clench into fists, but I know better than to strike and provoke the obviously stronger man.

All around us men stand, chair legs scraping across the concrete floor. None of them says anything or moves to step in.

“What’s going on?” a voice bellows. From the corner of my eye I see the legs of a tall man striding into the room. When he comes into full view I recognize Ox. Relief teases the edge of my agitation. I start to relax my tensed muscles, letting out a long-held breath.

Ox looks at me and then at the man with his fist raised to strike. “Is there a reason you’re about to hit this girl?” he asks.

The man doesn’t lower his hand. “She spilled soup on me,” he says, shifting so that Ox can see the stain.

Ox’s eyes narrow. “Was it hot—you get burned?” he asks.

The man shakes his head no.

Ox shrugs. “If you’re gonna hit her, then hit her. We’ve got work to do.” Then he turns and walks from the room.

My heart freezes, my mouth open in shock. He was supposed to help me! Astonishment knots in my stomach as the man turns to me, leering. I start backing away, bitter-tasting apologies stumbling from my lips, but this only makes the man’s leer grow.

My back hits another table and I push against it. Its legs groan and squeak as it slides over the floor, and still the man follows me—it seems as if he’s reveling in my fear. I hold my arms up to block him but he forces them away until I’m kneeling, curled over myself, trying to make the most vulnerable areas of my body as tiny a target as possible.