Page 46 of South Beach Bodyguards

“Not Mickey. Ryan. I need the gun back. Where is the safe?”

I shook my head, trying to covertly slide my hand into my purse. “I have no idea. No one tells me anything. I’m just Mickey’s stepdaughter. I don’t know Ryan at all, really.” It seemed important to distance myself from Ryan, from Juan’s anger. I had a sudden horrifying thought. “Wait. Is that why you asked me out? You targeted me?”

He made a sound in the back of his throat and the glow of his phone bounced around, landing on his chin, his cheek, his left eye, before he lowered his hand and his face disappeared again. “Of course. God, it’s not like I asked you out for your looks or your interesting personality, because you don’t have either. I needed to get in this house but with your legs crossed so tight it’s a wonder you can walk, you weren’t giving me an invitation. I ran out of time and patience. Now show me the safe.”

His slurs shouldn’t hurt, but they did. “I don’t know where it is, I swear.” My voice trembled. It was true. I had no idea where Mickey kept his valuables. Or Ryan, apparently. “But you can look in my room if you want.” It seemed crucial to placate Juan. He sounded like he wouldn’t hesitate to drop me with a fist. “It used to be Ryan’s room.”

“Fine. You go first.” He jerked my arm.

It was then I realized he had a knife. The cool blade pressed against my bare forearm. I swallowed hard and forced myself to walk towards the stairs. “Did you push me down the stairs?” I asked. Suddenly, it was making more sense, my little accident.

“You came home sooner than I expected. I didn’t want you to see me. But I’m out of time. I need the gun back.”

“Okay.” I didn’t know what else to say. All I could think was that if he hadn’t hesitated to knock me unconscious, what would he do now, when he looked desperate and high as a kite? I shifted my purse to the depression between my thighs as I walked, using one hand to hopefully stealthily open the flap and find my phone. I wasn’t sure what I could do with it once I had it since he obviously wasn’t going to let me call 911 but I wanted the security. The option of calling someone, anyone.

In my room I moved to the right of the door to let him pass. I got my phone out and tucked it in my waistband, under my shirt.

“Turn the light on,” he demanded.

I flicked the switch and stood there, poised to run out and down the stairs if he got crazy. Or crazier. The knife was slack in his hand as he yanked open the dresser and started rooting through my clothes, tossing some onto the floor.

“Call Ryan,” he demanded. “Ask him where the gun is.”

“What?” This was my opportunity. I pushed the button on my phone for voice command. “Call Ryan?”

My phone parroted back to me. “Calling Ryan.”

“Give me the phone,” Juan demanded, storming towards me.

Terrified, realizing that Ryan was most likely somewhere in Miami Beach, his phone tucked away in his pocket, I threw my phone at Juan and turned on my heel and ran.

“Fucking bitch.” It sounded like he stopped to scoop up my phone but I didn’t wait to see.

I was out the door and down the stairs, taking them two at a time and stumbling, falling onto my knees on the tile floor at the bottom, like every stupid chick in every slasher movie ever. With a speed I didn’t know I had I was back up and on my feet in a split second, but he caught up with me. He yanked me backwards by my hair, and I screamed in pain and fear. My heart was racing and tears sprung to my eyes from all the roots of my hair being yanked at the scalp. I fell against the wall, hard, slamming my shoulder into plaster.

“Stop it!” I reached back, trying to dislodge him but it only allowed him to catch me by the upper arm and twist it so hard I lost my breath from the sharp blinding pain. “Holy…”

Dropping to my knees, I gagged and almost vomited on the tiles. It felt like he’d dislocated my shoulder. I wanted to get up, but all I could manage was to drag myself away from him with my uninjured arm. But my progress was halted when he kicked me full force in the thigh, the momentum rolling me onto my stomach. For the first time it occurred to me, he might be angry enough to kill me.

Survival instinct kicked in. I didn’t want to die like this, cowering and in pain. It would destroy my mother. She would never recover from losing me. Plus I hadn’t done anything yet. I had barely started on my own life, and I’d spent most of it hiding in the shadows. I kicked out, up, scissoring my legs, trying to get my heel onto anything, arm covering my head as he punched me, landing a painful blow on my wrist.

“Get off of me, get off of me!” I’m not sure why I screamed, but I wanted him to know that I wasn’t going down that easily.

“Stupid bitch, give me the gun! I’m not going to prison!”

“I don’t have it!” Scrambling backwards, I raised myself to a sitting position and when he bent over again, fist raised, I reached out and yanked his long hair as hard as I could, using my other hand to scratch my nails across his cheek with all the strength in me.

He let out a howl and reared back. I tried to stand up but he knocked me down. That’s when I heard a pounding knock on the front door. I screamed. “Help! Help me!” I screamed with everything in me even as he kicked me again, catching my arm. The door shot open, clearly forced, and I kept crawling away from Juan.

It was the cops. I sobbed, breath caught in my throat, bile churning in my stomach.

I heard the “Hands up!” order to Juan. I heard the scuffle as they forced him down, more barked orders. But I just kept crawling, wanting away from the chaos. Away from him.

There was a hand on my shoulder and I jerked away. “Hey, just lie still, okay? It’s okay.”

It was a cop, black uniform filling the space in front of me. The lights came on, blinding me. I blinked, then started to cry. Everything on my body hurt, but I was safe. I lay my head down on the cool tiles and let it ease the burn in my cheeks.

“An ambulance is on the way.”

---