Page 4 of Sinful Scars

My fist slams into his jaw.

His head snaps to the side, and he lets out a grunt of pain.

“You need to learn some fucking respect.” I fist his collar, slamming him into the opposite wall. “You think you’re so impressive in your cheap suit and fake Rolex, but it doesn’t take a genius to see you for what you are.”

“I could say the same.” He pushes against my chest.

I bite back a laugh as I barely move an inch.

“Don’t fucking put your hands on me again.” I throw him against the marble countertop.

He ricochets against it before collapsing on the floor, gasping for breath from the force of the impact.

I waste no time landing a swift kick to his abdomen, eliciting another grunt of pain that’s like music to my fucking ears.

“You should learn to take no for an answer.” I kick him again, this time in the ribs. “And for the record, she was so far out of your fucking league, you should consider yourself incredibly lucky that she even gave you the time of day.”

I land one last kick to his ribs for good measure before forcing myself to step away before I lose myself to my rage.

My knuckles throb as I flex my hand, but I don’t care.

He deserves a lot more than a punch to the jaw and a few cracked ribs, but I can’t afford to lose sight of Elle. Not when she’s likely to leave at any moment, and I need to make sure she gets home safe.

“Have a nice night.” I exit the bathroom, heading back out into the bar in search of Elle.

But my stomach sinks as I look over to her table and realize I’m too late.

She’s gone.

2

ELLE

The past tendsto sneak up on you, and I’ve always felt mine lurking just out of sight, no matter how hard I try to forget it.

Today has been a particularly bad day. The paranoia tends to be worse when I’m sleep deprived, and I stupidly agreed to do two forty-eight-hour shifts in a row at the hospital followed by a colleague's birthday drinks.

It’s nearing midnight, and I’m almost a complete zombie.

But I don’t mind.

I love my work as a nurse and being this exhausted after a shift means I fall into bed every night too tired to even dream. My dreams always find a way of turning into nightmares.

The buzz from the three vodka and tonics is starting to wear off, and my eyelids are beginning to feel heavy, which means it’s time to finally call it a night.

While I wait for my work colleague, Alice, to get back from the bathroom I pull my phone out of my purse and order an uber.

My apartment is only a few blocks away, and I can easily walk home in fifteen minutes, but I don’t like to take any risks. I put it down to being a young female and the fact that it would be stupid of me to walk home in the dark. But in reality, it’s because I want to escape the feeling of being watched.

The feeling is always heightened when it’s dark, and the alcohol in my system will only make my paranoia worse.

This isn’t a new feeling. For years, my neck has been prickling. It’s like I can feel someone hiding in the shadows, just watching me.

It sounds completely insane, especially because I have no proof that it’s even true.

I’ve never caught someone lurking outside my apartment or following me to the subway, and yet I can’t shake the feeling that someone is always there.

The logical explanation is that I’m just exhausted, but I figure it’s better to be safe than sorry. So, I link with a driver who is ten minutes away and the anxious knot in my stomach loosens just a little. It might be just a feeling, but I’m not about to take any chances.

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