Page 163 of Texting Dr. Stalker

I’ll kill him.

Balling my hands, I swung.

He ducked my flailing fist and laughed. “Want to do this the hard way, huh?” His eyes narrowed to slits. “Okay then. Give me your phone and wallet, and I won’t hurt you.”

I screamed.

His hand clamped over my mouth, his fingers smelling like Doritos and cigarettes. “Jeez, you don’t learn, do you?” Wrapping his other arm around my shoulders, he hauled me backward, deeper into the car park, away from the bright lights and beckoning doors of the cinema.

No!

My feet scrambled for purchase.

My heart flew too fast to stay in my ribcage.

I lost it.

I turned into something inhuman as I cracked my head back, smashing into his nose. The phantom pain when Milton had ripped out a handful of my hair was instantly replaced by the nasty crunch of his cartilage.

He screeched and tripped backward, taking me with him.

I fell on top of him, my back to his front, his arm shifting from my shoulders to my neck. I gagged as he added pressure.

All those flashbacks of Milton strangling me.

All those nightmares where he’d done it again and again and again.

I’d been too hurt to fight back that day. Too bruised and beaten to prevent him from taking my life. James McNab wasn’t around to save me with a cast-iron frying pan. No one could hear my struggles.

It’s up to me.

It’s always been up to me.

Scratching his arm over my throat, I gouged his flesh.

He cried out and wriggled beneath me. His arm loosened just enough for me to squirm a little lower. With a scream that’d choked me for months, I brought my elbow careening down…right between his legs.

Hard.

As hard as I could.

Hehowled.

Jack-knifing sideways, he kicked me off him and cupped himself. My phone lay with a cracked screen on the ground. Snatching it, I crawled out of grabbing distance and tried to stagger to my feet.

Only my legs didn’t want to work.

Spluttering a thousand curses, the guy rolled to face me. Fumbling for my ankle with one hand, he protected himself with the other. “All I wanted was your phone and cash. But now you hurt me so…you’re getting hurt right back.”

I screamed again, kicking him in the jaw.

A roar of a motorbike drowned out his shout of pain, a bright spotlight careening into the car park and tearing toward the theatre in the distance.

“Help!” I yelled just as the creep managed to grab my calf and stop me from climbing to my feet.

The driver had his visor down, obscuring his face, but his head turned to face me. For a second, he looked as if he’d crash his bike. The front wheel wobbled and the engine coughed.

And then, he cut down the row of cars with a burst of growling speed.

---