Page 13 of The Woman with the Wallet

“Fine. Have it your way,” he snarled, climbing up on top of me, his knees pinning my thighs.

But that pain was quickly dulled by panic as both of his gloved hands went to my neck, closing around it and squeezing tight.

My first thought should have been of how to get away. But I somehow found myself thinking how strange it was how quickly I started to feel breathless and tingly, how there was a roaring sound in my ear, silencing everything else.

Then, worse yet, the stars in my vision, the way it was starting to go dark around the edges.

Like I was close to passing out.

Then what? Death.

No.

Dammit.

I had to fight.

I raised my hand with what little strength I had at that moment, swinging at his face, landing a blow to his nose.

But it didn’t stop him.

He just kept squeezing.

My throat was screaming.

My chest burning.

Just when I thought it was lights out, though, his hands moved away.

It was embarrassing how I gasped, how I gulped, how I almost wept with relief.

“Where are they?” my attacker asked, his dishwater blond hair falling forward a bit to hide his blue eye.

I wouldn’t pretend to know much about the inner workings of the mob, whether they were more inclusive than they used to be or what. But I was pretty sure there weren’t a ton of blond-haired, blue-eyed Italians.

Which made me reasonably sure that I wasn’t dealing with the mob at all. That this was some other guy looking to rip them off.

And, hey, whatever. I wasn’t about to judge.

The problem was that I’d taken the diamonds first. The mafia could still blame me if this asshole stole them from me.

“Fuck off,” I managed, wincing at how sore my throat felt already.

Then I was fighting like I thought I would just moments ago. Flailing, wiggling, smacking, hitting, scratching.

“Fine. Do it the hard way,” he hissed as he fought me, rolling me until I was on my stomach on the mattress, my arm arched up so far up my back that I wouldn’t be surprised if it was dislocated.

Not that that mattered when his hand went to the back of my head and crushed it into the bed.

I had a bit of an unhealthy obsession with acquiring blankets whenever I found them on clearance or being given away. I guess it was another holdover from being on the streets and nearly freezing to death some winters.

But it also meant I had a pile of them on my bed at all times, little actual security blankets.

They were great when the night temperatures dropped and the drafty windows did little to keep the cold out.

Not so much when your face was stuffed in them and you couldn’t breathe.

I wanted to fight.

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