Page 1 of Not a Perfect Save

Chapter One

ELLA

“Don’t come any closer!”I brandish a canister of pepper spray with bits of reindeer-printed wrapping paper still taped to it at the stocky man while clutching a bag of mini donuts to my chest with my other hand.

It was meant to be my good deed of the day, a quick detour to the CVS to grab a family-size bottle of Tylenol for my mother, who was in for round two with my sister’s wedding planner tomorrow. The donuts were late-night comfort food for me. Something sweet to take the edge off from the last four hours with Bridezilla.

Minutes after getting off the bus in Manhattan, the skies opened up. I ducked into the closest storefront. Lucky for me, it turned out to be a bodega with a small pharmacy in the back. A two for one special—shelter and sustenance, all in the same place.

Yeah. Real lucky.

Now, my eyes dart from the entrance to the gun that shifts back and forth between me and the terrified pharmacist across the counter—a young kid, barely old enough to grow a beard.

Thoughts of playing Rambo war with my inner Houdini. Both are silenced when cold metal presses against the back of my skull.

“Maybe you want to rethink that, girlie,” another rough voice sounds behind me. “Drop it.”

The reindeer crash to the ground, and the thwack reverberates through the space. Before I can raise my hands in surrender, a large, hairy arm snakes around my waist, pinning my arms to my sides. Cold metal drags from the back of my head to my temple.

“All your Vicodin and Percocet! Now, now, now!” the first guy yells. He heaves himself over the divider and holds his gun on the pharmacist. He yells something else, but all my focus is on the thug pressed against my back.

Ella Marie Dixon. Hold on to your shit.

“Stu?” Stale breath makes me gag.

“Stuff’s all locked up, but Junior here is taking me to get it,” the first man calls, shoving the kid behind the shelves.

“No rush.”The guy holding me tightens his grip. He thrusts his pelvis against my butt.

Bile rises in my throat, and I squeeze my lids shut.

He chuckles. “Don’t like that, girlie?”

I swallow and shake my head.

My heart pounds.Get out of this nightmare. I promise I’ll never send mom’s calls to voicemail ever again.

A 90’s pop song plays overhead. I try to make my brain follow along with the lyrics. The thug grinds against me even harder, and my eyes spring open. Mud streaks line the cracked tile floor. I follow the marks to where my bottle of Tylenol lies on its side.

A slight movement in the corner makes my gaze shoot up to the security mirror mounted against the ceiling.

I suck in a breath. A man is crouched down in the parallel aisle. Blue eyes connect with mine and he lifts a finger to his lips. I’m not alone.

I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.

My attention snaps back to the gun as it is dragged down the side of my face. I wince as the barrel snags on a bit of my hair, still in a ponytail.

I’m freaking not okay.

I make myself focus on the man in the mirror instead, taking in more of his face and angled features set off by damp blond hair.He mouths something, but I can’t make out what it is. I dip my head in the shallowest of responses, hoping to god we’re on the same page and that he’s not going to play the macho hero and get us both killed. Slowly, he gets to his feet.

Sweat breaks out between my breasts as the thug holding me leans over my shoulder. Chin stubble scrapes the side of my neck as he looks down the front of my gaping top.

“Hmm…not much there, is there?” he mutters.

That diffuses some of my terror.Let me go then.

He loosens his grip slightly. Guess I’m not the tasty morsel he was expecting. I wish I was in stilettos. I’d stab his foot with my heel.

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