Page 4 of Never Fall for an Angel

A pounding at the door causes my heart to lurch in my chest, and I fall back into the wall, toilet paper-covered floor be damned.

“Just a minute,” I call out, my voice shaking as I scramble to my feet.

I only have one option.

It’s not one I like.

When the door opens, I move further back in the stall, pressing my back against the wall. The sound of heavy boots on scuffed tiles fills the empty bathroom. At three o’clock in the morning, there aren’t many of us in the station, and those of us who are here are almost always running from something.

I’m no exception.

Climbing on top of the toilet seat, I lift my legs and clap a hand over my mouth to silence myself from breathing too heavily and pray to God someone else will come in the bathroom.

“Here kitty, kitty . . .” a man sings, voice low and menacing. AndI knowit’s the man that was watching me. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

He pauses in front of my stall, his boots coming to a halt, sending ringing vibrations through my chest.

Okay, scratch that. Maybe I don’t want to die in a dirty bus station bathroom.

“Aww . . . Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be scared. I won’t bite.”

Fear seizes my chest, and silent tears slip down my cheeks to my fingertips, covering my mouth.

There’s no way out of this.

I let out a squeak when he pounds at the door, clenching the screwdriver tighter in my palm and scampering back on the toilet.

Fuck, fuck, fuck . . .

“You find her?” another voice asks when the bathroom door opens.

The man outside my stall turns away, facing whoever else has just walked in.

“She’s hiding out in there.”

You fucking bet I am, asshole.

“Boss told you not to scare her.”

“I’m not going to scare her. I’m just playing with her a little bit.”

“Well, stop,” the other man says. I watch his boots come across the floor, a slight drag to his step.

“Come on, Mila.”Tap, tap, tap. “I’m sorry if ol’ Jerry scared you. He ain’t a bad guy.”

Jerry can go suck a dick for all I care.

“Let’s stop playing these games now.”

The soft lilt of his slight southern accent would be comforting—if there wasn’t already dried blood on the toe of his boot.

And, you know, if he wasn’t here to kidnap me.

“Come on out, now,” he says gently like I’m a scared dog hiding under a bed.

Right now, I feel like it.

Fuck.

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