Page 8 of Cam Girl

Where else do I go? What should I do?

Panic threatens to crash and short-circuit me but panic isn’t going to get me out alive, not with these odds.

I square my shoulders. Their gazes track the movement but they’re not sure which one of them I’ll strike at first.

Using their confusion against them, I feint to the right before ducking as the man on the left makes his move. His arms catch the air above my head as the third man moves into place.

I roll to the floor and make myself as small as possible before swiping out a leg to kick the newcomer.

He trips over me and goes down into the second man. Without wasting time, I chuck the table leg at the first dude, who already has blood streaming down the side of his neck.

I’ve got to get out of here. Got to get somewhere safe.

My cell is plugged into the outlet in my bedroom. The door is open, but they’re probably expecting me to go that way. Doesn’t matter. It’s my only option.

I make a run for it with the dudes hot on my heels. The first one is only a few feet away when I slam the bedroom door in his face and twist the flimsy lock. It won’t last long against their muscles. My wrist still throbs where he’d grabbed me.

Whoever they are, they aren’t playing around, and they’re not here to steal from me.

Phone first.

The thin carpet scrapes against the soles of my feet and my lungs are so damn tense they hurt. My heart is going a million miles an hour, my fingers numb. I fumble for the cell and throw it in my pants pocket.

The window.

The fire escape outside has always been way too close for comfort and a perfect way for people to break in, or so I thought. I’d lined the window with things to make noise ifanyone ever decided to break in, and kept a piece of wood lodged across it to make it tougher for any would-be thieves.

The wood jams and screeches through the paint when I drag it out. The latch has been painted over with a landlord's special. I glance over my shoulder at the splintering door. Fuck, I’ve got to go faster.

Much faster.

Oh, god, what am I going to do?

I break a nail and more pain knifes through me. Finally the wood pulls free, the window is open, and I fold my body through the opening. One heartbeat, two.

My pulse thunders in my ears. I make it onto the rusted bars of the fire escape before the bedroom door opens, angled on bent hinges.

The first man runs through and I slide down the ladder.

I slam down on the ground and take off at a run with my arms pumping. Stray stones and broken glass don’t matter.

These are my streets. Loud, obnoxious, packed with people.

And I’ve got to make sure I get far enough away that they won’t find me. I’m not a sprinter; my body is made for lying on the couch and eating donuts rather than doing any kind of physical activity. But when it comes down to life or death, you can surprise yourself.

My bare feet slap against the pavement and the chill night breeze cools the sweat along my spine.

Once I’ve gone a fair amount of distance, I stop, slamming against the scratched plastic side of a bus stop to catch my breath.Tryingto because there’s no room inside me for air. My legs are shot, my feet sore, and my throat scraped raw from exertion.

Holy fuck. What just happened to me?

I fumble for the phone and almost drop it. I don’t need a shattered screen right now. Somehow I manage to press the numbers for 911 and swallow hard as I wait for the call to go through.

“911, what is your emergency?”

I gulp down a sob and anxiously check over my shoulder. “Three men broke into my apartment just now. 6700 Row Street, apartment D. I used the fire escape to get out, but they’re after me.”

“Ma’am, calm down.” The mechanical voice isn’t worried. “Do you know where you are?”

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