Page 2 of Grind
He won’t catch me this time. I’d rather die fighting.
I lash out in panic. Shock dawns slowly across his face and melts into fury. But I take the opening and squeeze out from under his grip, darting into the dark night
Plunging ahead, I try to navigate winding streets. My blood pounds. My heart slams. Adrenaline spikes narrow my vision. Can’t even scream for help.
Goddamn asthma.
Brooks roars, a sound of pure primal rage, and the hairs on my arms raise in terror. He’s somewhere behind me. I won’t look back.Go, go, go. The leather soles of his shoes ringing out on the sidewalk.Closer. Closer.The street is completely deserted.
Where the hell is everyone?
There’s nowhere I’m safe. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve done. Gone in an instant because of this man. Not even safe in my own bed anymore. He knows where I live.Damnit.
It’s taking me too close to the edge. The carefully crafted sense of control that I’ve built back up piece by piece starts to slip away. I can’t spiral out of control. Hold it together, Ava.
My lungs burn as I gasp for air. Stumbling down a darkened side street, I hope I lose him long enough to get my inhaler. My hands shake uncontrollably as I claw through my bag, frantically searching.
Not enough air.
One draw on my inhaler.
One deep breath. That’s all I need. Get back in control and get away.
Hot tears stream down my face. Fear and exhaustion war in my body. Adrenaline’s the only thing keeping me upright.
And it won’t keep me going much longer.
As I finally wrap my fingers around the plastic inhaler and pull it out, relief shoots through me but turns into to a tense, icy fear. Brooks’s loud and chillingly hollow laugh echoes down the narrow street.
He’s close. Too close.
There’s no time. Running again, my legs moving as if they’re under someone else’s command. Just run. Every instinct urges me forward. Move. Faster. Forward.
My purse is still unzipped. The money I earned tonight flies out in a trail behind me. My gut gives a raw twist. Goddamnit. Three hundred dollars. It’s nothing to Brooks, but everything to me.
My vision grays as Brooks’s hand closes like iron around my forearm. The hairs on the nape of my neck rise in terror. My inhaler flies out of my other hand, and plastic skitters across concrete as I slam hard into what feels like a wall. Pain arcs across my body from the impact, and I fall to the ground with another burst of pain.
“Sorry, man,” I hear Brooks say in a tight voice. “My girlfriend is drunk.”
Scream. Just scream. But there’s no breath left. Even the panic starts to fade, melting into airless oblivion.
Then everything shifts.
Thick strong arms surround me and lift me up. I’m being cradled by muscled arms, and the side of my cheek falls against a hard chest.
Something eases in my chest slightly. My body involuntarily gives a little shudder as tension drains away.
“You okay, miss?” A deep, soothing voice vibrates in the chest my ear rests against. There’s a hint of a Boston Irish accent, but right now it is compressed with concern.
Or anger.
Brooks’s voice always sounds too shrill. Just as I catch at the thought, everything shifts out of focus again, dimming to gray. But I manage to grab the soft material of his shirt.
“Please help, I can’t breathe.” It’s all I can get out, a raw whisper.
“She’s just drunk, man,” Brooks repeats louder, sounding petulant. “I can take her home.”
Silence follows, and then the man holding me growls, “I don’t fucking think so, buddy.”
