Page 2 of When Wrecked Meets Ruined
“Get off me,” I gritted out, trying in vain to shove him away.
If I screamed for help, it wouldn’t do any good. Nobody would hear me.
Survival was a talent and I’d had plenty of practice.
My nails raked his arm and I tried to get at his face. He wrapped his hand around my throat, his face twisted into a sneer.
“You need to be taught a lesson,” he snarled.
His gaze roamed over my body, his eyes darkening as he licked his lips. Bile forced its way up my throat and burned. Wade had never tried anything on me, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.
I’d learned to run and hide from my mother’s scumbag boyfriends at an early age.
Wade wouldneverget a piece of me. But I needed some space to carry out my plan.
Switching tactics, I taunted, “What are you going to do, Wade?” The secret weapon in my pocket made me bolder.
His dark eyes flitted over me like he imagined what he could do, then he took a step back, just enough to give me some space to do what I needed.
Now was my chance.
I grabbed his shoulders and kneed him in the balls as hard as I could.
With a grunt, he doubled over. “You little bitch,” he gritted out.
When he lifted his head, I finished him off with the press of a button.
“Motherfucker.” Blindly, he lunged for me, tears streaming down his face from the pepper spray.
Ducking out of his reach, I took off into a sprint toward the door, barely making it a few feet before Wade yelled, “Clay! Grab her!”
Oh shit. Clay’s footsteps thudded behind me.
My gaze darted to the tools on the shelves against the wall. With a shaky hand, I grabbed a crowbar and grasped it between my fingers just as Clay got me into a chokehold from behind.
Wrapping both hands around the metal, I shoved it into his ribs. With a grunt, his arm slackened. I slipped out of his grasp, and I ran.
Gravel skittered under my feet as I raced along the shoulder, panting hard. My heart was trying to punch its way out of my chest and adrenaline surged through my veins.
As I rounded the bend, headlights came up behind me, illuminating the two-lane highway and the barren fields. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed Clay was behind the wheel.
I darted right, jumped over the guardrail, and fell to my knees. Scrambling to my feet, I raced across the field and up a hill as Clay’s truck barreled across the field from the left.
It was only when I’d reached the boulders at the top that I stopped to catch my breath. Clay’s truck would never make it and he was too fat and lazy to chase me on foot.
“You’re going to pay for this!” he shouted.
An idle threat. Clay would forget all about me by tomorrow.
I raised my middle finger and waved it high above my head where he could see it. “Fuck you!”
Laughing maniacally, I headed for home, my limbs shaky from the adrenaline rush. It was three miles from here, across the field, just past the graveyard of broken dreams, on the other side of the abandoned railroad tracks.
I don’t know why I called it the graveyard of broken dreams, but I always had. I used to hang out there when I was a kid. Before Wren was born. When I needed to get away from one of my mom’s scumbag boyfriends.
I boomeranged the crowbar over the top and scaled the chain-link fence. Dropping down on the other side, I landed on both feet, crouched like a tiger from years of practice, and sprang to my feet. Then I leaned against the fence and took deep breaths to calm my racing pulse.
Most high school kids were out partying on a Saturday night. And what was I doing? Risking my neck for four hundred measly bucks after working an eight-hour shift at the diner. I dug the money out of my pocket and counted it.
