Page 57 of My Cosplay Escape
“I’ll be fine,” and I am out the emergency exit and into the alley before she can ask where my fictitious car is parked.
I make it half a block before I hear them.
“Here, kitty, kitty.”
A trio of frat boys is tailing me. They look vaguely familiar and probably came through the escape room tonight, but by now I’ve seen the equivalent of Petco Park filled to capacity filter through my padded Catstrike cell. Everyone in San Diego looks familiar at this point.
“Hey. Slow down,” one of them calls.
I don’t. Three drunk boys in a badly lit alley in Pacific Beach. I’m not stopping for anything.
Fog has rolled in, and the air is salty with sea spray. The noise from Garnet Avenue is muffled in the alley.
“Hey, did you hear me?” a boy shouts. He sounds offended. I’d say he sounds angry or belligerent, but if I admit that, I might get scared.
“Cat’s got her tongue,” one of his buddies says.
Drunken laughter echoes in the alley.
They run toward me. I’m still two blocks from the gym. I won’t even make it to the nearest side street, not in these stupid heels. I grab my phone and press buttons. Any buttons. All buttons.
“Hey. We just want to talk.” One of the boys grabs my arm and, either by design or accident, knocks the phone out of my hand.
Fudge.
Three guys—a big one, one almost too drunk to stand, and a shorty.
The big one reeks like he’s bathed in gin. Not bathed. That implies hygiene choices that were clearly eschewed.
“Don’t touch me,” I growl, twisting out of his grip.
More drunken laughter.
“Kitty’s got claws,” the drunkest one says.
“Claws,” I say. “A Taser. And a very big, bad boyfriend who knows exactly where I am and will kill you if you touch me again.” Lies. My heart races, and my limbs feel rigid.
“Hey, hey, hey,” the short one slurs. “We just want to be friends.”
My eyes narrow. “Oh, is that all?” I’m sassier than I have any right to be.
“Depends. What do you look like with that mask off?” The goob reaches for my mask, and I struggle.
My heart hammers as everything inside me twists and knots. Maybe I can buy them off. I manage to pull away. “Let me buy you boys a drink first, and we can see where the evening goes.” I will go directly to the nearest public space, where I can scream for help and then run.
“I’d rather find out here,” the big one says, grabbing me before I can bolt.
Car lights turn into the alley. I flinch. Not just lights, but high beams, blind us.
The biggest boy’s grip tightens on my arm, and I squeal, but not in pain. I recognize the car. Fudge goldfish, am I happy to see that car.
Adam steps out and slams his door shut. “Get in the car, Sabine.”
“I dropped my phone,” I say.
“Cracked the screen too,” Shorty snickers, and the big one holds me as tightly as ever.
“You think this is funny?” Adam asks, a dangerous edge in his voice.
