Page 22 of Bonded By Christmas
I’m familiar enough with the area to know exactly which direction to head to find the bus stop. I’m not sure when the next bus runs, but once I get there, I’ll check the schedule. If it’s a ridiculous wait, I’ll get a rideshare or cab, but I probably shouldn’t splurge unless I’ll be waiting an extreme amount of time.
I lost out on four appointments’ worth of earnings tonight plus tips, but I don’t regret coming out, even if I went a little overboard on my spending. I found an adorable snowman family that I couldn’t pass up, and I grabbed a set of earrings and a bracelet for my mom. I’ll have to mail the gift to her, and she won’t get it until after she gets back from her cruise, but I think she’ll love it.
I follow the sidewalk down until the tables become sparse, and I can no longer hear the Christmas music playing throughthe speakers. It’s weird seeing this part of downtown closed to traffic, but they do something similar for the farmer’s market.
The side streets are littered with families and other marketgoers heading to the lots or parking garages where they paid what I’m sure is an astronomical amount to park their cars for three hours.
The farther I get away from the market, the more deserted the streets become.
A shiver runs down my spine—not from the frigid temperature—and I pick up my pace.
Whatever set off my instincts isn’t something I want to come face-to-face with.
My sneakers bounce against the pavement, but the noises behind me sound like I’m being followed.
I fight the urge to look over my shoulder while debating between heading straight down the empty street or taking a right into the small alley that I know lets out near the front of a busy sports bar. It cuts between the two main streets at an angle, and I’ve taken it during the day.
My impulses scream to get as far away from here as fast as possible, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. It’s so unexpected that I dig in my bag, searching for my phone.
“Hey, bitch. Where’s your kid?” a low, growly voice asks from behind me at the same time a hand wraps in my hair.
Chapter Ten
Lacey
Ishriek, struggling to get away. The man’s other hand slaps over the lower half of my face, muffling the sound. He tugs me sideways down the mouth of the alley and releases my hair to wrap his arm around my middle. He drags me fifteen or twenty feet down the corridor, and no matter how strongly I fight against his hold, nothing seems to help.
My temple slams against the brick, and he flattens my front against the wall.
I whimper, aimlessly searching my bag for my phone, but with how frazzled I am, I doubt I could unlock it, let alone successfully call 911.
“Seems like you need to learn a lesson about how you treat people,” the guy says, laughing ominously. His hand trails down my middle, and he cups my vagina, squeezing hard.
I slam my head back, fighting even more violently.
“Aww, she looks scared,” an unfamiliar voice chimes in.
“She does. Her fear is so thick you can almost taste it,” a third voice says from my other side. “We’re going to rip you apart, omega.”
Oh, God.
He’s not alone.
He brought his friends.
How can they stand by or even participate in whatever the hell this is? Fear courses through my system, and I try to remember what those safety videos said when they made us watch them in our alpha and omega dynamics class in high school.
Jesus Christ.
I shouldn’t have to contemplate pissing on myself to destroy the fantasy to get these assholes to leave me alone. I will, but I really hate that the world has come to this.
My eyes squeeze shut, burning from the tears I know must be about to fall. Terror takes over, and no matter how many scenarios play through my mind, none of them seem like viable options to get free.
What if your best chance at survival is not fighting back?
Could I really do that?
I don’t think I could.
