Page 31 of Can’t Fight This Feeling

With all the determination I possess, I tip my head back and meet his gaze. I spit in his face.

“You’ll pay for that, bitch.” He draws his arm back to strike me again. A shadow appears at the end of the hallway.

Thank God! Before I can shout for help, Vic drops his hand over my mouth.

“Ah-ah. Before you scream for help, consider your business. Your passion.” His breath against my skin makes me gag. “It would be a shame for you to lose such a prestigious connection.” He sneers. “No one will believe you anyway.”

Vic drops his hand and walks away, leaving me alone in the hall. I manage to stumble into the bathroom and lock the door. My heart’s racing and my legs feel like they’re about to give out. But I can’t stay here. I need to get home. I need...

Fuck.

One glance in the mirror tells me exactly what I need: a doctor.

There’s blood smearing my face. I manage to clean it the best I can and find the cut. With a paper towel pressed to my cheek, I manage to keep a low profile during my escape from the hotel.

The cabbie doesn’t spare me a second look when I climb into his car. I pay him extra not to ask questions and get me home quickly.

Inside the safety of my apartment, my composure shatters. I crumple to the floor in a broken heap. Dragging myself across the floor, I slowly progress to the phone by the couch.

I dial the number I know by heart. The line is picked up.

“Hello?”

The quiet sobs transform into heart-wrenching gulps of air as the panic and pain coalesce inside me.

“Marcy?” Rob’s voice echoes in my ear, and relief fills me.

“Help me.” I hiccup. “Please.”

“Fuck. Where are you?”

“Home. Hurry.” I disconnect the phone and curl up in a ball as the emotions consume me.

I knew better. I fucking knew better than to trust him.

And now I’m right back where I started all those years ago.

Chapter Twelve

Rob

The heart-wrenching sobs echo through the line.

Help me. Please.

The moment I hear those words, I reach for my shoes. All the air disappears from my lungs as my world is ripped out from under me.

Hurry.

“Fuck.” I race down to my apartment and grab my medical bag. Within five minutes, I’m in a cab, racing downtown.

The drive is torment, but I shove aside my impatience. I can’t get to her faster by foot or subway. By the time I reach her place, it’s nearly midnight. Panic infuses me.

What the hell happened? Why was she in tears? The last time I heard her in such a state was the night she left her ex. The night I stitched her wounds and bit back my fury.

I felt a shift last night during our friendly dinner. The soft transition from tolerating someone’s presence to friendship. I shouldn’t hope for much, but knowing she called me for help instead of one of her other friends leaves me certain there’s something more.

Then again, she called her brother’s number. I just happened to be there to answer the phone. Maybe she was reacting out of desperation, out of survival, calling the one person she could trust. Her brother.

---