Page 47 of Fight for Me

Her door burst open, startling a scream from her as she jumped to her feet.

Three men came through the opening, two holding handguns. The third held a knife.

Ice flooded her veins as adrenaline spiked and her tongue felt coated in tangy metal. There was nowhere to go, and she had nothing to defend herself. She bitterly regretted not having Blane’s gun.

She grabbed for her purse. If she could get her phone, she could call 911.

Her fingers had just touched the metal of the phone in her purse when a hand closed around her throat, jerking her backward off her feet. She landed hard on the floor, her head smacking against the hardwood.

She scrambled backwards on the floor. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The man looming over her was dressed nicely in button-down shirt, jacket, and slacks. His skin was a deep olive. He had dark hair and eyes. His face was young, but cruelty was cut into the lines around his mouth.

The two men behind him were larger and dressed in dark clothes. They acted like bodyguards, or the muscle to back him.

“I believe you’ve met my wife,” he said, coming closer. He was smiling slightly, which terrified her even more. It wasn’t a nice smile.

Anne scrambled to her feet and backed up until there was nowhere left to go. A wall of windows met her back.

“I don’t know your wife.” She struggled not to let her voice shake, even as her heart was pounding hard enough to burst out of her chest.

“She came to see you,” he said. “A woman and child. Madeleine is her name.”

Her heart skipped a beat. This had to be the husband that Madeleine was afraid of.

Without warning, he backhanded her. Pain exploded in her cheek as she fell to her hands and knees. She tasted blood.

“Get up,” he snarled, grabbing the back of her top and yanking. Fabric tore as it cut into her flesh. He shoved her toward one of the bodyguards, who landed a savage blow to her gut.

Anne collapsed, unable to breathe past the shooting pain emanating from her stomach. Someone kicked her, the heavy boot digging into her abdomen. She retched, vomiting on the floor.

“Disgusting,” Madeleine’s husband sneered. “Get her on her feet,” he ordered.

The same man who’d punched her hauled her upright with her arms behind her back. Anne cried out in pain, tears burning her eyes.

Madeleine’s husband grabbed her jaw in a painfully tight grip, forcing her to look at him.

“I can’t find my wife and son, and right now, you’re the last person to have seen her. Where is she?”

“I-I don’t know,” she managed to gasp out. Her stomach burned like fire and her arms felt like they were going to be ripped from their sockets.

He stared at her. Anne tried to breathe.

“Please,” she whispered, hating herself for begging. “I don’t know where she is.”

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I don’t think you do.”

Anne’s eyes slid closed in tentative relief.

“But know that I’ll be keeping my eye on you. If she contacts you, you call me.” He slipped a business card into the waistband of her skirt and Anne shuddered at his touch.

“Let’s go.”

At his order, the men holding her let go and Anne fell to her knees, clutching at her stomach. She instinctively curled into a ball, bringing her knees close to her chest to make herself as small as possible. Distantly, she heard their footsteps cross the room. In a moment, the front door closed behind them and she was alone.

Chapter Eight

Blane saw the lights wink in Anne’s apartment. She was safe inside. He turned the car around and headed home.

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