Page 11 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

“We’ll wait for her. Her bag is here. Keys too. Prolly just walked to the convenience store for some food.”

They all seemed to mumble their agreement then amused themselves by continuing to discuss all the ways they would abuse my live body and my corpse once said body gave up on me.

Then, restless, they were at their search again.

I don’t know what happened then.

It was like I went into some sort of emotional shock about the whole situation.

I was completely lost in my own heartbeat, the flip-flopping of my stomach, the way my skin felt like it was crawling, my quick, shallow breathing, and trying to fold myself tighter to ease the shaking of my body.

I hadn’t even been aware of when the men gave up and finally left. Or when August arrived and started calling for me.

I only seemed to snap slowly out of it when I was safely tucked into his car, and he was driving like crazy out of the neighborhood and into the nicer parts of town.

I didn’t know where he was going.

I didn’t think I was capable of asking. There seemed to be a sort of disconnect between my mind and body right then as I slowly wrapped my head around the events of the night.

August said nothing to me.

Not even as he idled for a moment, doing something on his phone, then driving again until we pulled into the lot of one of the fanciest hotels in the area.

Eight floors of stunning limestone with gleaming windows and decorative stone accents that reminded you of castles.

“Trying to give you some slack,” August said, finally breaking the silence. “But I’m gonna need you to snap out of it a bit and walk into the hotel. You can lose your shit and get all hysterical in the room when we get to it.”

Yep.

That did it.

Made my wires between my mind and body, and especially my mouth, reconnected.

Who’d have thought all it would take August being his usual asshole self to do it?

“I’m not going to get hysterical,” I snapped, reaching for my door just as the doorman pulled it open for me.

“Seemed pretty fucking hysterical back there to me,” August said as he came around the car.

“Being worried about getting gang-raped and murdered by a bunch of assholes doesn’t mean I washysterical,” I hissed under my breath as we made our way into the lobby.

It was all warm cream stone, glass chandeliers, and fussy furniture. All of it likely cost more than I would ever make in my lifetime.

I was suddenly acutely aware of how out of place I looked in my jeans, tee, and apron.

August, on the other hand, seemed to fit right in with his expensive-ass suit that he always wore. Which was why the employees were all smiles to him and pinched brows at me as they checked us in, then handed the keycards to August.

“I had to carry you out of there, shaking like a leaf,” he said, picking up the dropped conversation as we made our way to the elevators.

“You’re such an asshole,” I grumbled as the doors slid closed.

“Maybe,” he agreed, nodding. “But you don’t look like you’re going to shake out of your skin anymore.”

CHAPTER THREE

August

It was insensitive as fuck, but poking at her seemed to be the only way to snap her out of the fear that had wrapped her up in its web since the oven.

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