Page 71 of Love on the Line

“What’s wrong?” Wyatt tugged on her hand to slow her down.

“I don’t—”

Suddenly, a figure emerged from an alley. A man grabbed her arm and yanked her away from Wyatt. Before she could react, a large hand clamped over her mouth while he dragged her into the alleyway.

“Hey, let go of her,” Wyatt yelled as three guys emerged from the shadows and pounced on him.

Huge, muscled arms held Anne in a vise-like grip. She struggled to no avail. The other men hauled Wyatt deeper into the alley. He got several punches in before two of them managed to pin his arms. Three against one—despite Wyatt’s size, he didn’t stand a chance.

Anne’s stomach churned at the sickening sound of punches thudding into him. She wrenched and jerked to get free. She had to do something. With all her strength she slammed a foot down on her captor’s, bit his hand, and tasted blood.

He jerked away, freeing her mouth. “Fucking bitch.”

“Help!” she screamed and ran toward the men attacking Wyatt. She was snatched from behind before she could get to them. The man spun her around and slapped her viciously across the face, knocking her to the ground. Her temple slammed on the concrete followed by searing pain.

Didn’t matter. She had to get to Wyatt.

She scrambled up, whipped her leg out, and tripped her captor. He landed with a thud followed by a string of profanities.

Anne lunged at the guy punching Wyatt. She grabbed his arm and jabbed at his eyes but she was yanked back by her hair and once again pinned against her captor’s body. She reached behind and clawed at his face, her gaze still rivetted on Wyatt, as much as she could see in the dark.

Wyatt twisted from side to side, but couldn’t escape.

“Stop.” Another man came running into the alley from the street.

Thank God. Someone to help. She struggled even harder to get free.

The stranger moved quickly, landing a roundhouse kick over Anne’s head to her captor’s temple, causing him to release her and fall to the ground. The stranger pivoted and turned his attention to the guys beating Wyatt. The one punching him stopped.

The man from the street was on him in a second, connecting his fist with the guy’s chin, then whirling around to deliver a crushing kick to the other man’s kidneys. Both men fell to the ground, writhing in obvious pain. The third thug released Wyatt and took off running.

Blood pounded in Anne’s ears, and her heart threatened to explode. Her attacker pushed up to his feet and stumbled out of the alley. The stranger took a quick step toward the other two men, who scurried after their friend.

Wyatt laid limp on the ground, silent and motionless.

“Oh, no.” Anne staggered over to him as fast as she could manage.

“Anne, is that you? It’s Devon.”

Devon? What was he doing there? Her brain couldn’t process that right now. She dropped to her knees beside Wyatt and tried to wake him up, lifting his head. He moaned and slumped back down. Her hands shook, and fear sliced her lungs. “He’s not moving. Call nine-one-one.”

Pinprick points of light appeared before her eyes. Then everything went black.

* * *

Anne cracked her eyelids open and winced.

“Good. You’re waking up. I’ll beep the doctor,” a male voice said.

Where was she? She tried again to open her eyes, squinting enough to see this time.

A man wearing scrubs peered down at her. “You’re at the hospital. I’m your nurse and need to ask you some questions. Can you tell me your name?”

Her head throbbed. She reached up and touched an ice pack.

Oh my God…the assault…Wyatt. Her blood pressure soared. The machine beside the bed pinged, and panic gripped her throat. “I need to know if my boyfriend is okay. Wyatt Pearson?”

The nurse eyed the beeping monitor. “Let’s focus on you right now. What’s your name?”

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