Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
There is so little traffic on a Friday morning, which means I can hear what’s happening without passing cars drowning it out. And that’s why I hear him coming with those heavy boots crunching leaves under them. Closer, closer. In a brief moment of clarity, I set the bags on the ground in case I need to run – or fight. What do I do if it comes to that?
My heart goes from racing painfully to stopping when I see him slowly ambling on the sidewalk. At first, he doesn’t notice me pressed against the wall – he looks around, removes his sunglasses, and stands with his hands on his hips when he stops only feet from where I’m watching.
Keep going, keep going, I plead silently, holding my breath, afraid to move. Now, there’s no way of misinterpreting things. He’s not out on a walk. Looking for me.
I never knew until now how quickly fear can flip on its head. How your heart can go from pounding in terror to racing in anticipation.
Fuck this guy, whoever he is. He’s not going to make me cower in a dark alley and pray to be left alone. I did enough of that already. Crouching in a corner of the bathroom while the man I thought I loved pounded on the door and demanded I come out. Lying perfectly still in bed, afraid I would wake him up. Staring at my phone, knowing it wouldn’t take more than a quick phone call to put an end to everything — and refusing to do it, being that I refused to give up that easily. I refused to admit I didn’t have control of the situation.
No more of that.
“Hey.” I barely sound like myself. He jumps a little and his head whips around. His glasses are off, but his eyes are still shaded by the brim of his cap. “Why are you following me? What do you want?”
He sputters a little, like I took him by surprise. “Let me explain.”
I don’t know what surprises me more: the fact that he wants to explain himself or the fact that he moves toward me, where I am still glued to the brick at my back. I might be able to put on a good front when he’s standing over there and I’m over here, but when he’s close enough for me to smell his strong, spicy cologne, it’s a whole other story. Everything in me seizes all at once — limbs, heart, lungs, brain. This is it. This is when he… what? Takes me away? Maybe he’ll kill me the way Jeff thinks I killed Kristoff. Because at the end of the day, that’s what it’s all about. That’s what he believes. And that’s why he sent this guy to find me.
No. The word rings out loud and clear in my head, pushing past the pounding of my heart and the way every part of me wants to run before he can put a hand on me. No, I won’t let him. No, he’s not going to hurt me.
The shadow of the buildings falls over him and I back away with my heart in my throat. I can’t take my eyes off him.
Which means I stumble backward over the grocery bags, losing my balance and falling against the wall before sliding halfway down and landing in a crouch near a foul-smelling puddle that may or may not be piss.
I’m fuzzy, startled, and the way his hand closes around my right wrist doesn’t help. No, no, he will not hurt me, I’m not going to let him.
What did Romero teach me?
It’s like he’s here, watching, instructing me. Whispering in my ear. I have to use his body weight against him. I have to take him by surprise.
It’s like I’m moving on autopilot as I push myself to my feet and pivot on my right foot, bringing him closer by pulling him along with me before driving my left elbow into his face with all the strength I can manage. The sound of bones cracking is triumphant, and a rush of pure heat races through me. I want to scream, I want the world to know what I did.
Like magic, he lets go of me since he needs to cover his spurting nose. “What the fuck?” His voice is thick and I know why. I broke his nose. I broke his goddamn nose! He falls back against the wall, and blood drips over his fingers.
It’s not enough. He needs to pay. He needs to know who he’s fucking with. No one is ever going to hurt me again.
I draw my foot back to kick him. I’m not going to stop until he’s nothing but raw meat.
“Tatum! No!”
I must be imagining this. Romero appears out of nowhere, putting himself between us. “What are you doing?” he asks, taking me by the arms. He’s breathing heavy. “Stop. Enough. Calm down.”