“Stop her,” Monster screeched. He struggled against the seatbelt, but reached and grabbed some of my hair.
I leaped out of the car, leaving a bunch of my hair behind. My scalp burned enough to make my eyes water, but I didn’t give the psycho the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt me.
A Mexican restaurant lay directly across the street, and I ran for it.
Horns blared at me, and tires screeched. I barely avoided being flattened on the street. Even that would have been better than what the monster had planned for me.
I chanced a look back just before I launched into the restaurant.
Baldy was out of the car and bigger than I’d imagined. He was trying to get cars to stop for him so he could cross. After I almost caused an accident, the drivers weren’t in the mood to help him.
They’d left the car in the middle of the lane, and Monster was slowed up by an altercation with the pissed off driver behind them.
I opened the door and quickly scanned the long room. The restrooms were at the back, and by fire code, they’d have to have an exit back there. I quickly found what I hoped for.
Three guys with the yellow reflective vests the road crews wore were seated at a table near the back.
I quickly jogged to them. “Please help me,” I said in my best frantic woman voice, and I was frantic. “My ex is after me. I gotta get away or he’ll kill me.” It wasn’t far from the truth.
“What’s he look like?” the biggest of the three asked as he stood.
“Big. Shaved head, black shirt.”
“Get goin’,” he said.
The other two stood as well. Now I had three temporary protectors to slow them up.
“Thank you,” I said as I ran down the restroom hallway, past the storage room, and out the back door.
After looking both ways, I chose the shorter distance toward the cross street to the right.
Before I reached it, another restaurant’s back door opened and a guy with an apron came out holding a bag of trash. He headed for the dumpster.
Racing around him, I went through the door to the restaurant.
“Hey. You can’t use this door.”
Inside, I found out why. It was the kitchen, and I was immediately yelled at in Chinese. Spying two doors, I chose the one that a server wasn’t pushing through.
It led to a short hallway with a door on each side. The first was a storeroom filled to the ceiling.
I hit the jackpot with the other door—a tiny office with a cellphone on the desk. Rounding the desk and taking the chair, I picked up the phone. My fingers were jittery as I dialed.
“SpaceMasters, how may?—”
“Marci, it’s Peyton. Is Zane?—”
“Where are you?” she interrupted.
“I don’t know. I need Zane or Grace.”
“Zane is here. I’ll get him.”
The door flew open, and a very pissed-off man with graying hair stormed in, yelling at me in a torrent of Chinese.
CHAPTER 35
Zane
