Unfortunately, the day quickly becomes overwhelming. Every tiny sound grates on my nerves. Every smell in the hallways makes me want to throw up. I can barely eat the lunch I actually packed today because I’m too anxious and excited.
By the time the final bell rings, I’m exhausted.
I gather my bags slowly, carefully, mindful of the little baby in my belly. My car is back from the shop now, thank God, so at least I don’t have to run for the bus. I walk toward the parking lot with one arm unconsciously wrapped around my belly, not protecting anything visible but craving the contact.
The winter air bites at my cheeks and my breath fogs in front of me.
I reach my car and dig for my keys. They slip from my fingers and clatter to the asphalt. I crouch to grab them.
When I stand, someone is there.
My heart stops.
He steps out from behind my car exactly the way he’s done a dozen times in my nightmares.
He looks around casually, as if we’re just two coworkers crossing paths in a parking lot instead of a predator and his terrified witness. He’s somehow even more intimidating in the light of day than he was the night he attacked me.
“You really are a pretty little thing,” he murmurs, stepping closer. His voice is exactly the same as the night I heard it in the alley. Cold, sharp, and cruel. “Looks like you made it out all right.”
My throat closes. I can’t move. My back hits the driver’s side door before I realize I’m backing away.
“I didn’t say anything to anyone,” I manage. My voice sounds wrong. Too thin. Too hollow.
“You’d better keep it that way.”
He steps so close I can smell stale cigarettes on his breath.
“People who talk have accidents.”
Fear rushes through me so fast my vision blurs. My hand instinctively moves to my belly. His eyes flick down and narrow.
“You keep your mouth shut,” he says, tapping a finger under my chin. “Before it’s too late for you.”
He walks away and doesn’t look back. He just disappears between the rows of cars, blending into the world like nothing happened.
My knees buckle the second he’s gone.
I drop into the driver’s seat and slam the lock button so hard my finger stings. I fold forward, pressing my forehead to the steering wheel, shaking so violently I can barely breathe. My hands clutch my belly, instinctively protecting the life inside me even though logic tells me nothing can touch it yet.
Tears burn my eyes, but I force them back. I don’t know who to tell. I don’t know who to call. I don’t know who can help me. Because the one man I want to tell has ghosted me.
7
SAMUIL
Iget the call in the middle of a meeting. Davýd and I are going over ledgers with our accounting manager, trying to determine whether our last few shipments have been coming in a little light. I’m sure Lebedev’s men have been stealing from me; I just can’t prove it yet. But when Vlad calls me to tell me there’s a problem with the woman I now know is named Molly, I tell them I need to reschedule the meeting. Davýd watches me curiously, but I just dismiss him.
“Talk,” I command.
His voice is low and clipped, trained to give information as quickly as possible.
“Your girl was approached by a shady-looking character outside her school.”
My blood runs hot and electric in my veins.
“Who was it?” I ask, seething.
“His description matches the one you gave me of her attacker. He waited by her car for over an hour and was clearly threatening her. The good news is, he walked away without touching her, but she looked pretty shaken when he finally left.”
