“You think I’m fuckin’ around, bitch?” Jock pointed a silver handgun at the ceiling and pulled the trigger.Bang!
Valerie screamed and dropped to the floor as debris rained onto the front counter. So much for keeping quiet.
“Yo!” Mustache called out, from her left, his voice shaky. “I found our witness.”
“Take care of it.”
She scrambled to her feet, twisted to avoid his grasp, and collided with the shelf. Pain seared her left forearm as bottles of Raid clanged to the floor along with her glasses. The man grabbed a handful of her shirt and yanked her back against his chest. “No.” She slammed her right elbow up into his chin.
He grunted, but pressed her closer, his hot hand on her left breast. “You want to play,chica?” he rasped into her ear, squeezing painfully. His breath smelled like stale beer and bubblegum.
She fought to turn, to slug him in the stomach, kick, bite, whatever she had to do to get his hands off her body.
Until he brandished a knife.
Valerie’s vision narrowed to the shiny blade. To the sickly light glinting off the steel, taunting her as the man waved it in her face.
“You gonna play hard to get?”
Every cell in her body turned to ice. Her chest squeezed until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. The knife had to be six inches long, its tip honed to a fine point. She could almost feel the sharp edge slicing through her skin, feel the blood spread across her abdomen as it seeped through her clothes…
Fight. Run.The room started spinning.Breathe.
“You and me? We’re going to have—”
The knife fell away and the thug released her. She stumbled into the wall.Wha—?Spinning fast, she came face to face with Scott. He had Mustache in a chokehold. Within a few seconds the man stopped fighting and Scott lowered him to the grimy linoleum.
“Oh, thank God,” she whispered, ready to collapse along with her attacker as tremors wracked her body.
Scott took a pack of bungee cords from the shelf and bound the man’s wrists and ankles. Once the robber was secure, Scott gripped her shoulders, half holding her up. “Are you okay?”
She grabbed him around the neck and clung to him like a lifeline. “Thank you,” she whispered, swallowing against her tightening throat. “I’m fine now.”
After a beat, he enclosed her in his arms, his body hard and warm against hers. She wanted to stay like this for hours, letting him leach away her panic with the stroke of his hands, calm her frantic heartbeat with his murmured comforts.
She hadn’t been hugged in a lifetime, and she never wanted to let go.
Instead, he backed away almost instantly. “We’re not safe yet,” he said, his low voice rough and regretful.
Her face was probably ten shades of red if the heat in her cheeks was any indication. “Yeah, sorry.”
Muffled conversation and clanging noises came from the front of the shop. Then Jock yelled, “Yo, Chuy! Let’s bolt.”
“Come on,” Scott said, reaching out.
Valerie lifted her hand.
“You’re bleeding.”
Sure enough, a three-inch cut on her left forearm oozed blood, dripping down to her wrist. “Oh.” The wound started to throb. “It’s just a cut. I’ll be okay.” But her stomach turned queasy.
Holding her around the shoulders, Scott half-carried her to the front of the aisle—safely away from her trussed-up attacker—and removed his shirt. A bullet pendant hung from a black cord tied around his neck, the only adornment on a torso worthy of being immortalized on film. He wrapped the cotton shirt around her forearm, tying it off with an awkward knot.
“Stay here,” he mouthed, and then stood and walked into the open, totally casual, as if the other guy wasn’t brandishing a big-ass gun.
“Wait.” She grabbed for him and missed.
Scooting forward, she peeked around the shelving.
