Nope. Not thinking about him that way.
With a relieved bladder and washed hands, trepidation weasels into my mind. I’m sure Brody isn’t pleased with me, but I can’t do anything about that.
After gathering all my courage, I emerge from the bathroom. Much to my surprise, Brody’s not hovering just outside the door with steam coming out of his ears.
I inch across the threshold, glancing left first and?—
My shin catches on solid warmth. I go down, banging my knee and scraping my palms.
A rough hand grabs the back of my skull, grasping a fistful of copper hair and pulling roughly.
“Ow, ow, ow!” I wince as someone hauls me up off the ground by my messy tresses and painfully folds one of my arms behind my back.
“Hope you enjoyed your little pit stop.” Brody unleashes a murderous growl. “You’re not going to get another one.” He frog-marches me back toward the BMW.
I grunt, writhing against his grip. “Get off me!”
He responds by squeezing my pinned arm tighter.
I throw my head to the left, eyeing the convenience store. A couple of people—real people—loiter between the snack food aisles.
People who will hear me scream and come to my rescue.
“Let me go, or I’ll make a scene.” I twist to glare, fire burning in my veins.
He scoffs. “Try me.”
I suck in a huge breath and screech. Brody curses and reaches up to slap a meaty hand over my mouth, and I slam my heel onto his toes.
He grunts, and I jerk.
Once his grip on my arm loosens, I spin out of his hold, adrenaline pounding through my veins.
I don’t wait for him to recover.
Instead, I sprint into the small gas station, thundering up to the register.
“Sir, I need help!” I drop my hands to the counter in front of a wiry old man with hair whiter than the moon and dark, beady, vacant eyes. “It’s an emergency. Please. I need a phone.”
If I can call Finn, he’ll send help. I’m sure Kellin could be here in no time.
The attendant yawns in my face and gestures with a lazy hand toward a payphone in the back corner, next to a cobweb-covered mop.
I fly to the back of the store and rip the phone out of the cradle, digging around in my pocket for a quarter.
Only silence reaches my ear. No dial tone.
The phone’s dead.
Cold fear slithers into my stomach.
I glance at the guy at the register. He’s already back to flipping through a tatteredPlayboy. He won’t help. I imagine, even if I ran back up and told him the truth, he’d just stare.
Even if hewashelpful, I don’t want to risk the cops. For all I know, they’re all in Declan Gallagher’s pocket.
I’m on my own.
I set the phone down and try to keep air coming into my lungs at a normal pace.
