I hear a low, keening sound, only belatedly realizing it’s coming from me.
The pain is everywhere.
My head. My face. My back. My arm.
From somewhere nearby, voices approach. Then footsteps.
“Hey!” someone shouts. “What are you doing! Get off her!”
The man releases me. Then he stands and snarls, “Fuckingbitch,” before running away.
A moment later, his partner follows behind him.
Everything is spinning. Throbbing.
I’m too tired to keep my eyes open.
My body is too weak to move.
Someone shouts, “Call 911! Quick!” Then, in a gentler tone, “Miss. Can you talk to me? Where are you hurt?”
It’s a kind voice. One I’d answer, if I could.
But the waiting darkness closes in first.
Chapter Two
NICO
DoI work too much?
I wouldn’t normally give it a second thought.
But on my way out of the office, Jamie, one of the building security guards, scolded me for always being the first into the building and the last to leave.
“You work too much,” he said with a rueful shake of his head. “When I work the morning shift, you’re here at six-thirty AM without fail. And I’ve never seen you leave earlier than seven, seven-thirty at night. When do you have time to do anything for yourself?”
“I run the company,” I reminded him dryly. “That’s the most important thing. Making sure it stays in business so everyone keeps their jobs.”
“Sure,” he allowed. “Staying in business is good. But you need to make time for other things, too. A personal life. Dating. Maybe even a family, one day.”
If it had been anyone else, I might have been annoyed. But Jamie means well. It’s just that he’s older, in his mid-fifties, witha wife and adult children and a grandkid on the way. He likes his job, but it’s not his main priority.
Not like me.
When I started Fox & Falcon Securities, I knew it would be a huge commitment. One that required working late, sometimes even through the night, if necessary. I knew it would mean sacrificing my personal life in the interest of the company. I knew I’d have to work incredibly hard to make it a success.
But I was okay with that.
My father thought I was crazy when I told him I was separating from the Army to start up a new private security business with some of my old Delta teammates.“You want to leave the Army, that’s great,”he said.“I always thought you were wasting your skills there, anyway. But don’t go off starting your own company. Just come work with me instead.”
I didn’t want to work for my father. I wanted to create something on my own. I wanted to build a company with my closest friends—the people I trusted above anyone else.
And over the last six years, I think I’ve done a pretty good job of it. From taking all the money I saved during my years in the Army to lease a rundown office building in midtown, living in the shitty apartment upstairs while doing most of the repairs myself as part of the deal I made with the owner, to where I am now. Owner of a multi-million-dollar private security firm that employs over forty people, most of them veterans.
So, yeah, I work my ass off. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Anyway, it’s not like Ineverdo anything social. I have poker night with my buddies once a month. We’ll meet up for a beer at the bar around the corner from the Fox & Falcon building to shoot the shit or watch a game on TV. And once in a while I’ll attend the obligatory fundraising event, where I’ll sharemeaningless conversations with strangers and occasionally hook up with a woman for the night.
