My free hand fumbles into my coat pocket. Fingers close around the small canister.
I've come prepared.
My mace keychain.
I whip it out, aim, and spray.
“Fuck!!!” He crouches back, hands pressed over his face. He rubs his eyes in a feeble attempt to ease the sting. Then stumbles backward, hands still clawing at his face.
I don't wait. I bolt.
My boots pound the pavement. The back door of the pool hall looms ahead.
“This isn’t over, you little bitch,” he yells, his words drowning in anger.
I crash through the door, slamming it shut behind me.
Inside, the familiar smell of beer hits me. Music hums from the speakers. Safe. I'm safe.
But my hands won't stop shaking.
I stumble toward the bar, legs unsteady, vision blurring at the edges. The room tilts. I grip the worn wood for balance.
Reeves glances up from wiping down glasses. His expression shifts the second he sees me.
"What happened?"
"Nothing." The word scrapes out. "I'm fine."
"Bullshit."
He rounds the bar, closing the distance between us in three long strides. His dark eyes search my face, and I know—Iknow—he can see right through me. He always can.
“Liza."
My throat tightens. "It was Daniel. In the parking lot. He—he grabbed me."
Reeves goes completely still. The kind of still that's dangerous.
"He grabbed you," he repeats, voice flat.
"He tried to kiss me," I cry out, the feel of Daniel's filthy mouth still on my lips. "I maced him. I got away. I'm okay."
"Fuck, that bastard."
"It's okay. I'm—"
"You're shaking."
"I'mfine."
"We're calling the cops." He pulls out his phone.
"Reeves, don't—"
"Like hell I won't." He's already dialing. "And then I'm going out there and beating the shit out of him."
"Please." I grab his arm. "Don't get involved. He's not worth it."
