Page 40 of Coveted By Cupid

When my shift ends, I nearly sprint out of the deli, saying a quick goodnight to everyone as I hurry out the door. I’m practically buzzing with anticipation as I sling my backpack over my shoulders and take off on foot back home.

For the first time, I have a man who is genuinely interested in me, not some dumb college guy who only cares about getting laid. I can’t walk the three blocks home fast enough, keen on seeing if Cupid is waiting for me like he said he would.

While I walk, I check my cell, curious if Cupid left more texts while I was working. My insides quiver excitedly when I see there is one message from him sent nearly a half hour ago.

Running late, but I’m on my way. See you soon, Butterfly.

I squeal internally, picking up my pace to a light jog. If Cupid isn’t already at my apartment, he’ll be there soon. My mind runs wild with spicy ideas of what tonight might have in store for us. Perhaps I could put on something a little sassy to surprise him when he arrives—he seems like the type of man who would appreciate me putting in time to look sexy for him.

The street is dark, darker than normal. I walk over debris on the sidewalk, glass crunching under the sole of my shoes, and I frown in confusion. This may be a college town, but our sidewalks and streets are debris-free, even near the bars. Fort Collins residents take great pride in keeping the city clean.

I pause, looking up at the dark streetlight above me, and notice that the bulb looks busted. It explains the abnormal darkness in my area. I look down the street, noticing the lights are out on the side I’m walking, all the way to my complex.

It doesn’t feel right.

Something about the whole next block being dark has the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. My mind immediately jumps to all the missing women from campus, how the abductions happened at night when no one was around. And here I am alone at ten o’clock at night on a dark road.

I need to get home—now.

I cross the road, heading for the lit side of the street. If there’s someone lurking nearby, I want to see them coming.

My head is swiveling side to side, checking every alley between buildings before speed-walking past them. There are vehicles parked on the road, dark and deserted. I squint, peering into each one as I walk, making sure no one is hiding inside.

It’s spring, but my teeth are chattering, not from the cool mountain air sweeping down into the lowlands, but from my nerves going into overdrive. My body is shaking with fear of the unknown.

I’m half a block from home when I notice a white van with a large dent in the rear fender parked across from my apartment complex—the kind with no side windows that screams stranger danger. A sense of dread washes over me, igniting my fight-or-flight response.

Not willing to take any chances, I spin on my heels and bolt as if my life depends on it.

The sliding sound of the van’s side door being thrown open rings out behind me. Male voices thick with a Slavic accent are yelling to one another with alarm, and the quick tempo of feet running across the pavement in chase echoes in the silent night.

I risk one glance over my shoulder, spotting two men in black with balaclavas covering their faces racing after me, confirming my worst fears.

I’m being pursued—hunted.

Fear has my heart in my throat, making my breathing feel like I’m hyperventilating. All I think of is getting to safety, and fast. God only knows what will happen to me if they catch me, but it doesn’t take a genius to know the outcome would be life-altering.

“Hurry! She’s getting away,” one man says behind me to his partner.

The tempo of their footfalls increases, making my anxiety launch into space.

Panic floods my system, forcing me to pump my arms and legs faster. My backpack punches around on my shoulders and back, feeling more like a shield to protect me from any attacks from behind.

I’m sucking wind, running for my life and wishing I would’ve incorporated sprint drills into my workouts. I may run for exercise, but I’m no sprinter. No matter how hard I push myself, I’m not fast enough.

My pursuers are gaining ground, their footsteps growing louder as they approach my back. They grunt and pant with exertion, trying to catch me. I can practically feel them breathing down my neck with how close they are behind me.

Knowing I have no chance of outrunning them, I scream, desperate to alert anyone who might be in the area. “HELP ME! SOMEONE, PLEASE HELP ME!”

Before I can scream another peep, a hand grabs my backpack, yanking me backward into their body.

Scared shitless, I whirl on the person, hitting him in the face with my hands and screaming, “No! Let go of me!”

The man grunts from my hits, but wrangles my hands together, restraining me like my efforts are all for nothing.

Acting on survival impulse, I stomp as hard as I can on his foot. He cries out, releasing me and grabbing at his injured foot.

Free, I try to run again, only for his partner to catch me head-on. He picks me up like I weigh nothing, rushing toward the van.