I glanced back at the coffee shop door, expecting to see Dion, or—no—I reminded myself: I didn’t need him or his questions. I just needed to get to my car.
Then I heard it: heavy, measured footsteps. My heart slammed against my ribs. When I dared a glance over my shoulder, three men emerged from the shadows. The first was tall and gaunt, his coat flapping like wings. The second was broad-shouldered, shorter, with a cruel curve to his mouth. The third was more in shadow, hands jammed in pockets, eyes hooded.
My keys slipped from my suddenly numb fingers, clattering to the ground. I bent to grab them, my hands shaking so badly I could barely close my fingers around the metal. By the time I straightened, they were closer—much closer—and a dark sedan was idling near the entrance.
I abandoned all pretense of calm and ran, my legs feeling like lead weights. My car was still twenty yards away. I wouldn't make it. I fumbled with my phone, trying to dial 911, but that slipped from my grasp too, skittering across the pavement.
The tall one lunged. His grip on my arm felt like iron. “Got her,” he barked to the broad-shouldered man, who advanced without hesitation. The third man straightened, ready to flank me.
I tried to wrench free—claws scratching at skin, feet kicking—but they only tightened their hold. “No!” My cry echoed, small and raw.
"Shut her up," the shorter one hissed, and the tall one clamped a hand over my mouth, the smell of cigarettes and something chemical making me gag.
My mind flashed back to that night a month ago—the same rough hands, the same terror, the same helplessness. And everything I'd refused to think about came hurtling back. Not again.Please, please, not again.
The sedan's back door swung open, revealing a dark interior. I thrashed harder, managing to bite down on the tall man's hand.
"Fucking bitch!" he snarled, drawing back his fist.
I braced for the blow, but it never came. Instead, there was a blur of movement, and suddenly the tall man was no longer holding me. He was on the ground, with Dion twisting away from him, his expression murderous as he went for the second man.
But the third assailant lunged at me with a knife. I froze as the blade arced toward my side—
A second blur came from nowhere and dove between us and knocked the weapon flying with a savage kick. The third man cursed and scrambled for the blade, but the second guy's knee caught him squarely in the gut. He folded over, gasping.
I stumbled, legs wobbling, adrenaline draining out of me in ragged pulses. My breath came in little sobs. The assailants were secured—one crumpled in the road, another face-down under the protection guy’s knee, the third clutching his midsection.
“Emily?” Dion’s deep voice cut through my haze, eyes frantic. “Are you hurt?”
I couldn’t speak. My throat felt raw. I just shook my head, blinking as tears finally fell.
His partner released the last man and stood, cuffing him. “They won’t be a problem,” he said quietly, sweeping an arm toward the empty lot. “Driver’s gone.”
"Hey, hey," Dion's voice softened as he approached slowly, hands held out in front of him, palms up. "You're safe now. I'm not going to hurt you."
I stared at him, trying to process what had just happened. My mind felt foggy, disconnected from my body. "They... they were going to..."
"I know, sweetheart. I know." His voice was gentle, at odds with the violence I'd just witnessed. "But they didn't. You're okay."
A sob escaped me, and suddenly my legs couldn't hold me anymore. Dion moved forward just in time, catching me before I hit the ground. His arms were strong and solid around me, and I found myself clinging to his shirt like it was a lifeline.
Dion glanced around the parking lot, his body tense and alert. "Right now, we need to get you somewhere safe."
"My car," I managed to gasp between sobs.
"Shh, we'll worry about that later. My team will see to it."
He guided me towards his large black truck, keeping one arm around my waist while constantly scanning our surroundings. When we reached the passenger side, he opened the door and lifted me in, buckling the seatbelt around me when my trembling fingers couldn't manage the task.
"Just breathe," he instructed, his hand briefly squeezing mine. "I'm going to get us out of here."
He jogged around to the driver's side, bent and said something briefly to the man standing over them and slid in, the engine roaring to life with a turn of the key.
"What about them?" I asked, my voice small and shaky.
“Don’t you worry,” he soothed, eyes fixed on the road as he navigated through side streets, taking a route that seemed deliberately complex. "We’ll take care of everything. Let’s just get you home.”
But I was on my own at home. And I couldn’t call Jennifer. Even if she wasn’t working, I couldn’t involve her in this, whatever this was. My hands wouldn't stop shaking, and my breathing came in short, painful gasps.
