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My boots squeaked against the floor as I launched into a sprint. Everything around me disappeared, my vision tunneling so that the only thing I saw was that red dress as it slinked into the shadows. I moved my legs as fast as I could, twisting my shoulders to break through the crowd. I could hear Frank’s distant shouts, but didn’t know what he was saying or if it had anything to do with me. My mind wasn’t processing anything intelligible other than the fact that I had to get to the woman.
Within moments I’d reached the long, dark hallway that led to the bathrooms. The door to the women’s bathroom was shut tight, and I prayed like hell that the man hadn’t thought to lock it. I might be dosed full of anger and adrenaline—a mix that would undoubtedly cause some damage—but I knew I wouldn’t be strong enough to get through the heavy door if it was bolted shut.
Thankfully, it gave as my body slammed against it, and I nearly toppled through the other side. I quickly regained my composure, looking up to find the woman pressed up against the wall. The creep’s hands were roughly palming the skirt of her dress as he fought to keep her in place. Cold rage slid down my body and I lurched forward, grabbing the man by the neck and yanking him backward.
He wasn’t very tall, so even with my short stature I’d been able to effectively hook a whole arm around his neck. “Oof,” he grunted, losing his balance. He turned to look at me with glassy, dilated eyes—either he was incredibly drunk or in some drug-induced haze. He shot out an arm and shoved me hard enough that I fell to the ground, pain radiating from my tailbone and up my spine. I pushed up off the cold linoleum floor just as he turned his attention back to the woman, but she’d already started running for the door, sobbing into her hands. The man was quick, grabbing her waist with both hands and pulling her against his chest.
Scrambling to get my footing, I launched myself at the man and crashed into him hard enough that he released her to brace his own impact against the wall. “What the fuck is your problem?” I screamed. Turning to face the woman, I yelled for her to run as I did my best to stop the man from pushing me to the side. He shot his arm out again, his fist barreling right into my stomach, and I almost puked on the spot.
Growling in frustration, I reeled my arm back before launching my own fist toward his face. My knuckles flew into his nose as a loud crack echoed through the small bathroom. Blood poured down his face as he groaned, and I knew I’d broken it.
“You fucking bitch,” he snarled, cocking his fist before he shot it at my face.
As I watched his disgusting, meaty fist wind back, I felt the shift. The distant smell of cigarette smoke filled the air around me, and it was enough to shove me right back into the past. Terror crawled its way up my throat, begging to be let out in a scream. My attention shifted from his fist to his glassy eyes, and I watched in terrible fascination as their steely gray morphed into the murky brown that had haunted me for so damn long.
No, I pleaded to the universe. I will not go down like this again.
Lucky for me, I practiced dodging punches twice a week in Muay Thai. So as that cocked fist flung forward, I ducked to the right, feeling the air move against my skin from his attempted hit.
Unlucky for me, I did not anticipate the fierce swing his left arm would make in tandem with his punch. That left hand made impact against the side of my head with such force that it slammed me into the wall.
Pain seared across my face, and my vision blurred as someone shouted.
And then I was out.
Chapter Thirteen
The first thing I became aware of was the warmth on my cheek. It was soft and soothing, moving across my skin with gentle pressure. I liked the sensation . . . a lot.
The second thing was a pounding headache that radiated out from my right temple, spreading its way through my brain like the intricate webs of a spider.
I groaned.
“Mara?”
I . . . knew that voice. It sounded gruff, laced with a steeliness that stirred something to life inside of my chest. It was . . . mad. Furious, even. But tender.
“Mara,” it said again in a low rumble that rattled my bones. “Can you open your eyes for me?”
“Mm,” I managed to grumble. The words I’m too tired to try streaked by, but it seemed words were hard for me at the moment.
I realized there was someone else near me, too—someone breathing heavily, as if they’d just run a mile through mud. “Paramedics are on their way, boss.” I knew that voice, too.
Boss. The word prickled at me like a cactus, making me feel . . . uncomfortable. Frustrated. “Thank you, Frank,” the first voice spoke from much closer, somewhere right above me. The warmth on the side of my face suddenly disappeared before fingers traced lightly along my forehead. It felt so nice . . . I desperately wanted to fall back asleep.
But as comforting as it all was, there was an undeniable sense of wrongness that I couldn’t quite figure out. Maybe this was all a bad dream—it would explain the anxiety thrumming through my veins. If I could open my eyes and see what was on the other side of this cool and enveloping darkness, I’d know for sure. Maybe I could try to do that, for real this time.
It took all the strength and concentration I could muster, but I finally got one eye to peel open just as that comforting warmth resumed its place along my cheek. Reflexively, I leaned into it.
On the other side of the darkness was the most beautiful shade of blue I’d ever seen. It was like a wide open summer sky, so bold and deep and majestic that I wanted to float right up into its airy layers. “Mara,” the voice repeated, this time with a bit more enthusiasm. “Can you hear me?”
Yes, of course I can hear you, was what I wanted to say. But instead, what came out of my mouth was pure gibberish. I frowned . . . or, I thought I did. It was definitely a problem that my brain wasn’t connecting with my mouth. Had something happened to me? I grunted, forcing my other eye to open—and though things were blurry, I found that the incredible blue was actually a striking pair of eyes set beneath a mess of overgrown hair.
“Leo?” I managed, finally. Because of course it was Leo—who else had a voice and a touch that could bring me such contentment?
“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured. Sweetheart. I definitely liked that.
Or did I? Wait a minute . . . “What happened?” I asked, just as a particularly nasty swell of pain throbbed from my temple.
