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“Someone should spank her for giving us all heart attacks,” Easton grinds out.
“No one is spanking me,” I state firmly, and then glance over my shoulder again. “Why do men wear hoodies? It’s not a look that says, ‘I’m trustworthy.’”
“The men in the alley are wearing hoodies?” Easton asks, panic deepening his tone.
“It’s okay. I’m almost to the end, and they appear to be going the other way now.” Weird.
“Good. Regardless, get out of there as fast as you can,” Easton orders. “Do you have your mace and your whistle?”
I almost laugh at how well he knows me. “Never leave home without them.” I reach for the mace keychain on my purse. “Shit.”
“What?”
“It’s gone.” How did I lose it? I stop and scan the ground.
“I swear, Sadie, if you stopped walking to look for it, I’ll tie you up and spank you for days when I see you.”
I swing back around and slam into a colossal man.
“Oh!” I stumble backwards and fall.
The man grips my arms, stopping me from landing on my butt. He pulls me upright.
“Th-thank you.”
“It’s dangerous to be out alone in a place like this. Terrible things can happen.” His gravelly voice is as menacing as his size.
I can’t see his shadowed face, but I think he’s wearing a suit, which, for dumb reasons, makes him seem less dangerous.
No voices sound through my earbud anymore, and I can’t feel the device. It must have fallen out.
“You can let go now. I’m okay.” I try to slip free from his grasp.
His hold on me tightens. “I don’t think so.”
I reach for the whistle hanging from my neck, but my fingers meet a broken chain. Oh God. My heart drums in my ears as loudly as the thunder was a moment ago. What do I do?
“You need to come with me.” The man drags me forward, my heels scraping the concrete.
“Stop! Let go! Help!” I cry, my throat too tight from fear to be loud and effective. I wriggle and jerk my body, unable to get away.
My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out all sounds. I force myself to calm down and recall what I learned in my self-defense classes. Squat. Break free. Run.
I drop to a crouch, taking him by surprise. His grip loosens enough for me to pull my arms free. My gaze is level with his groin. Another technique springs to my mind. My fist thrusts forward. A direct punch to his dick. Then I run as fast as I can. At the end of the alley, I turn right and scream for help, my voice cooperating.
A middle-aged couple walks out from a bar.
I wave to them.
They turn, and the man runs to me.
Panting, I grab his jacket. “Help me. Please.”
“Are you hurt?” he asks, supporting me by my elbows.
The woman joins us. “She’s terrified.”
“Are you okay?” he asks again.
