I’ve seen those videos on social media, the ones where they run experiments to see how many people will take action when they see a man grab a kid off the street and run into a dark building. Over half of the people who see it do nothing, and that’s when the victim is a cute little kid.
I’mnota cute little kid. I’m a woman in a slutty red jumpsuit.
Half the people are probably telling themselves that I deserve whatever I’m about to get as punishment for drawing attention to myself. They’ll never know that I had to choose betweendrawing attention to myself in an attempt to save myself from a drug dealer andnotdrawing attention to myself to save myself from whatever this creep wants to do to me. They’ll probably never stop to think that a woman can’t win, no matter what choice she makes. Though, to be fair, I could be making better choices right now.
For the first few seconds of my sudden abduction, I’m too shocked to do more than scream into the hand over my face.
But as the shadows in the alley darken, I realize I’m running out of time to prevent myself from being removed to another location.
Clenching my abs, I hurl my weight forward, startling the man holding me enough to get my feet back on the ground. As soon as they are, I drive my elbow back into his gut with every ounce of the New Orleans grit I’ve cultivated since I moved to the big city. I connect with abs of steel, just like the exercise video Rhonda loved so much when I was a kid.
But this guy isn’t made of steel; he’s flesh and bone, proven by the pained grunt he puffs into my hair.
I’m about to go after him again when I realize how familiar he smells. How familiar and expensive, like a party with great music and unlimited shrimp cocktail.
I’m on the verge of connecting the “fancy perfume” dots when Dean murmurs in my ear, “Stop, Clover. It’s me!”
I sag against him, exhaling a ragged sound of relief as he pulls his hand from my mouth. “Dean. Oh my God. Thank God. I was so scared.” My confession reminds me that I’mstillscared, and he should be, too. “What are you doing here? You have to leave. Now. And I have to go. I have to get my backpack before someone?—”
“You don’t have to do anything but stay out of the way until this is over,” he cuts in, his voice tight. “If I let you go, do you promise to stay put?”
“I promise,” I say, spinning to face him as soon as his arms fall away. “But you have to promise to leave once I explain what’s happening. It isn’t safe for you here.” I frown harder. “How did you find me anyway? And where are the girls? Are they?—”
“The girls are safe. They’re at Elly and Grammercy’s place for the night,” he says. “And I found you because Peter bugged the gym next door.” He motions toward the building beside us, disgust creeping into his voice as he adds, “Though, it doesn’t sound like much working out is going on in there. They seem a lot more interested in making sure they ‘take care’ of the woman meeting Gio at the coffee shop in a few minutes.” He shudders. “Thank God for Peter. Thank God he figured out where you were going before it was too late. Do you have any idea what could have happened?”
I frown. Peter? Surely, he can’t mean?—
“Peter?” I repeat. “As in Plato’s dad, Peter?”
“Yes, Plato’s dad, Peter. Why didn’t you go to him for help when they caught on to what you were doing?” he asks, pushing on before I can answer. “And why were you hacking into a drug dealer’s system in the first place? Do you have any idea what could have happened?”
“You already asked that,” I say, starting to get frustrated myself. “And yes, of course, I do. I realize exactly what could have happened. But I didn’t know he was a drug dealer when I first started looking into him. I just knew he was the guy who hit my car and got away with it, and I wanted him to face justice.” Dean pulls in a breath, but I barrel on, “And then once I knew how dangerous he was, it was too late. Plato got caught in their system, and they had both of us on video, and I…”
I flop my hands at my sides. “I didn’t think I had a choice but to do what they said, Dean. They were threatening our families. They said they’d hurt Peter and Plato’s mom and youand the girls if we didn’t hand over all our devices and all the information and pretend it never happened.”
“And you really think they were going to let you walk away after you handed everything over?” he asks, the fear in his voice making me shiver.
“No,” I say, my throat tight. “I knew there was a chance they wouldn’t. That’s why Plato put together a dead man’s switch.”
“A what?”
“A dead man’s switch,” I say. “It’s an automatic sequence that would have kicked into place if Plato or I…disappeared. All the evidence we found would have been released to the FBI and the press and a few other agencies I can’t remember right now because it sounds scarier saying it out loud than it did in my head.”
“Jesus, Clover.” He pulls me back into his arms, hugging me tight.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur into the rough wool of his coat, stomach clenching as all the pieces click into place. Suddenly, I realize… “They were going to hurt me, weren’t they? Is that what you and Peter heard from the bugs?”
Before he can reply, sirens blast through the air from the street outside. A beat later, the world lights up with vivid, strobing blue.
I pull back, gazing up at him. “What’s happening?”
“FBI sting,” he says, raising his voice to be heard over the sirens. “They were just waiting to make sure you and Plato were safe before they moved in. I had to beg them to let me be the one to grab you. I figured you’d be more likely to let me get in a word edgewise before you tore me apart like a feral cat.”
I exhale a stuttering laugh. “Really? You said that?”
He nods. “I did.”
My lips twitch on one side. “You think I’m tough?”
