It was throbbing, stinging, gnawing, piercing. It radiated through me, shooting from one spot to the next in a dizzying loop. All the while, my heartbeat raced, adrenaline surged, and I was both too aware of everything at once and completely detached from it all.
I knew I needed to move, to fight, to save myself, but I was too stunned to act. The shelves sandwiching me were pressed against me, making it hard to think past the crushing sensation, to breathe at all.
My attacker, unable to reach me, paused, panicked, then reached for the shelf, dragged it back off of me, but catching my foot in the process, making a searing pain course through my ankle.
I sucked in a breath, the air burning my lungs, as I freed my foot from the shelf just before it stood back on its legs.
I needed to peel myself off the other unit, had to get up on my feet, fight, flee. Something. Anything.
But just trying to stand had me falling back with a groan as more copper taste filled my mouth.
My attacker started to come down the aisle, a wicked glint in his eye.
But it was just then that a police siren screamed down the street, slowing, then stopping.
I watched with a detached sort of delight as his eyes went round, likely worrying that I had some kind of panic button I might have hit, or that he’d been seen.
He didn’t stop to debate his options.
He turned and ran back through the front of the store.
Alone, I half pushed, half fell off the shelf and onto my knees on the hard floor. I let myself have a few short moments to breathe, to try to think past the pain.
Eventually, I pulled myself off the floor and inched my way toward the front of the store, half dragging my aching foot behind me.
I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking right then. My mind was syrup.
I was moving on instinct, grabbing my purse, my gun, and Tuna, then moving out of the shop.
I’m reasonably sure I locked the door, but I had no memory of pulling the gate as I inched my way down the block, through the alley, up the stairs, and into my apartment.
Only behind that locked door, then the one to my bathroom, did I collapse, cradling the gun to my chest, and let myself process the fear and pain.
Outside the door, Tuna whined.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Christopher
“Where are you heading?” I asked Liam as he shoved his feet into a pair of designer shoes I absolutely hadn’t bought him. Between the designer shoes, the chain he had on, and a watch that wasn’t as expensive as mine, but I had no doubt he’d be upgrading eventually, I was starting to think I had to get the kid a switchblade.
“Just for a walk.”
“Not work?”
“Not unless something comes up.”
“Would you mind maybe taking your sister with you? Just for an hour?”
“Gotta work?”
No.
Not at all.
But I was going for the bag a day early to see if I could get this whole using a third-party shit to stop.
And I was going to go ahead and not wonder why it mattered so much to me to be the one to pick up the money.
