Page 6 of Anthem of Love and Loathing

“I can’t let you leave.”

Tick. Thump.

Plaster puffs from the wall at eye level.

I scream and zig to the left. Zag to the right. The exit is right in front of me. I shove at the bar, and the metal door swings out into the street.

It’s been raining the whole time I’ve been in the club. It’s pouring down in diagonal sheets that drench me and make it hard to see. The darkness flickers, turning as bright as day before tossing us into dimness once more.

Tick. Thump.

A brick in the building on my right explodes. Grit stings my bare thigh, ribs, and shoulder.

I’m almost at the corner. It’s a busier street. I might have a chance if I can make it.

The world lights up again, making me an easy target.

“We could come to an agreement. I could let you live,” he calls out. “We could have fun like we used to.”

No. Fucking. Way.

My ankle screams in pain as I burst onto the next street. “Help me!”

Ordinary people out for a fun night in the nearby clubs gawk at me as I fly past. Men stare because I’m wearing nothing but my underwear. The women are all wearing blank, emotionless expressions.

I don’t care. None of it matters. The only thing that matters in this moment is getting away from Marco.

Please don’t be there. I glance back.

He’s put his gun away and slowed with the thickening crowd.

I bounce off someone.

Marco stills.

“Help me,” I beg.

The woman shouts and pushes at me. “Get away from me.”

“Sorry.” I pant, pushing her around me as I scramble to add any distance I can.

Feet planted wide, he watches but doesn’t follow.

I don’t wait to find out what his next move will be. I keep running, weaving through the foot traffic until Marco is no longer visible when I glance back. Eventually the sharp ache in my swelling ankle and the way my knees want to buckle become insistent. Every muscle is on fire, my lungs burning from lack of oxygen.

The pavement scrapes up my palms as I collapse and retch.

A black Escalade cruises slowly toward me. The tinted back window lowers.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

Marco opens the door. He must have had his driver pick him up and follow me until I tired myself out. He holds up my gym bag. “Get in the car.”

He has my life in his grip. My address, my apartment keys, every dollar to my name.

“You should get in the car. You have nowhere to run to.” The gun in his other hand makes an appearance close to his body.

If I run, he will find me. If I get in the car, no one else ever will.