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Hoss could be dead. Those men I watched approach him in the rearview mirror might have killed him for helping me escape.
I have to stop walking because the pang in my chest is so severe. I prop a hand on the wall of the building and breathe in and out. This happens every time I think of Hoss, but the pain is slowly starting to get easier. It has to. Because I have a mission now. He or she is growing in my stomach and I’m going to do what’s necessary to take care of my child. Our child. And that includes making money, putting myself through art school and becoming a steady provider. I will give this baby the stable life it deserves. I’ll be their superhero. And my own.
I’m halfway down the alley when footsteps approach me from behind.
My blood instantly turns to ice, my sneakers halting mid-stride.
I exhale, watching my breath curl in the air.
Slowly, I turn, praying it’s just the make-out couple hunting for more privacy.
But I don’t see anything.
There is a dumpster pushed up against the wall, some trash dancing around on the asphalt. My fingers curl around the straps of my backpack and I start to walk faster, mentally cursing myself for not spending some extra money on pepper spray. Comeback Girl would never be caught out at night without a weapon.
With one more glance over my shoulder, I start to jog—
And I run smack into a man.
I stumble backward and fall. My backpack breaks my fall, but alarm is racing down my spine, a shriek building in my throat. This man doesn’t belong here. On a college campus. Bald and hulking, he looks like he should be checking identifications at a biker bar or something. “Come with me.”
“No way,” I spit out, crab-walking backwards until I have enough distance between us to lunge to my feet, spin and run in the opposite direction.
Another man steps out from behind the dumpster, blocking my exit from the alley. “Hello, Tatum.” His smile sickens me. “You didn’t think you could run forever, did you?”
Oh God.
Oh God, it’s them. The traffickers.
My hand wants to cover my stomach protectively, but some instinct warns me calling attention to my pregnancy is a bad idea. “Why me? Why go to all of this trouble to track me down? I don’t understand.”
“At first, you were just convenient. A girl with a deadbeat family who wouldn’t bother looking for you. Working alone at night on a truck route. One of our scouts happened to stop in for coffee one night and knew you’d be perfect. No muss, no fuss,” says the bald man, licking his lips. “And let’s not forget about those big bouncy titties. They definitely helped your cause.”
“Or hurt it,” quips the second man. “Depending on how you look at the situation.”
They’re so casually confident, I can’t help but be terrified. I’m strong and smart, but these men have the air of professional criminals. They probably have guns.
“Yeah, that’s how it started,” says the second man. “But then…the boss became convinced you know too much. We couldn’t just leave you in the wind.”
What am I supposed to do here? I don’t know. But I’m not going quietly.
I throw my head back, open my mouth and scream as loudly as possible.
So loud that my own ear drums start to throb.
Not three seconds passes before a hand clamps over my mouth and I’m dragged back against the bald man’s chest. The other one pulls his gun and advances on me, murder replacing the jocular quality of his expression. “Scream like that again and I’ll—”
A hand snakes out of the darkness and lowers the gun, twists the man’s wrist, making him cry out. Then an elbow flies up, sending blood and teeth scattering onto the ground.
What…the heck?
I barely have time to process Hoss stepping out of the darkness. Or how different he looks. Deranged, really. Homicidal. Scarier than these two men on their best day. And righteously angry. So full of rage that even though I know he’s here to help me, I’m scared of him. There’s a feral quality in his eyes that wasn’t present before.
He brings the edge of his hand down in a concise chop of the man’s shoulder and he cries out, the gun dropping to the ground…only to be caught by Hoss. Two clean shots are fired into the man’s forehead, a silencer making the shots sound like quiet zings. The gun is leveled at the bald man before the other one even hits the ground. As the lifeless corpse slumps sideways onto the asphalt, a scream lodges in my throat, horror burning a path up my esophagus. “Hoss…” I whisper.
If he hears me, he gives no indication of it. His face is a mask of malice.
No humanity to be found anywhere. Where has he been for the last three months?
