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Gwyneth:Of course I don’t mind! Should I come to your apartment? Will Caroline be there? She likes cake, so I’ll bring her some, too.
I smile, about to reply with a capital “YES” when a rustle sounds from behind me.
My mini happy mood disappears. The asshole has the audacity to come for me after what he made me watch. Although this is a good opportunity to bash his head in with my heels.
I suck in a sharp breath as I whirl around. “I’m going to kill you—”
My words end on a muffled gasp when someone jams a cloth against my mouth and nose.
The stench of antiseptic and gut-wrenching chloroform fills my nostrils and lodges in my head with the lethality of a bullet.
A dark figure hovers over me, grabbing me by the shoulders, nearly snapping them from their sockets. I dig my nails into their arm, scratching and clawing with all the survival energy in me.
It obviously isn’t much, because he continues crushing the cloth against my face, forcing me to breathe in the chloroform.
Shit…shit…
I can feel my hold weakening and my muscles going limp. The haunting screeching sound of my heels dragging against the ground slowly withers in the background and my eyes droop.
No…
A shock of colors and sounds explodes in front of me all at once.
The cloth is removed from my nose and I slump against my car, sliding to the ground due to the force of my coughs. My gasps for clean air make my eyes water and I shake my head a few times to bring back my focus.
At first, I have no clue what just happened, or if this is maybe a scare or a distasteful prank. But even deep down, I realize that this is much more serious than that.
The scene that materializes in front of me might as well be out of a horror movie.
Kingsley holds the dark figure who nearly blacked me out by the collar and drives his fist into his masked face.
The other man tackles him and they roll on the ground in a blur of punches, kicks, and guttural sounds.
Even in my dazed state, I can see that whoever my attacker is, he’s a professional. Despite Kingsley’s knack for violence, he won’t have the upper hand.
Crawling on all fours, I reach for my briefcase that’s fallen on the ground and rummage through it for my pepper spray.
Before I can pull it out, the attacker kicks Kingsley in the ribs and sprints into the night.
Kingsley springs to his feet, probably to go in pursuit, but I whisper, “Don’t…don’t…go…”
My words are desperate, pained, and raw. So raw that it hurts the shit out of me. Or maybe what really hurts is knowing that if Kingsley follows him, he’ll be kidnapped instead of me just to drive a message home.
Or worse, he’ll be shot dead.
“Fuck.” He reaches me in two long strides and gathers me in his arms. The act is so effortless that I want to disappear in it for a while. And it seems to come naturally, as if he’s been doing this—holding me, cocooning me—for decades.
He wraps a strong arm around my waist, letting my body crash into the nook of his. “Are you okay? I’ll take you to the hospital.”
I frantically shake my head, gasping for air and words. “I’m fine. I just need a moment.”
“You can’t even fucking stand, Aspen.”
“I can.” I try to push away from him and promptly fall back into his embrace.
“Stay still and quit the stubbornness.”
“No hospital…” I mumble, feeling my eyes drooping. “Please, King…no hospital…”
