Page 32 of The Penthouse


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The rocks beneath my hands blur as I feel myself start to sway.

God, is this it? Is this guy going to drag me back to Ezra?

Or am I wrong? Maybe he’s not working with Ezra at all, and he works for that loan shark. I don’t remember his name, but he was Italian. A big bear of a man with beautifully cruel features and a deceptively empathetic nature.

But this guy doesn’t seem like the type to work for either man. Where Ezra and the Italian man are clean cut and beautiful beyond reason, this man is smelly and disgusting.

There’s no way he’s working for them. Maybe he’s just been watching me on my runs every day and decided to make his move.

How long has he been following me without me knowing?

A wave of nausea grips me as he grabs me roughly by the arms and pulls me back up. I try to fight back, but my head is killing me. I sway in his arms as he leads me into the forest.

“Who are you?” I rasp. The forest looms quickly into view, and my heart speeds up. Once I’m in there, I’m done. We’ll be so far from the path that no one will hear my cries for help.

I shake my head frantically, stumbling over my own feet. The man curses and hoists me up. “No. No, please,” I whisper.

Will he rape me before he kills me?

I’mnotdying today.

“No!” I gather the last of my strength to fight against my attacker.

My muscles burn, my throat raw as I scream at the top of my lungs.

I turn around and start scratching at his face. He holds his hands up to protect himself from my onslaught, but it’s not enough. His skin shreds beneath my fingernails. If I can’t to outrun him, I at least want the police to be able to identify my murderer.

“Stop it, you little bitch!” he seethes, backing away from me. I can’t see much of his face, but I can tell it’s not the man in the truck. The thought doesn’t settle me.

With one last kick to the groin, I run like hell.

“Somebody help me!” I scream, running back down the trail like a fire’s on my ass.

Once I make it to one of the neighborhood streets, I flag down the first car I see.

Of course, it’s the black Ford.

Damn.

I don’t care. I wave my arms frantically, yelling for the man inside to stop. I look over my shoulder to see my attacker running down the trail towards me. Panic creeps in. If the driver doesn’t open the door I’m screwed. I’m already so tired; there’s no way I can outrun him.

Just when I’m about to run around the SUV, the window rolls down. A gorgeous man with a dirty blonde beard and hair leans over and asks, “You in some kind of trouble, darlin’?” His voice is a rich baritone with a Southern accent. His hazel eyes search mine before looking past me to the man chasing me.

“I need help,” I say frantically, looking back over my shoulder again. The man is almost on me. “That man attacked me—”

When I turn back to the window, Dirty Blonde isn’t in the front seat anymore. I spin back around to the trail, and he’s already standing there, facing my attacker. When he sees Dirty Blonde’s six-foot-something body standing in front of me, he comes to an abrupt halt.

Then, Dirty Blonde pulls a gun from the waistband of his jeans and points it at him. The man holds his hands up in surrender.

“H-hey, man—” is all he can get out before Dirty Blonde pulls the trigger.

I cover my ears and close my eyes as he begins pelting my attacker’s body with bullets. The gunshots don’t seem to end, and scared tears burn behind my eyelids. I’m overcome with memories of my life with Ezra, the life I so desperately wanted to leave behind.

He empties the entire magazine into the man’s body. When the gunshots finally stop, it’s completely silent.

I slowly open my eyes and look at him, my savior.

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