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I’ve never wished more that Hope Pizza had a door that opened out here. Unfortunately, the door is around the corner, and I can’t tell if it’s just the screen banging in the wind or if someone is coming outside.
The dark voice snarls, as if to tell me not to do anything stupid and presses their elbow harder into my neck. I can barely breathe at this point, my vision catching stars in its peripheral. All I see are visions of Patrick lying in our bed, hurt and bloody. All I can think about is who this is and why they want half a million dollars.
“Cassandra?” Patrick’s voice rings out, and all I want to do is run to him.
“Friday. Half a mil. You tell anyone, he dies.”
I collapse without the weight of the person pressing me to the bricks, and the pain is bad but the fear is worse. Footsteps echo around me, and I can’t tell if it’s the criminal coming back or someone coming to save me.
“Patrick!” I cry out weakly, because my ribs hurt every time I move, and tears stain my cheeks and throat.
“Dad!” I hear him call behind him, and then suddenly, he’s running toward me.
Relief and protectiveness so fierce combine in my blood in a rush that makes me dizzy.I can’t say anything, I can’t say anything, I can’t say anything.
He’s nearly to me; I watch as his arms lower to scoop me up, and then …
“No, don’t touch her!”
Patrick halts, whirling around with one eye still on me. The rest of the Ashton family is behind him, or at least his father and sister, plus Warren. I’m fading, the world spinning too fast, and I try to suck in air even as the side he punched me in screams with agony.
Patrick’s father says it again, for Patrick not to touch me, and I try not to jump from how loud it is.
“Dad, what the hell?” Alana glares daggers at him.
“She could have evidence on her. Fingerprints, hair, something. Call that PI, tell him to get down here now,” he instructs Patrick, then comes to crouch in front of me. “I know the only thing you want right now is to go home, lock yourself away, perhaps with my son holding you tight. But I need you to hang on for just a little bit. Can you do that?”
His weathered blue eyes are the same as his sons, and he’s looking directly into mine as if trying to hypnotize me into agreeing. I nod, because I can’t seem to do much else. He’s the only one speaking and thinking with logic right now. And even if my mental state digresses by the moment, I know he’s right. I’ll sit in the cold, bleeding, if it means some information could come from it. If the PI can get even one ounce or scrap of a lead, I’ll do it.
“I’m not leaving her. Dad, she’s in no state—”
“No, he’s right.” My voice is small and husky as I try to talk, but my eyes meet the man I love. “If he can get one kernel of information off of me, it’s worth it.”
Alana walks backward down the alley. “I’m going to tell Mom no more customers. Have Nonna try to churn out orders.”
“Business as usual, I’ll be in in a second. Don’t spook the diners, let me just talk to Cassandra and I’ll be in.” The senior Ashton is still crouched beside me. “Warren, you call the private investigator, tell him to hurry. Bring out some tea, just in case Cassandra gets too cold. Patrick will stay here.”
A calmness moves over me at the thought of this man handling everything. Patrick is my rock, but I’ve never had a father figure in my life step up to figure everything out, which is what his father is doing right now.
“What happened?” Patrick comes to sit next to me on the pavement of the alley.
He doesn’t touch me, pulling his hand back at the reflex that has him wanting to.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I’ll have to repeat this story, but I can’t tell them about the ultimate outcome. Can’t disclose what he wants from me, what will keep their entire family safe.
“I was walking back with the flour …” I trail off, pointing to the ground around us, now littered with white powder. “I’m so sorry Nonna won’t get it for her desserts.”
“Don’t worry about all that.” Patrick’s father waves his hand as if it’s trivial.
My boyfriend gives me an encouraging nod of his head, but I can tell he’s two seconds away from losing it. “I was going to bring it around back, and then suddenly, this person was pushing me against the wall. He told me not to make a sound, said something about my father. It was all a blur.”
I wince, the pain in my cheek and my ribs throbbing now.
“Where did he hurt you?” A muscle in Patrick’s cheek tics, and I see rage undisguised in his eyes.
“He kept pushing my face into the bricks. Am I bleeding?” I reach up to touch it, but his father shakes his head that I shouldn’t. “And he punched me; my ribs feel like hell.”
Patrick pulls in a fury-filled breath through his nose, and I know he’s dying to pummel someone. Not someone, the person who did this to me.
