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Before I could raise them, though, there was another punch. I managed to yank my head to the side just enough for it to graze my jaw instead of my already-battered cheek.
There was no time even to process that new pain as I yanked my arms up between his, and pressed the chain as hard as I could into his throat.
It wasn’t a good enough angle to choke him out. He could easily move away, out of reach.
But that didn’t matter.
What mattered was that it caught him off guard.
That was a feat I managed, shocking him enough to drop his hand from my throat.
Without that pinning me to the wall, I didn’t pause, didn’t try to defend myself—because there was no defense against an attacker this much bigger than me—I just turned and ran.
I got maybe six or seven feet before a hand shoved out hard, sending me hurtling forward, my feet wobbling in my unsteady heels, making it impossible to right myself before I was falling forward.
I landed hard on hands and knees, the pain ratcheting up to my shoulders and hips at the impact.
There was no time to scramble up, because he was right on me, his booted foot striking out, making contact again with my stomach, sending me flying over onto my back.
On the ground was the worst place to be. There were too many ways a woman could be overpowered and violated.
But it was also the only way for me to reach into my shoe, and grab something to defend myself with.
My hand closed around the petite knife. It wasn’t much. A glorified nail file in size. But strong and very pointed.
I resisted the urge to hold it in the natural way, gripping the handle instead fully in my fist with just the very tip sticking out of the pinky side of my hand.
“The fuck you think you’re—“ he started as he leaned over me.
Refusing to think, I struck outward, feeling the resistance as the knife met flesh and muscle and maybe bone. I had no idea.
All I knew was he howled hard.
I didn’t try to pull it out or strike again.
I didn’t even stop to see where I’d stabbed him.
I scrambled back, gained my feet, and fucking ran.
My heels slammed against the ground as I flew back toward the door that led to the hall, wrenched it open, saying a silent prayer that more assholes weren’t in wait, and flew into the area by the bathrooms.
Maybe people looked.
Maybe they gasped at the sight of me.
I had no idea.
I was blinded with my need to get away.
And the only way I could do that was to disappear into the crowd of bodies in the club.
I did, pushing through as quickly as I could, frustrated whimpers escaping me as the people slowed me down.
What felt like forever later, but was likely less than a minute or two, I burst through the back of the crowd, and made a mad dash to the door.
I shouldered someone so hard coming in the door that they went flying, landing hard on their ass, getting immediate attention, drawing it away from me as I ran.
Down the alley between buildings, losing the wig because this was not a clean getaway, and anything that could easily identify me was worse than them seeing my actual hair color for just a moment.
