God, that’s so lame. I should apologize to Tessa for disappearing and ask her to go out for drinks on Saturday. I need to get my head straight, and running can’t always protect me. I’ve been facing my memories for years now. Facing Ash shouldn’t be this hard.
The frigid wind whistles in my ears. I resettle the strap of my bag over my shoulder, rub my hands up and down my arms and wish I’d worn a thicker sweater under my coat, and gloves.
I hear a sound over the wind and turn. Two guys are walking toward me. The few lampposts along the path don’t let me see them clearly. They wear hoodies and their faces are in shadow.
Walking faster, the wind whipping my long hair across my face, I hurry toward the bus stop. I refuse to listen to the little panicky voice in my head telling me I’m alone out here with not even pepper spray or anyone in sight.
The footsteps behind me turn quicker—and then even quicker.
Crap. Lights beckon to my right—a cafe. I turn and bolt that way. It isn’t far. I can make it.
Only problem is, I’m not prepared for running - not in the dark and even less in high heels. A dip in the concrete is enough to bring me down. I fall like a stone. Throwing my hands forward, I manage to avoid faceplanting, but my palms and then my elbows take the brunt of the impact. Pain shoots up to my arm sockets.
I lie there on my stomach, in a daze, propped on my stinging elbows, staring at the ground an inch from my nose. Fire spikes up from my ankle, the pain so sharp it brings tears to my eyes.
Oh god, I must have sprained it.
Fear rolls in a great dark wave. I twist my head, trying to see if the two guys have followed me—and I see them closing the distance. I push off the ground with a wince, but by then they’re on top of me.
A huge hand grabs my arm and lifts me to my feet. “What have we here?” a male voice says. He bends me awkwardly backward, until I teeter on my heels.
The pain in my ankle is excruciating. I keep the moan between my teeth as the other guy gets into my face and grins. His nose has been broken before; it’s crooked, his eyes flat and dangerous.
I open my mouth to scream for help and he slaps a hand over it. It tastes vile. The other one paws me, his harsh breathing echoing.
There’s a buzzing in my ears. This can’t be happening. You always think bad things happen to other people—but I should know better. If anything, the accident that took my father taught me that, and yet here I am.
The hand over my mouth makes breathing hard. Passing out is in the cards, but the pain in my ankle keeps me alert—more alert than I want. The guy in front of me is unbuttoning my coat, his eyes glinting in the distant lights of the cafe.
And then suddenly the hand leaves my mouth, and the guy behind me releases me. I wobble. My ankle refuses to carry my weight, sending me sprawling back down.
I lie on my side, stunned for a second time, seeing what’s happening in front of me but not comprehending.
A third guy has arrived on the scene, and he’s taken on the other two. The fight is short, though it seems as if ages pass. He pushes one of them away, kicks the feet out of the other, and punches him in the face. Then he stands and twists around when the second guy comes at him, and sends him flying with a mean right hook to the jaw.
Finally he turns toward me, and I recognize his pale eyes, his wild dark hair.
The guy who saved me is no other than Asher Devlin.
***
“Let me help you,” he says.
“You’ve done quite enough already,” I snap, clutching my bag, well aware that isn’t the way to talk to the guy who’s saved me from a terrible fate this evening. Maybe it’s the shock. “I can manage from here on. What were you doing out here anyway?”
His jaw clenches and his beautiful eyes cloud over. “I work at the Sunroom Cafe, remember?” He gestures at the lights of the cafe I saw earlier. “I just got out of work. I was heading home.”
I limp down the path, trying in vain to avoid looking at him. “Go on, then. I swear I’ll be fine.”
“Dammit, let me help you.” The frustration in his voice makes me stop. “You’ve twisted your ankle and you’re shaking, and we’re heading in the same direction. I’m taking the bus, too.”
“You can’t help me.” It comes out bitter and much more loaded than I intend.
He pales, I can see it even in the dim light. “Auds...”
God, I’m being horrible. Ungrateful. Unforgiving. I’m a grown up, not a little girl anymore. “Sorry. God, I’m so sorry. Thank you for punching those guys out.”
“I wish there was another way, but when I saw the way they held you...” He shrugs. “Couldn’t help myself.”