The Woman with the Scar (Costa Family)

Out on the sidewalk, I rushed to catch up as he moved around the side of the building to where, I imagined, the town car was parked.

I felt that strange hair-raising sensation like someone was watching, but, again, everyone who was around seemed to be minding their own business.

I’d been so distracted looking for the invisible person that I didn’t notice the hole in the sidewalk until it was too late.

Until my heel was getting caught in it.

I heard and felt the snap at the same time.

The heel breaking off.

I knew it even as I went down that it wasn’t just some scraped knees to worry about.

Because Eren was turning and his face was getting ruddy.

“Those are fucking expensive, you careless bitch,” he roared, making my shoulders move up toward my ears.

I didn’t try to get up.

What would the purpose of that be? If he was going to strike me, I was closer to the ground if I stayed on my knees. The fall would hurt less.

It was a sad testament to his temper that whenever he was around, I tried to be seated.

If you were sitting, you could bring your arms in at your sides, protecting your midsection. And especially those ultra-sensitive ribs.

You also wouldn’t have to be nauseated and dizzy for a week thanks to a concussion because you fell from standing and whacked your head off the desk on the way down to the ground.

Staying down was always your best option.

He was taking steps toward me, his hand curling into a fist, when I saw someone move out of the shadows, making me wonder if I hadn’t been imagining it after, if someone actually had been watching me.

He was mostly in shadow, so I couldn’t see much save for dark eyes and some tattoos.

But something in those eyes said he knew what was going to happen, and that he was going to try to intervene.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

There were still good people in the world, ones who would not stand for abuse in their presence.

The problem was, if the abused person had to go home with their abuser after, it was only going to be worse. They would take out the embarrassment of that interaction on their victim.

My gaze met this unknown stranger’s and shook my head No, my eyes wide and pleading, begging him to understand even as Eren was towering over me.

“You never appreciate what you are given,” Eren growled. “Selfish bitch. So fucking ungrateful,” he said, pulling his arm back.

My head lowered a bit, my eyes squeezing shut, preparing for the impact that never came.

Because not a couple seconds later, there was a glass breaking sound followed by the car’s alarm blaring.

“The fuck?” Eren growled, spinning around.

I couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief as he rushed toward where the driver was rushing around the hood of the car, inspecting something there.

Slowly, I got to my feet, taking a steadying breath as Carl, the driver, and Eren ranted and raved about some dent or something from the glass getting thrown at the car.

And I knew.

I knew without having seen it.

That the shadowy stranger had done it.

To distract instead of intervene.

To be fair, I didn’t put it past Eren to turn the blame for the dent on me.

I could just hear him in my head, “If it weren’t for you, we would have been driving away and this wouldn’t have happened!”

Still, the rush of gratitude for a stranger who wanted to do something, but listened when I silently begged him not to step in, made tears blur my eyes.

My gaze slid into the shadows, because I could swear I still felt him lingering there.

Thank you I mouthed as a tear slid down my cheek.

I rushed to brush it off and hurried to climb into the car, squeezing as tightly against the far door as possible.

Eren fussed with the driver for another five minutes before he finally slid into the car, going immediately for his phone.

Calling one of his guys to bitch about the incident.

“I don’t fucking know if it was targeted,” Eren hissed at whoever he was on the phone with. “I want you to see if there are any cameras on that street. I want the bastard who did this.”

Eren suffered from delusions of grandeur.

Yes, he was rich and had men who worked for him, but he was hardly as strong and influential as the New York mafia.

In fact, that was one of his biggest insecurities. That he had to still pay the mob, that he was beneath them.

But, at least, he was distracted enough on the drive home that he forgot all about me and my broken heel.

He didn’t even notice the way a small trickle of blood was slipping down my leg from my fall.

Though, to be fair, he rarely noticed when I was injured. Seeing as he was typically the reason for it.