Expecting to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“Yeah, well, I heard you were staying over at her apartment, like, all the time.” Her turn to be angry. “That you practically lived at her place.”

“You want to go there, Des? Really? About seeing other people?” He was close now, looming over her.

Looking up, she could see his eyes for the first time, burning bright in his sockets, catching the light from the Jeep’s headlights. “Because we both know that you’ve been slutting around.”

“What? No! Who told you that?”

“I have friends down here,” he snarled. “Don’t you think they keep me informed, let me know what’s what?” His jaw was tight, his teeth flashing white as he spoke.

She remembered seeing him so mad once he’d kicked a dent into the side of Emmett Tufts’s Honda. Another time, he’d physically beat the crap out of Bryant Tophman for hitting on her at a party.

“Your friends lie.”

“Not about this!” He pointed an accusing finger at her, wagged it toward himself and back at her. “Not about us! You want to know why?” Before she could answer, he said, “Because, you know what, Des? It was important to me.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “A helluva lot more important to me than it was to you.” He leaned down, his face a little closer to hers, and she smelled the beer on his breath, the sweat on his skin. “Now that it’s all out in the open, you lying little bitch, it’s over for good. Now you don’t have to sneak around anymore. You can fuck anyone you want to—”

Smack!

She reacted. Just hauled off and slapped him so hard across the jaw that she felt the bristles of his beard shadow.

Oh, crap. Why had she—?

He froze. His eyes blinked, disbelieving. Then his fists balled and she didn’t wait. Spinning, she took off the way she’d come, back down the path that ran by the creek, her feet flying in the dust.

He was a foot taller than she was, his stride immense and fast as lightning, but she was quick and agile and knew these woods like the back of her hand. She sprinted, adrenaline firing her blood, sending her feet pounding on the trail.

Run, run, run!

She heard him behind her, yelling at her, chasing her down.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” he roared and she believed him. With every breath in her, she believed that if he caught her when he was this furious, he’d murder her with his bare hands, the very hands that had touched her and caressed her and turned her inside out with wanting.

Don’t even go there! Just freakin’ run!

Ducking branches, she cut around a tree, a few seconds later heard a thud, then a cry of pain. Probably a limb smacking him in the face, maybe the eyes. If only! That’s what she needed, pine needles piercing his eyes, half-blinding him and stopping him.

She sped on, thought she might have lost him at the juncture where the trail split, one spur heading uphill. But she was wrong.

Footsteps pounded, shaking the earth and sounding as if he were right behind her.

Noooo!

She turned up the hill, took two steps, and felt a huge hand on her shoulder, fingers tight.

Stumbling, she tried to scramble away, to get her footing, but it was too late. He had her. He spun her around and in the darkness, she tried to see his face, to plead with him, to tell him she was sorry, but she couldn’t see him at all.

Hands closed over her throat as she tried to scream.

All that came out were gurgling, sputtering sounds and she couldn’t breathe. He was squeezing so hard. She fought, tearing at the hands on her throat, trying to dislodge the steely fingers that cut off her air, realizing belatedly that he was wearing gloves. That he’d planned this!

Her lungs felt as if they’d explode. She needed air!

Oh, God, please, stop! Please don’t. . . .

Frantically she kicked and flailed, unable to land any solid blows, wishing she could thrust a foot or knee into his groin.

The bastard was really going to kill her. Strangle her!

Her lungs were on fire, the pain excruciating, the night-