Anton (Chicago Blaze 1)

He reaches down and grabs a handful of my hair, jerking my head up. “Isn’t he?” he yells in my face.

“No. Adam, stop,” I beg. “You’re hurting me.”

“We’re even then, bitch. You hurt me, too. You were nothing but a ghetto whore when I met you. Guess you never changed. But I’ll be damned if you get half my money. Not when you’re fucking around on me with Anton.”

Before I have any time to react, he climbs on top of me, his weight pinning me to the floor. He’s straddling my chest and I can hardly breathe.

“Stop,” I cry, trying to push him off me with flailing arms.

He’s so strong, though. It’s no use. I’ve never been so scared in my life as I am right then, when Adam wraps his hands around my neck and starts to squeeze.

“You fucking whore.” His voice is a calm rage as he tightens his hold.

I can’t breathe. I’m getting lightheaded already, the fear that I’m going to die only making it worse. I’m kicking my legs and hitting him with my hands, but nothing happens. Adam’s hands are locked around my throat and I know he won’t let go until I’m dead.

I feel a sudden warmth in my pants as I lose control of my bladder. The urge to breathe is so overwhelming, but I can’t get any air in my throat.

Fuck.

I think of my grandpa. Who will take care of him now?

Grabbing hold of Adam’s shirt, I try to pull on it, but my strength is fading. I lose my grip on the shirt’s collar just as a cracking noise sounds.

The pressure on my neck is gone immediately and my throat burns as I try to inhale. Adam falls off me like a sack of bricks, dropping to the floor. Anita is standing behind him with a wooden bat. She looks like a baseball player who just took a mighty swing—because she did, at Adam’s head.

“Breathe slowly, Mia,” she says. “You’re okay.”

Air fills my lungs, but it doesn’t seem like enough. I gasp, trying to get more in.

“Slowly,” Anita says. “Go lock yourself in the bedroom with Dre ‘til the police get here. I already called them.”

I shake my head and manage to stand up, tears blurring my vision as I reach for the bat.

“No, honey,” Anita says softly. “You don’t want to do that.”

I do. I want to beat Adam’s unconscious body so hard he’ll never wake up. But Anita is refusing to give up the bat.

Instead, I walk to the butcher block of knives on the counter and pull one out. My throat still burns and my stomach aches, but I’ve got it in me—the hatred that drives people to do bad things. I feel it now, in this moment, as I look at Adam’s body on the floor.

“Mia, look at me,” Anita orders.

I turn to face her, my hand wrapped around the handle of the gleaming silver knife.

“You don’t want to do this,” she says. “He’s unconscious and the police are on their way. If he wakes up before they get here, I’m gonna knock his ass right back out again. He will be arrested. You’re safe now. Put down the knife and go into my bedroom.”

Tears fall to my cheeks.

“It’s me or him,” I say. “He was gonna kill me.”

“And he’ll go to jail for it. You don’t want to end up in jail, too.”

I loosen my hold on the knife. “But Anita, if you hadn’t been here…”

“I know, baby. This motherfucker’s a cold-blooded murderer. But you’re not. Let the police handle him.”

“Mama?” Dre calls from the bedroom.

“It’s okay,” Anita calls back. She nods toward the bedroom. “Go, get in there.”

Numb, I nod and set the knife on the counter, then walk back to my bedroom. Mechanically, I change into dry underwear and pants, then go into Anita’s room. I crawl into bed next to Dre and hold back my urge to sob, because I don’t want to scare him.

“Go back to sleep,” I say softly.

He’s out within a minute. I slide out of bed then to go get my phone, and I text Anton.

Me: I’m not okay. I need you.Chapter EighteenAntonI’m about to jump out of my skin by the time I make it to the stairs in Mia’s building. I take them two at a time, knocking on the door as soon as I get to it and then knocking again three seconds later.

“Mia,” I say, laying a palm on the door. “Are you here?”

After the text saying she needed me, she texted her apartment number. She didn’t respond to any of my frantic messages after that.

Finally, the door opens, but it’s Anita on the other side, her expression sober. She steps aside to let me in and when I walk into the small living room, I see Mia sitting in a chair in the corner, bent over with her forearms on her thighs.