Worth Fighting For (Fighting to Be Free 2)

On the way to my car I pulled my cell phone from my purse, switching the airplane mode off. Just as I was about to put it away, a message came through from Nana.

Please can you pick up some ground beef, tomatoes, and eggs on your way home?

I sent back a short yep reply and climbed into the car. Closing my eyes, I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ached.

“I don’t want to adult anymore,” I muttered into the emptiness of the car.

After a few deep breaths to try to calm my frazzled nerves, I twisted the key in the ignition, pumping the gas and hearing how much the engine was struggling to catch. My car had never been the most reliable at the best of times, and apparently using it so much in the last couple of weeks had taken its toll on the poor old girl. On the second try, the car started, a large plume of black smoke fluttering up past my back window that didn’t look healthy at all. I would most likely have to buy a new car soon. If I was going to be responsible for Kels, I couldn’t have an unreliable car.

Another thing to worry about...

I drove to the convenience store halfway between the hospital and my house and jumped out, grabbing Nana’s requested items and also choosing a chocolate bar to eat on the way home. I needed a sugar pick-me-up.

As I was standing in line to pay, I noticed a tall, olive-skinned guy standing just outside the main exit. He was probably in his early thirties, dressed in dark jeans and a black long-sleeve tee with a leather biker’s vest over the top. He seemed to be staring straight at me. As I looked over, our eyes caught and he quickly looked away, dropping his cigarette butt on the floor and stubbing it out with a chunky black boot. There was something about his posture, something about the way he appeared to be watching me and quickly looked away that made the hair on the back of my neck prickle with unease.

“Nine eighty-five.”

I jumped, startled, and looked at the cashier, a young girl chewing gum loudly who was waiting with her hand extended, her expression bored. I hadn’t even realized I was at the front of the checkout. Opening my purse, I pulled out a ten and held it out to her, then quickly bagged my items. When I looked up at the door again, the guy was gone and the uneasy feeling in my tummy vanished.

I was just being stupid.

Shouldering my purse, I picked up my goods and used my teeth to savagely rip open my candy bar wrapper. As I walked around the back of the store and across the empty parking lot, I took large bites, not even bothering to savor it. I just needed the sugar. When I stopped next to my bug, I struggled to get my keys out, juggling the bag and my candy bar as I dug in my pocket for them.

When something shoved me from behind, I didn’t even see it coming. My stomach and chest slammed against the side of my car; air left my lips in a grunted “oomph” as everything I was carrying slid from my arms, hitting the ground. Something hard pressed against my back, pinning me against the car.

“What?” I cried, panic gripping my heart.

A hand grasped a fistful of my hair, shoving my head down so all I could see was feet, concrete, the contents of my purse scattered everywhere, and the eggs that were oozing out of the bottom of the paper bag. “Keep still! If you make a sound, I’ll slit your throat,” a guy growled into my ear as his body pressed harder against mine, pinning me in place.

My breath was coming out in quick, shallow gasps as I tried to comprehend what was happening and what the hell I should do. Self-preservation kicked in and I shoved backward, struggling and wriggling to get free. As I opened my mouth, intending to scream blue bloody murder, something cold and sharp pressed against the skin at my neck, digging in to the point of stinging, but not pain. I whimpered and squeezed my eyes shut, my struggle stopping immediately.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die. That was all I could think, over and over.

When a car sped into the parking lot and squealed to a stop behind me, I was roughly yanked backward, the knife nicking the skin at my throat. I gasped, immediately reaching up to grasp at the guy’s hand, attempting to pull his arm from my throat as my eyes began to water. My gaze darted left and right, looking for help, praying for someone else to be in the parking lot and to come and help me. But from what I could see, it was deserted. Because it was at the back of the shop, there was no way people could see me being attacked from the street, either.

“Get her in the back,” another man ordered from somewhere behind me. I heard the click of a car door opening. Panic was taking over, and my heart was hammering in my ears as the guy’s arm wrapped around my middle, practically lifting me from my feet as I was half dragged toward the dark blue car that had just arrived. Knowing there was no way I could let him get me into the car, I kicked my legs out roughly, scratched with my nails, flailed my arms—anything in a bid to get free.

I heard the new guy hiss, “Oh, fuck. Is that...?” And suddenly, the man who was holding me loosened his grip around my waist, his hand dropping away from my throat, and I was bumped roughly back to my feet. I fell forward, sprawling face-first onto the ground and scratching my hands and knees in the process. Something was pressing down on my legs, pinning me heavily.

I gulped for air and whipped my head around to see what had happened, at the same time preparing myself to wriggle free, get up, and run as fast as I could toward the street.

What I saw took a couple of seconds to comprehend. The guy holding me, whom I now recognized as the same man who had been watching me outside the store, was slumped heavily across the lower half of my legs. His eyes were closed and his body slack. Blood trickled slowly from the back of his head down around his ear and across his cheek.

My eyes caught a movement three feet away. When I realized what it was, my panic marginally subsided. Jamie. I recognized him immediately even though he was wearing a red cap. I would know him anywhere. He stood there, his posture relaxed as he held a baseball bat in one hand, twirling it around like the players do when they’re showing off. His attention wasn’t on me, though; his eyes were locked on the second guy, the one who’d arrived in the car.

“You totally fucked up,” Jamie spat, stepping toward the other man, raising the bat at the same time.

The other guy shook his head quickly, his hands going up in an I surrender gesture, but Jamie either didn’t care or didn’t see because he swung the bat anyway. A sickening thud of wood hitting flesh and bone caused me to flinch as the bat collided with the side of the guy’s knee. A scream of pain cut the air as he immediately slumped to the ground, one hand going behind his back, fumbling for something as his other arm came up to shield his face. I saw Jamie bring the bat down again, this time smashing into the guy’s arm at full force, eliciting another scream of agony.

I wriggled free of the unconscious guy and pushed up to my feet. What I hadn’t banked on was that my legs would be so uncooperative. I stumbled forward again, hitting the side of my car and managing to keep myself upright as I turned back to see that the second guy was now lying on his side, his arm at an odd, horrifying angle that made bile rise in my throat. His good hand was still fumbling behind his back. My heart raced as I watched the scene, morbidly transfixed.

The guy pulled his good arm free, a black handgun gripped in his fist, and whipped it around so quickly it was almost a blur as he pointed it at Jamie.

“Look out!” I screamed. But of course, Jamie was already prepared and aimed a swift kick at the guy’s outstretched hand, knocking it sideways before he had a chance to pull the trigger.

When the man righted himself and went to aim the gun again, Jamie raised his foot, bringing it down on top of the guy’s wrist in a hard stomp, pinning it in place as he leaned down and quickly plucked the weapon from the other man’s hand. Jamie’s back was to me now, but I could tell by his posture that he was furious; his shoulders were stiff, his muscles taut as he raised the gun and smashed the side of it straight into the man’s face, his nose instantly gushing blood as his body stilled.

Jamie didn’t turn back to me; inste

ad, he crouched down, tugging at the man’s sleeve, pulling it up to expose a tattooed forearm. I heard a sharp intake of breath from Jamie’s direction. “Motherfucker,” he muttered quietly before standing and pushing the gun into the back of his pants.

I looked down, seeing the two unconscious men, the blood, their broken bodies lying there next to a puddle of smashed eggs, and my vision started to cloud at the edges. I leaned back heavily against the car, hearing the rush of blood in my ears as my hands began to tingle.