After making sure the money on the table was enough, we walked out to the sidewalk, where Paul leaned in, his lips near my ear. “Keep my number handy. Call anytime. You never know, right?”
“Okay.” I pulled away. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”
“Where are you parked?”
“Not far.” I was deliberately vague, because I didn’t want him offering to walk me back, which had the potential for more awkwardness.
I started to walk away and knew that he watched me until I rounded the corner and was out of sight. It felt like a really long block, particularly since I had to step carefully with my heels, but then I was on Alden Drive and could almost see my car on the next block.
I could even take my time, now that I had the afternoon off.
Being that this was a business district on a Monday afternoon, there were a few people milling about, weaving into and out of shops and restaurants. I decided to open my mind and see how much noise I could pick up from people around me. I wanted to know the range, as if I was experimenting with mental sonar. At first, I was getting nothing. It seemed that my mind couldn’t latch on to people blowing by me in cars. An elderly couple walked by me and smiled. I sensed their general feelings of contentment. Underlying this, I could feel the man was worried about his wife’s diabetes and how she needed to stop with the damned pastries.
Traffic, while light, was constant, which was why I didn’t think anything when a dark van pulled to the curb into an empty space ten yards ahead of where I was walking. I was in the midst of taking a deep breath and realizing, with no small amount of pleasure, that this was two workdays for me that were cut short, which was unheard of in this industry. Yet here I was, with no idea what to do.
Young Asian girl tied up in a remote village in the tropics. Clothing ripped. Face beaten.
The image, clear and crisp, slammed into my mind. It startled me, and I looked around. Holy crap, what was that?
Just like that. I’ll do her just like that.
The evil voice snaked into my head, and I looked around a moment, slowing my steps to see who the sick perv was who was thinking about this. No one looked creepy enough. A couple of young teens who looked like they were ditching school; a couple of guys in business suits, looking slick and harried, deep in conversation; and a grandmotherly type walking a little Paris Hilton dog were in the immediate vicinity. The older lady walked through the shoe-store doors. The image died but left behind the bloody taste of death, violence and helplessness.
I guess you never get too old to appreciate shoes, I thought without humor, mostly just trying to calm my nerves. Unable to figure out where the image had come from, I continued walking, but with less enthusiasm. I had a sense that that girl had met a horrible end. It sort of took the wind from my sails.
I was nearing the van on my way back to my car when the sliding door opened. Two burly, middle-aged guys jumped out with muscles and no-nonsense expressions. One man had a shaved head and wore a beat-up, holey T-shirt and threadbare jeans, while the other had a buzz cut, old army fatigues and a white muscle shirt.
There she is.
The menacing voice stretched decrepit fingers into my mind. A tingle went up my spine. The men weren’t looking around, like they were getting ready to shop or eat. No, they had an immediate bead on me, and me alone.
The run away danger vibe hit me dead on. I stopped cold. I may have even taken a few stuttering steps back, but before I knew it, they rushed me!
I didn’t have time to scream. I gasped and turned to run, but a meaty hand clapped against my mouth, smelling of foul must and old onions. A tatted-up forearm encircled my rib cage. Another set of arms came around my legs. I was suddenly weightless, lifted off the ground.
Horror, fear, paralysis.
Fight!
This was a waking nightmare. The roaring sound of my blood pumping furiously deafened me. With my whole body, I bucked and scratched at the arms holding me as the men tried to rush me to the van.
Ryder! I shrieked mentally, wishing for the mental connection, opening my mind wide to him, but there was no response. A single second dragged by. The world was in slow motion.
I scratched at the face behind me. I kicked out to slow them. Where was everybody? Anybody! But the line of cars blocked most of the physical scuffle. I couldn’t make enough noise to draw attention to myself, and they managed to make half the distance back to the van!
I bit down hard on the hand holding my mouth. I tasted blood.
“Fuck!” A voice snarled. The man snatched his hand from my mouth, which gave me enough time to scream. Loud. Shrill. Adrenaline added strength to my struggles, making it hard for them to keep a tight hold of me. I got a leg free! I kicked the crew-cut guy, using the heavy wooden platform of my shoe, but not with enough force to do any damage, which added to my crushing fear.
The little old lady with the tiny dog came out of the store several yards away. We made eye contact. Her dismay was clear, but she was so far and fragile. What could she do? A young woman was several feet behind her with her cell phone in hand, but there was no time.
“Hold her tighter,” the bald guy growled, covering my mouth with more force, leaving me no room to sink my teeth into his skin again.
I kept fighting, but they were stronger, and that’s when I knew. I couldn’t get away. I would never see the light of day again. Just like the Vietnamese girl Crew Cut had killed during a tour of Vietnam. I could see that he wanted to hurt me. Badly.
This was my death sentence. Right here. Tears filled my eyes as I realized my struggles were futile, and I was getting tired.
A roaring sound grew until a motorcycle came ripping up on the sidewalk, the rider wearing a black helmet, the engine blazing, echoing off the building. As it went by, a powerful, jean-clad leg with a heavy black boot whip-kicked Crew Cut, who was holding my legs, dead center on his face. Blood spurted like a faucet from his nose. He let go of me with a howl of pain, grabbing at his face.
My feet were free!
“Let’s go!” a male voice yelled from in the van, and Crew Cut scrambled up from the ground into the vehicle, still holding his gushing nose.
I kicked back at Baldy’s shin and tried to ram the back of my head into his nose as the motorcyclist spun around to come back at us. Immediately, he threw me down in his bid to escape. I fell heavily to the ground on all fours, crying out as sharp pain radiated up my arms, and my teeth clacked together. Baldy dove in the open door of the van as it swerved into traffic and disappeared around the next corner.
The motorcycle came toward me.
It took a moment, as I had to breathe heavily and fight back a choking ball of emotion, but I clambered to my feet clumsily, stumbling, wincing, ready to thank my savior as he pulled even with me.
“You okay?”
I recognized the harsh voice immediately. Ryder. His name was a soft, caressing sigh across my mind. Crashing relief, warmth and security, along with a violent case of the shakes, washed over me.
“I—I think so,” I replied tentatively, looking down at my trembling hands.
He flipped his visor up. His pale eyes were mad-dog angry, and his jaw was clenched tightly, teeth gnashing, as though he was trying to contain his rage.
“Get on.” He looked ruthless. Dangerous.
“Ryder... How did you...?”
“Get on.” He all but barked the order in a low, rough-hewn voice. He wanted to kill those guys. I could see it in the way his body thrummed with energy, taut, tense, ready for action, which was awe inspiring.