Fractured Fear (The Devils of New York #1)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

SPENCER

T he cabbie drops me off in front of Clay Creations and speeds away as if I smell like a dumpster and he can’t get away fast enough. I probably do smell. That’s what happens when you’re in a crowded space, dancing, and get worked up by two sexy men.

The air is still and the street oddly empty. Shadows from the warm streetlamps creep towards me. I sigh and ignore it as I make my way to the clear door separating the sidewalk from the stairs to my apartment, digging for my keys in my purse.

I’m not paying attention to the lamppost a few feet away that’s suddenly out or the fact that the street is empty.

That’s mistake number one.

Before I get to the door, I’m hit with the earthy scent of cigars and a set of arms immediately encircle my upper body and the asshole attached to the arms lifts me off my feet.

I hesitate.

Mistake number two.

He carries me a few steps to the side when I finally get with the program and fight back. I try dropping my weight to throw him off balance, but he’s too big. He easily corrects himself and keeps carrying me backwards to God knows what.

I scream and scream, but not a soul responds. My heart begins to sink when no one comes running to my rescue. I’m alone. Just like I was the day Abuela died. Just like I was the day I left Houston. No one to lean on. I only have me. No one else gives a damn enough in this moment to save me.

I only have me.

Fear isn’t going to win. I have to rely on what I’ve been taught. Fight dirty. This guy engaged me in an unfair fight by picking a smaller opponent and coming at me from behind. Not today, asshole.

My pumps fall off and I begin bringing the heels of my feet down on his shins repeatedly. I reach for whatever I can and start scratching. I keep my nails short for the studio, but I find a way to make my short nails hurt. I hear him hiss when my nails score his skin which gives me satisfaction, but not the freedom I need.

I slip a little in his arms and he effortlessly swings me to the side so my head hits the side of a car, meaning he’s dragged me into the street. Pain radiates from my temple and my vision blurs. He grits out in my ear, “You’re not getting away from me that easily. Quit fighting, Flower.”

I freeze, stuck in the terror of the moment. Did he just? No . There’s no way he found me. I never told Mom where I am. I got new credit cards, new bank accounts, new everything when I moved here. I even sold my car. I made sure my information wasn’t available online and I don’t have any social media accounts.

It’s not him. It can’t be him. I won’t get away if he’s found me.

But he said it. Flower . No one else has ever called me that. I can’t let him take me back.

My energy is waning, but I refuse to go quietly. Never again will I comply.

I thrash about more.

“Stop. Fighting. Me.” He grunts out as I throw my body around every which way.

He sets me on my feet and spins me to face him. Before I can even try to get a look at his face, his hand meets my right cheek with a loud slap. The force of the strike has my body flipping back around and dropping to the rough sidewalk. My head bounces. I feel the ragged concrete cut into my legs and arms.

I can’t let the pain take over. I’ve survived worse.

Realizing I’m no longer confined in his arms, I know this is my chance. I may be tired, but he’s not desperate like I am.

Coming up with a plan, I pretend to pass out when he tries to pick me back up. I must have worn him out because I hear him breathing heavily.

When he grabs my shoulders to haul me up, I flip onto my back and kick him in the balls as hard as possible. He immediately doubles over and yells out, “YOU BITCH!”

I stand and grab his head on either side and bring my knee up to his face. Hard.

“I fight dirty too, asshole!”

Then I run for the stairs and find my keys on the ground. I look over my shoulder and see him hobbling away to a parked sedan. I can’t see his face. I can’t even see the color of his hair in the dim moonlight. He’s hunched over, no doubt from the kick to his balls, so I can’t tell how tall he is, and I’m not sticking around to find out.

But I’m positive. It’s him . He found me.

There’s a throbbing in my head, but I ignore it. I sprint up the stairs taking them two at a time, not caring that my skintight dress is riding up. I don’t care if I flash someone as long as I get to my apartment safely.

I fumble with my keys while I hurriedly unlock my door. When I get inside, I slam it behind me and secure the deadbolt. Thank you to whoever invented crossbody purses because it’s still on me with my phone inside.

I rip out my cell and dial the first number I can think of.

“Hello, Angel.”

“Zane?” I get out on a sob.

“Spencer? What’s wrong?” I hear the alarm in his tone and swear I hear someone in the background say, “What’s going on?” Followed by a few grunts and moans from a third person.

“He found me. I got away, but—” The tears are flowing now.

“Are you safe?”

“I don’t know. I’m in my apartment, but…I feel weird.”

“Babe. Stay on the phone with me. We’re coming.”

“I think I’m just going to lay down for a minute.” I fumble over to my couch.

“What’s happening? Spencer, talk to me.”

I think he says more, but I don’t hear him. I’m drifting off and can’t fight the pull of unconsciousness anymore.