by Susan Stoker
“I really have called the cops. You two better get on out of here before they get here,” Blythe told them in desperation.
“We aren’t afraid of no asshole pigs. But now that you mention it, maybe we should take this party somewhere else.”
Blythe had no intention of going anywhere with them. If they took her from the alley, they’d inevitably bring her to where their buddies were hanging out, and she’d never get away from them. At least not before they hurt her. Badly.
“I think not.”
“I think so.” And with that, Dog nodded at Tweek—and they both rushed her.
Blythe let out a squeak of surprise at their sudden attack but didn’t try to run. It was too late for that, and there was literally nowhere for her to go. She mentally prepared to do as much damage to them as possible before they incapacitated her.
She did her best, slicing Tweek across the cheek with the bottle before he got ahold of her. She writhed and squirmed in his hold, refusing to give up. She felt a sudden pain in her side but ignored it, knowing whatever they had planned for her would be much worse than a knife wound.
Screaming at the top of her lungs, Blythe fought for her life. She kicked and scratched and when Dog finally got her on the ground, even used her head to try to hit him.
Tweek managed to get control of her hands and he pinned her wrists to the ground over her head. Dog literally sat on her pelvis, keeping her immobile under him. Her back was arched because she still wore her backpack, and she thrashed under the two men, doing whatever she could to delay the inevitable.
Tweek’s dirty palm covered her mouth and he leered at her.
“Shhhhh, bitch. You know you want this. All you bitches are in heat for a hard dick.”
Blythe glared at him and tried not to hyperventilate. She couldn’t breathe very well through her nose.
Dog was still holding the knife in his hand, and he ran the flat side of the blade down her neck. “Are you going to be a good girl?”
Blythe shook her head violently. They might rape her, but she wasn’t going to make it easy for them. No way in hell.
One moment she was glaring up at Dog and Tweek, and the next, a pain so intense she couldn’t think straight was shooting through her body.
She vaguely heard Dog laughing but couldn’t concentrate on what he was doing.
“Do it again,” Tweek ordered. “It takes the fight right out of her.”
“What if I like a little fight?” Dog replied, but when he was done speaking, Blythe felt more excruciating pain in her other side.
She vaguely felt Dog’s hands fumbling at her pants, but her mind couldn’t comprehend what was happening. She felt torn in so many different directions. The pain in her sides was overriding almost everything else. She barely noticed when Tweek took his hand off her mouth and moved it to her chest.
“She’s got a good set of tits on her,” Tweek said as he cruelly pinched her nipples through her shirt.
It was the feel of Dog’s hands on her lower belly that brought Blythe back to where she was and what was happening. If she didn’t do something, she was going to be raped right here, right now. In a disgusting alley, as if she were nothing but a piece of trash.
Using all her strength, Blythe felt around for her makeshift weapons.
Her hand closed on the broken bottle and without thinking, she grabbed it and swung as hard as she could, stabbing Tweek in the neck.
Her hand slipped off the neck of the bottle as she hit Tweek, but the pain of the glass cutting into her own palm didn’t even register.
Before she could go for Dog, his hands closed around her throat, cutting off all her air.
“You’re going to regret doing that,” he snarled. “You should’ve just laid there and let us take what we wanted. Stupid cunt! Now you’re going to die right here like the trash you are. But you know what? Me and Tweek are still gonna fuck you. We’ll take your cold, dead body and fuck you in every orifice. Then we’ll bring you to our friends and let them do the same thing. No one will notice or care. You know why? Because you’re nobody. No one gives a shit about you or you wouldn’t be out here on the streets.”
Blythe wanted to deny his words. Tell him that she was somebody. That she had friends who would miss her. Family who loved her. But it wasn’t exactly true.
The sound of sirens suddenly blared through the night. It was hard to tell how close they were as the noise echoed off the tall buildings all around them.
Blythe closed her eyes, and the first thing that came to her mind right before she passed out was Sawyer. How he’d looked standing next to the fire truck, as if he could save the world.
She didn’t need him to save the world, though. Just her.
Chapter Three
Squirrel woke with a start when his cell phone rang. He looked around, getting his bearings. He was at the fire station. He’d fallen asleep in one of the recliners in the common area. The TV was still on, a show about women who killed their significant others playing in the background.
He looked down at his phone and was surprised to see Blythe’s name on the screen.
Seeing the time, one-thirty in the morning, made Squirrel instantly uneasy. Blythe had told him more than once that she didn’t like using his phone after ten because advertising that she had an expensive piece of equipment like a smartphone, after she went into the shelter for the night, was never a good idea.
He didn’t hesitate to answer. “Hello?”
“Hello. Who is this?”
The question immediately irritated Squirrel. Whoever it was had called him, not the other way around. If someone had stolen the phone from Blythe, he was going to be pissed way the hell off. “Who are you, and why do you have Blythe’s phone?”
“My name is Detective Bruce Nelson. There’s been an incident.”
Squirrel was already up and on the move before the detective’s last statement. All he’d needed to hear was that there was a detective on the other end of the line.
“Where’s Blythe?”
“We don’t have an ID on the victim, but when we searched her belongings, we found this phone. And your number was the most recent one in her call list…other than 9-1-1.”
Squirrel’s stomach dropped and he stopped in the middle of the room, paralyzed.
He was a professional. He was the one people looked to in emergencies, but for some reason, hearing the word “victim” in relation to Blythe made him forget all his training. He didn’t know what to do or what to say.
“Where is she?” he finally croaked out.
“She’ll be brought to San Antonio Methodist Hospital. Do you know where that is?”
Squirrel nodded, not realizing the man on the other end of the phone couldn’t see him. “Is she…how bad is she?”
“I’m not sure. You’ll have to talk to the doctors at the hospital. I need to go. The ambulance is ready to leave. I’ll put her phone and belongings in the ambulance with her.”
And with that, the detective hung up.
Squirrel stood in the middle of the room and tried to get himself to move.
Blythe had been hurt. While he’d been sleeping, she’d been hurt.
“Squirrel? What’s wrong?”
He turned toward the voice and saw Driftwood standing in the entrance to the hallway that led to the sleeping rooms.
“Blythe.” It was all he could think to say. His mind was going in a thousand different directions. He couldn’t even imagine what had happened to her. Didn’t want to think about it. He’d seen a lot in his job as a paramedic/firefighter and didn’t want to think about Blythe suffering like any of the victims he’d seen over the years.
Without a word, Driftwood disappeared into the hallway behind him. Within moments, he was back with Chief.
“What’s wrong with Blythe?” Chief asked, coming up to his friend.
“I don’t know. She…a detective called me. Said he found my phone. She’s on her way to San Antonio Methodist.”
&n
bsp; Chief nodded and turned to Driftwood. “I’ll get him ready. You tell Sledge where we’re going. I’ll call Sophie on the way.”
Squirrel knew he should be doing something, but he felt as if he were trapped in a vat of peanut butter. Moving was hard, thinking was harder.
“Squirrel…snap out of it, man,” Chief told him sternly. “Blythe needs you. You gonna stand here all night?”
Blinking, Squirrel looked up at his friend. “No.”
“Good. Then put your boots on and let’s get the fuck out of here.”
As if his words were a cold shower, Squirrel snapped out of whatever funk he’d been in. He needed to get to Blythe. Now. She was hurt and headed to the hospital. He needed to make sure she got the care she needed. There were a million other things he needed to do, but first and foremost was getting to Blythe.
He turned and grabbed his boots and shoved his feet into them. By the time he was finished lacing them up, Driftwood and Chief were standing by the door. As he walked to Chief’s pickup, he asked, “Sledge okay with us leaving?”
“Yeah,” Driftwood said. “He’s already calling in replacements.”
Nodding, Squirrel settled into the front seat as Chief started his truck and peeled out of the parking lot. “Can I still bring Blythe to Sophie’s old house?” Squirrel asked the large Native American.
“Of course.”
“And Blythe will need stuff. Clothes, girly shit. That kind of stuff,” Squirrel mumbled.
“I’ll have Crash talk to Adeline. I’m sure she’ll mobilize the other women,” Driftwood piped up from the backseat.
Squirrel nodded.
“Did the detective say what happened?” Chief asked.
“No. Just that he found my phone in her backpack and she was on her way to the hospital.”
As if he could hear the panic in Squirrel’s tone, Chief said, “Easy, man. Don’t borrow trouble.”
Chief was right, but Squirrel couldn’t help but think the worst. And beat himself up. “I should’ve done something before now. I knew she was on the streets, but I let her talk me out of helping her. I’m such an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” Driftwood said. “As much as we want to save the world sometimes, we can’t always do it. Especially not when the woman we want to protect won’t let us.”
Squirrel knew exactly what his friend was referring to. Driftwood had been attracted to Quinn Dixon, one of Sophie’s friends, since the moment he’d lain eyes on her, but she didn’t seem interested in pursuing anything with him. The only thing keeping him from pursuing her more aggressively was the fact Sophie had told him Quinn wasn’t interested in a relationship with anyone. It wasn’t him, per se. She had no self-esteem because of the port-wine birthmark on her face, and she’d had enough bad experiences with men that she was leery of anyone who showed her the least amount of attention.
“It’s not the same,” he told Driftwood in a soft voice. “It’s not a matter of me taking my time and wooing her. She was in danger every minute of every day, and I did nothing. I had Beth track her down, but I refused to let her tell me where she was because I knew Blythe wanted to get back on her feet on her own. I could’ve given her money, made her meet with Tadd and Louise, had Sophie invite her to live in her vacant house before now. But I didn’t!”
“Stop it,” Chief ordered. “Regret is an appalling waste of energy. You can’t build on it; it’s only good for wallowing in.”
Squirrel pondered his friend’s words for a moment. He was right. He couldn’t go back and change the past, but he sure as hell could change the future. “You’re right. I appreciate your Navajo wisdom, Chief.”
Chief barked out a laugh. “That wasn’t Navajo. Katherine Mansfield said that.”
“Who’s that?”
“She was a short-story writer from New Zealand. She died at age thirty-four, but I’ve found many jewels of wisdom in her words.”
Squirrel merely shook his head. Chief was an interesting man. At times spouting mystical beliefs and other times swearing like a sailor. He was a contradiction, and he loved him like a brother.
“I’m going to pull up in front. You two go in and see what you can find out. Sophie’s on her way. If no one will talk to you, she’ll make sure you get the info you need.”
Squirrel had wanted to tell Chief not to bother Sophie, but he was selfish enough to want her there, just in case. She worked at the lab next door to the hospital and knew most of the doctors and staff. If he couldn’t get any information, she’d be able to for sure.
He nodded and turned his attention back to Blythe. He needed to see her. Needed to make sure she was all right. Things were going to be different from here on out. It didn’t matter what happened to put her on the streets, she was about to find out what kind of friend he was. The kind who did the right thing—regardless of whether she wanted him to or not.
Chapter Four
Blythe came back to consciousness suddenly. One minute she was out, the next she was fully aware. Instead of opening her eyes right away, however, she stayed perfectly still and tried to figure out where she was and why she hurt so badly.
Recollections of what had happened came back when she heard someone speaking beside her.
“Three knife wounds to the upper torso. None look to be life threatening. Her hand is still bleeding pretty badly though. Her BP and vitals are good. Looks like she’ll need a few stitches in each of the knife wounds and a dozen or so in her palm. ETA is about ten minutes. Oh, and warn the staff that she smells pretty rank. Looks like she’s been living on the streets for a while. Out.”
Blythe tried not to be offended by the man’s observation. She did stink. She knew it, but it wasn’t as if she could do much about it. There were showers at the shelter but they weren’t safe to use, as there was no place to put her belongings while she showered; she’d learned that the hard way. There had been incidents of assault while women were showering as well.
No, she’d rather be smelly than risk losing everything she owned and being raped in the shelter.
She opened her eyes and stared at the paramedic hovering above her.
“Hang in there,” he said gently. “We’ll be at the hospital before you know it.”
“I don’t have any money,” Blythe told him, wanting to make that perfectly clear, as if it wasn’t already.
The young man patted her hand and said, “I figured. It’s okay.”
Blythe closed her eyes. She didn’t know how it would be okay, but she didn’t have the energy to worry about it.
Then another thought hit her. Her eyes popped open and she tried to lift her head to look around, but she was strapped to a gurney and couldn’t move. “My things! Where’s my backpack?”
“Relax, it’s here. One of the detectives brought it over before we left.”
Blythe let out a sigh of relief. One backpack might not mean much to the man sitting next to her, but to her, it was the world. Besides, it held her phone…and the only way to connect to Sawyer.
With that thought in her head, Blythe relaxed and let the painkillers she’d been given do their thing.
She woke up when the gurney was removed from the back of the ambulance with a jerk. She kept quiet as she was wheeled into the emergency entrance and into an open room. Within moments, a nurse appeared above her and set about releasing her from the backboard she was Velcroed to.
She was assisted into a hospital gown and covered up by a sheet before the nurse left, saying a doctor would be in as soon as possible.
Looking around, Blythe saw her backpack sitting on the floor against a wall, and again sighed in relief. The drugs in her system made her feel pretty mellow, but the wounds in her body still throbbed.
Thinking about what happened, Blythe realized she’d been extremely lucky. Dog and Tweek had almost raped her. She swallowed hard, feeling the tightness in her throat where she’d nearly been strangled. If the police had been even a few minutes later, she would’ve been dead. She knew it a
s clearly as she knew her own name.
Just as she knew things weren’t over between her and her attackers. She’d hurt Tweek pretty badly. She’d felt the glass from the bottle sink into his neck before her hand had slipped off the bottle. He wouldn’t be happy about that. And he and Dog would go back to their little gang of friends and tell them what had happened, as well.
They’d be looking for her. The second she stepped foot back on the streets, she’d have a target on her back. Even staying in the shelter wouldn’t be safe, Blythe knew.
She sighed, this time in frustration. She was tired, hurting, and scared.
Then, when she heard the nurses talking outside her room, added humiliated to the list of things she was feeling. Their voices were lowered, and they probably thought she was still out of it, but she heard every demeaning word.
“God, I don’t know how you could stand to be in there with her.”
“Right? You think it stinks out here…I had to hold my breath when I helped her out of her shirt. Lord.”
“You gonna warn Doctor Adams?”
“I don’t need to. The second he steps foot on the floor, he’ll know we’ve got another homeless patient. They always stink things up in here so bad, it takes almost a whole can of disinfectant spray to get it halfway back to normal.”
Blythe’s eyes filled with tears. The nurses weren’t saying anything that wasn’t true, but it still hurt. She’d done her best to stay clean, but it was almost impossible when she had to sleep under trash bins and in the smelliest corners of the city.
She lay there feeling sorry for herself for a while—how long she had no idea, since there was no clock in the room and she didn’t have a watch—when she was startled by several raised voices in the hallway.
“Where is she?”
“Sir, you can’t go back there.”
“It’s okay, Heather, he’s with m-me.”
“Sophie, I don’t think—”
“He’s with m-me,” the woman named Sophie repeated firmly. “Where is s-she?”
“Room ten. Just follow the smell,” the nurse said waspishly.