“I don’t blame you. After that fucker came in, I’ve had my head on a swivel all night. Here, you go on home and let me finish up with Stella. You’ve done that enough for us, and tonight, we can return the favor. You just get home, lock the door, and try to sleep. Text me when you get there, ‘kay? We’ll be fine here.”
I know I should decline. But I feel off-kilter, and curling up in my bed and hiding away from everything sounds like a relief.
“Thank you,” I mumble, exhaustion taking my voice. “I really do need to lie down.”
Tiffany shrugs. “That’s what friends are for.”
I head to the back, slipping my sweatshirt on over my work tank top. It’s getting cool at night, and it feels good to have the extra layers. Leaving, I stick my head in to say goodnight to Stella. “Hey, heading home. Tiff will close up, and I think Devin’s gonna take you two home.”
“Thank you, honey,” Stella says. She somehow looks stronger, but still older. “And Madison, if that son of a bitch ever comes back in . . . you whack him first, ask questions later, got me?”
I nod, giving her a thumbs-up. Devin offers to walk me to my car, and though it seems silly, I play it smart and agree. The full moon’s out, and it’s already cool enough that a light mist is rising from the ground as we cross the parking lot. I keep looking around, but everything seems clear. I don’t see anyone as I get in and lock the doors before cranking the engine. Devin waves, running back inside to finish up for the night. And I pull out, ready to collapse in bed and hit restart for tomorrow.
I’m barely halfway home, though, when I notice the car in my rearview mirror. Something about the shape of the lights niggles in the back of my mind. I change lanes . . . and the car does too. I slow down to let them pass . . . but they slow down too.
I speed up, but the other car closes the distance, and my heart freezes when I finally recognize the car. It’s Rich. The black matte paint, a custom job that was his pride and joy.
I step on the gas harder, but I’m driving a twenty-year-old Toyota with wheezy valves and a worn automatic transmission that even right off the assembly line has an engine like two hamsters under the hood.
Meanwhile, Rich is driving a car with three hundred and seventy-five horsepower, a number he drilled into me. He must’ve bragged about it a thousand times. The wide tires grab the pavement and gobble up the distance between us, and as he gets close enough, I can see the grin on Rich’s face.
Terror grips me as I whip around a curve, but he takes it easily, seconds later back on my bumper so close I think he’s going to run me off the road. I lay on my horn, hoping to get him to back off or to get someone’s attention, but it’s late, and we’re in an industrial part of town. Nobody’s nearby.
I whip the car left and right, trying to shake Rich, but he’s on my bumper like a magnet. As we pass a warehouse, he bumps me from behind. Not hard, just a tap, but enough to tell me he’s not fucking around. He’s upping the ante, ready to play a game I’m nowhere near prepared to handle against a psychopath.
I cry out and press the gas harder, but I was already almost to the floor, and my leg quakes with the force. I see another turn up ahead, and I swing right, hoping to make it to the gas station ahead, but it’s still about a mile away, the light of the sign filling my vision like a beacon of hope.
The scream that comes out of my throat as Rich taps me again, sending my car careening out of control, is louder than the scream of the bodywork of the Toyota letting go. My rear tire gives out, and I feel the car start to flip as darkness overtakes me.
Chapter 29
Scott
My phone’s vibrating like crazy in the car seat beside me, but it’s just Dad. Fuck him. I ignore it, letting him leave his messages to rant. He wouldn’t understand and it’d just enrage him more if I answered and told him what I’m doing.
The drive to Stella’s, which normally takes just over thirty minutes most nights, takes almost four hours, putting me more and more on edge with the need to see Maddie and apologize, plead, grovel, whatever it takes. It’s just after midnight by the time I pull into the parking lot. I slam the car in park and all but run in. “Maddie!”
Tiffany, who’s working a mop across the floor, looks up. “You.” There’s enough venom in her voice that I know Madison has told her everything.
“Where’s Madison?” I ask, trying to choke down the panic rising in my throat. “I . . . I need to talk to her.”
“She’s had enough of creepy fucking exes tonight,” Tiffany says, turning back to her mopping. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“Tiffany, please. I love her. I need to at least apologize to her,” I reply softly. Tiff doesn’t even turn around, and my chin drops in defeat as I run my fingers through my hair, searching my mind for something, anything I can say.
“You look like shit.” Tiff says, and I look up to find her watching me curiously.
“She’s everything,” I say simply, but then try to explain the depth of my madness. “I had a huge victory at work today, a project I worked my ass off on for months, but when everyone was celebrating, I felt . . . empty. I don’t even fucking care anymore. None of it matters without her. I just want Madison, not under my thumb but right beside me. My strong, beautiful Maddie who doesn’t do a damn thing I expect and couldn’t care less about my last name.” My eyes roll up to the ceiling as I fight the tears threatening to spill. Dammit, I’m a fucking monster of a man in a business suit. I’m not gonna cry like a pansy bitch, but it’s close, so close.
She studies me for a minute, weighing the truth of my words, which feels like the most severe judgment I’ve ever received. She’s deciding whether I’m worthy of even begging for forgiveness from Madison herself. Finally, she sighs. “She just took off. Said she was heading home. Her ex came by tonight, rattled her pretty bad.”
The fear jumps in my throat again, and I nod, turning and running out the door as I yell over my shoulder, “Thanks, Tiffany.” I put every bit of horsepower I can coax from the engine to work as I lay a streak of rubber on the pavement, rocketing out of the parking lot to head toward Madison’s apartment. The streets are eerily deserted now, and as I push my car faster, fear rises along with the bile in my gut. Something’s wrong. I don’t know how I know, but centuries of primal instincts embedded in our modern minds make me certain of it.
I take the most direct path, but when I pull up to her apartment, there’s nobody there and I don’t pass Madison’s car the whole trip. Slamming my car in reverse, I drive back toward Stella’s, trying to keep my eyes open along the dark roadways, looking for any sign of her or of her car. I roll the windows down, wanting my every sense to track her, needing desperately to find her and barely refraining from screaming my fear into the quiet of the night.
I’m near the warehouse district when I hear it, the throaty, rumbling growl of an old-school engine, revving like an angry demon. Stopping, I stick my head out the window, trying to determine where it’s coming from, panic gripping me as something tells me that this is what I’m looking for.
But the buildings around me don’t help. All they do is bounce the sound around the concrete and steel surfaces. Driving to the next intersection, I hear it again, followed by the sound of crunching metal.
I smash the gas pedal to the floor and turn. I see them in a block, the all-black old-school muscle car and the beat-up Toyota, looking almost miniscule as the black car closes in again. Madison tries to whip the car around a curve and the muscle car surges forward, hitting the back bumper.
“NO!” I yell as Madison loses control, a tire popping, and suddenly, she’s airborne, flipping over as it goes off the road. My heart freezes, and I slam on my brakes, hoping that I’m not too late.
* * *
Madison
Darkness.
The pungent smell of gasoline.
I can smell something . . . burning? What the hell’s burning? Wait . . . it’s me. Something’s hot, pressing against my leg. I struggle, but
my belt’s locked and I’m trapped.
As the burning gets hotter, I scream and flail, fighting desperately to release the belt and get free. Smoke starts to fill the cab, but then I feel hard, strong hands grab me by the shoulders, and I have a flash of relief that someone is helping me get out of the burning car. I hear the snick of a knife snapping open, and a chill races through me. I remember that sound.
Rich . . . he always carried a butterfly knife, and I remember that sound distinctly. He was proud of it, always eager to show it off.
I try to struggle, but the burning and the fact that I still can’t see stops me from doing anything but getting in my own way. Rich clamps his hands tighter and yanks me out of the car.
The first clean breath of cool night air rushes into my lungs like a sweet gift. The next thought, though, is sheer terror as I look up and see Rich staring down at me, an evil grin on his face. “You’ve brought this on yourself, my Maddie.” His voice is eerily calm, in stark contrast to the panic racing through my body. I’ve moved from one danger, being trapped in a burning car, to another, alone with Rich in the dark parking lot of an abandoned warehouse.
“Rich,” I rasp, trying to crawl away, but my legs aren’t responding right, dragging numbly behind me as my palms grind into the rough concrete. He grabs a handful of my hair, and I slap at his arms, yelling out, but he ignores me as he hauls me up. My legs barely hold weight, and I lean drunkenly against him in a fight to not crash back to the hard ground.
“You’re mine,” he says, dragging me toward his car. “Now get in.”
“No,” I argue, trying to claw at his hand. He ignores my fingernails and grabs my throat, cutting off my air.
Suddenly, I realize something. This time, it’s not an ass slap that got a little too rough or a pinch that was a little too sharp. This isn’t even like the last time, where he did real damage to my wrists from his punishing grip.
No. This time, it’s not gonna be a little bruise to my body or my ego. This time, I’m going to die.
The thought grips me in a panic, granting a sudden burst of strength to fight back, fight for my life. I kick my feet, aiming for his legs, his groin, and push and pull on his hands, trying to loosen his hold. But my head is spinning from the lack of oxygen, and Rich is so much stronger than me.
The darkness closes in, my eyes locking on his victorious grin, full of ugly promises. My last thought is that I hope whatever he does, I won’t feel it.
Chapter 30
Scott
Stopping on a dime when going over a hundred miles an hour isn’t an easy task, even for my car. But with a squeal of brakes, I force the stop and jump out, sprinting toward the smashed car as smoke starts to rise. My heart is in my throat. Madison!
It’s dark, but in the small flame’s light, I can see someone approaching the car. I don’t know who the suited man is, but Tiffany’s words echo in my mind, and I realize it must be Madison’s ex, Rich.
I run harder, my shoes slipping on the cool pavement, and I wish I was wearing anything but dress shoes and slacks right now.
It seems like I’m running in slow-motion as the scene plays out in hyper-speed in front of me. I watch in horror as Rich reaches into the car and Madison cries out. He pulls her out of the car, and I have a flare of joy that she’s alive and free, and fighting back like a she-devil even though she’s in bad shape. Her left leg is smoking, she has a forehead gash that is dripping blood down her cheek, and her voice sounds rough and crackly from the smoke as she yells. The flames from the engine compartment of her wrecked car rise higher, reaching into the night at an odd angle because the car is almost completely flipped on its roof. She struggles, but he grabs her hard by the throat and drags her closer to that black car of his. I know with every fiber of my being that I have to stop him before he gets her in that car.
I dig deep for more speed but feel a punch to my gut as she sags in his hands. Rich catches her under the arm, but before he can take two steps, I’m there.
I don’t give him any warning. He doesn’t deserve one. I hit them both in a tackle, pulling Madison into my arms as I roll to the ground, cushioning her fall before getting back to my feet to defend her unconscious form.
“What the fuck!” Rich groans, holding his head as he rolls over and bounces to his feet. His eyes land on me, and his face transforms from confusion to utter rage. “You. Thought you could take her from me? No! She’s mine.”
Spittle flies from his mouth as he yells, all façade of decency washed from his mannerisms. He’s a dog with a bone, a predator with its prey. But Madison is none of those things. Not to him. Not to me. Not to anyone.
“She isn’t yours. She never was. And if you can’t recognize that she’s a strong fucking woman who stands on her own, that’s your mistake,” I growl, stepping forward.
A flash of silver appears in Rich’s right hand, and I see him snap out a knife. He holds it in front of him, waving it back and forth, looking comfortable with the blade. “She is mine. I made her what she is and she needs me.”
I’ve fought before. Chase and I have brawled on more than one occasion. But we’ve never used knives. And a cotton dress shirt doesn’t exactly do a lot for protection.
“She doesn’t need you. She doesn’t need anyone. She’s the strongest person I know.”
In that simple truth about Madison, Rich’s Achilles heel comes to me. He’s arrogant but weak. He needs to dominate someone to feel powerful himself. The insight gives me an angle to manipulate. “That’s why you gave her so much shit . . . to break down her defenses, thinking if you could tame her, you’d actually be worth something. But you couldn’t do it. You know why?” I ask condescendingly.
He stalks around me, swinging the knife in wide arcs that get closer and closer. He doesn’t answer, so I keep talking, watching intently for an opening. “Because you’re weak. She doesn’t need to be tamed. She is beautiful in her powerful independence, just as she should be.” I see a flicker of recognition in his eyes and know he already knew that and just got off on squashing her spirit. I go in for the verbal kill. “The truth is . . . you went to battle with her, and she won, fair and square, because you’re weaker than she is.” He reacts just as I’d hoped he would, and I’m ready for his attack, but he’s slow. My God, he’s so slow. I see the knife coming from what seems like a mile away, and as he arcs toward my face with the steel, I catch the inside of his elbow with a chop and the knife clatters to the ground.
Rich punches back, and I take it on the left cheek, the pain blooming across my face and firing me up with a fresh shot of adrenaline. I hit him with a hard one-two to the ribs in return that makes him wheeze as his breath whooshes out in a gush. I shove him back, and he hits his car, bending backward over the hood as I grab him by the lapels of his jacket.
“Don’t . . . ever . . . lay . . . a . . . hand . . . on her!” I grunt, accentuating each word with a bounce of the back of Rich’s skull off the hood of his car. Rich gets his knee up between us and pushes me back, and I stumble as my shoes slip on the pavement and I lose a few inches of ground.
“She’s mine!” Rich howls as he pushes off the hood to tackle me. We roll across the pavement, but unlike my teenage wrestling matches with Chase, there’s absolutely no restraint. We volley punches, brawl for position, and I end up on top, my hands locked on his throat as I start bouncing his head again.
“She’ll never be yours,” I shout, letting go with one hand to cock my fist back. “And you’ll never hurt her again.”
I let my fist fly, and I hear a satisfying crunch as I connect with Rich’s nose. His head sags, and I drop him to the pavement, unconscious and bleeding.
Once I know the threat is incapacitated, I scramble off him. He’s unimportant right now.
Instead, I rush over to Madison, who still hasn’t moved. “Maddie?” I ask her, shaking her shoulder lightly. Panic grips me again as she doesn’t respond. “Madison? Madison!”
I check, and she’s not breathing. Re
aching into my pocket, I grab my keyring, thanking my pain in the ass of an insurance company for insisting on a ‘panic button’ for my car. One push, and I’ve got full 9-1-1 support rolling to my GPS location, letting me focus on Madison.
A coldness drops over me, a thin veneer that I’ve felt before whenever I’ve been in high-stress situations. It’s what allows me to remember the CPR classes I took at work, letting me clear her airway and check for a heartbeat before giving her rescue breaths and starting compressions.
I’m still working as the police show up, three squad cars squealing to a stop with sirens and lights flashing.
“Sir . . . sir, we’ve got her,” one of the cops says. “An ambulance is right behind us.”
I collapse to my knees next to Madison, and the cop takes over as I exhaustedly beg him to save her. Another officer asks me questions, and I give a quick, disjointed accounting of Madison’s history with Rich and what happened tonight. They write it all down, handcuffing Rich when the black car comes back as his and slipping the knife they find on the ground into a plastic bag.
“Sir . . . we’ll need a complete statement downtown,” the officer says as the ambulance is about to pull off. I nod and head toward the rig. “Sir!” he yells out behind me.
“I’m going to the hospital with Madison. Meet me there if you want, or I’ll come downtown later,” I reply, climbing in. The paramedics look at me, then at the cops, one of whom climbs in. It’s a tight fit, but we’re on the road. “How is she?”
“Heartbeat is steady and stable now. She’s had some trauma to her throat from the strangulation. We’ve had to intubate her, but the fact that we could is a good sign,” the paramedic says, cold but kind.
I grab her hand, watching worriedly as we fly down the road, praying we get to the hospital quickly enough.
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