Chapter 15 Abby
ABBY
I’m in the shared laundry room for my building when the stranger approaches me.
At first, I don’t notice him; I’m too busy grabbing my clothes out of the dryer.
Dane is coming to pick me up any minute now for our surprise date, and I need to finish this chore first. One of my favorite painting camisoles went missing recently, so I’m not willing to leave my things in the dryer where they might get taken.
It’s only when the stranger lets out a low whistle that I realize I’m not alone in the small, hot room.
I jerk upright from where I was bent over the dryer, my heart leaping into my throat. Instinctively, I recognize the unwanted attention of a predator.
A thrill shivers up my spine—a primal warning that all women possess.
I dread the shameful heat that might accompany the spike in my heartbeat, but mercifully, it doesn’t come. Maybe letting go of my illicit connection with GentAnon last night truly will help me overcome my sickness. Maybe I can be worthy of Dane.
I just need to evade this creep so that I can go on my date with him.
“Well, hello, Peaches,” the stranger says, his Southern twang more pronounced that the softer Carolina drawl I’m used to. His pale blue eyes wander down the length of my body, pausing at the curve of my hips.
I have an awful suspicion about why he chose to call me Peaches, even though my butt is now firmly pressed back against the washing machine.
I shake my head slightly and gather my clean laundry to my chest, holding it between us like a shield.
“My name is Abby,” I say coolly. “And you shouldn’t be in here.”
He chuckles. “Don’t be like that,” he admonishes. “We must be neighbors. I’m moving in upstairs. Just checking out the rest of the building in between hauling boxes up to my new place. Too bad I’m not more presentable. I wasn’t expecting to meet a beautiful woman.”
He waves his hand in my general direction, and I notice the dull glint of a wedding ring.
“I don’t think your wife would appreciate you flirting with me,” I reply, speaking calmly and clearly despite my elevated heartrate.
I’ve dealt with skeevy men plenty of times before. But after the attack by the masked man, I’m flooded with adrenaline. Even though I’m not experiencing a disconcertingly erotic reaction, I still can’t seem to tap into my fight or flight instinct. As always, I’m frozen.
He’s blocking my way to the exit, and I have nowhere to go. Nothing but my words to talk my way past him. If I can manage to unstick my feet from the concrete floor.
“Oh, this.” He frowns at the ring, as though he forgot he’s wearing it. “Damn thing’s stuck. I’m separated. That’s why I’m moving in here. Drove all the way up from Mississippi to get away from that bitch.”
Charming.
I suppress a contemptuous grimace and keep my features schooled to a polite mask. Provoking him when we’re alone in here would be stupid, especially if I’ll have to see him around the building for the foreseeable future.
I note the small beer belly that strains against his too-tight white t-shirt. His finger bulges around the constraint of the too-small wedding ring. I suppose he’s not in the same shape as he was when he first put it on.
“My name’s Ron.” His broad, bright white smile could be considered boyishly charming, and his tousled brown curls add to his good ol’ boy vibe.
They peek out at the sides of his oversized baseball cap, and I wonder if he’s hiding a receding hairline.
“Pleasure to meet you. I could really use a friend in the neighborhood.”
My new neighbor has an entitled air about him that I recognize all too well.
“I’m sorry to hear about your troubles,” I say, barely managing to soften my tone to something conciliatory. “I hope your move goes smoothly. But I need to get this laundry folded.”
He steps toward me. “I can help with that.”
I recoil from his grubby hands. “That’s okay. I’ve got it.”
He chuckles again and shakes his head. “I’m just being neighborly, Peaches. I’ll help you, and then you can help me. I don’t know the area yet. You can show me the best dive bar in the neighborhood.” He winks at me. “We’re gonna get real close. I can tell.”
My stomach churns, and sweat beads on my brow. The intensity of my fear response is out of proportion with the perceived threat.
He takes another step toward me, and his dirty hand fists one of my black work shirts.
The air in my lungs turns to solid ice, and my entire body locks up tight.
I want to tell him to leave me alone, but I can’t find the oxygen to speak. I’m so cold despite the heat of the running dryers in summer.
The door to the laundry room opens, revealing my white knight.
“Dane!” I say his name like a prayer, and his forest green eyes narrow on my creepy new neighbor.
Ron is in between us, my shirt still trapped in his fist. He turns his head to see who’s interrupted us, and his throat bobs when he takes in Dane’s thunderous expression.
Then his shoulders draw back, and his arms flex. He drags my shirt out of my arms and turns to face Dane.
“This your boyfriend, Peaches?” He asks, his twang heavy on the contemptuous question. He eyes Dane up and down, taking in his perfectly tailored, light blue shirt all the way down to his polished leather shoes.
Dane prowls toward us, every step a warning.
Ron stiffens, but he holds his ground. His pathetic posturing would be almost laughable if it weren’t for the fact that ice lingers on my skin.
The sour tang of fear curls my tongue. The remembered terror from the night of the masked man’s attack clings to my psyche, and I’m reeling as I try to focus on Dane’s remarkable eyes.
His gaze is fixed on Ron, his forest irises darkening to a dangerous shade of hunter green.
He comes to a stop within punching distance, and I realize that Dane has at least three inches of height and considerable bulk on Ron.
“Her name is Abigail, not Peaches.” Dane’s voice is light and smooth, so at odds with his threatening stance. “And yes, I’m her boyfriend. So, if you ever think about harassing her again, you’ll have to deal with me.”
Shock renders me mute at his words. The genteel cadence of his voice dropped to something rougher on the last: a gravelly declaration of ownership and a promise of retribution.
Dane tips his chin at my shirt. Ron’s knuckles have gone white against the soft black fabric.
“That doesn’t belong to you.”
For a moment, I think that he’ll insist on giving it back to me.
Instead, he plucks my shirt from Ron’s grip and claims it for himself.
Ron’s jaw works. “Tough talk for a fancy man. I was just being neighborly and helping with her laundry.”
Dane’s eyes remain fixed on him like he’s a bug he’d like to grind under the heel of his designer shoe, but he addresses me.
“Do you want his help, Abigail?”
“No,” I manage to breathe.
With every passing second, the ice is melting from my bones, leaving me wrung out and shaky. Fear is giving way to shock at the unexpected events unfolding in the cramped space of the stifling laundry room. Dane radiates menace, but relief rushes through me at his protective presence.
“You heard her,” Dane prompts darkly. “She doesn’t want you. Unless you have a good reason to be in here, I suggest you leave now.”
Ron throws up his hands and shakes his head, as though Dane is making a big deal out of nothing. “Fine, buddy. I have boxes to move.” He shoots a glower in my direction. “Ungrateful bitch.”
Dane moves lightning fast, and suddenly, his chest is almost pressed against Ron’s. His entire body swells with barely leashed aggression, but his face is completely devoid of emotion. The cold, clinically calculated way he’s studying Ron is more terrifying than his warning scowl.
“Use that language with her again, and you’ll end up with a broken jaw.”
Ron seems to finally understand the gravity of the danger he’s in, and he takes a hasty step away, edging toward the open door behind Dane.
“Fine,” he says again, but his voice wavers this time. “She’s your girl. I get it. Fucking psycho.” He mutters the last as he ducks out the door to evade my fierce protector.
Dane’s cold gaze glitters. He keeps his frigid focus fixed on Ron until the threat is gone. Ron’s quickly retreating footsteps slap against the concrete floor of the entry hall as he makes a swift exit onto the street.
“How did you know I was in here?” My lips feel oddly numb, but my voice barely wavers on the question.
The dangerous glimmer melts from Dane’s eyes when he turns his gaze on me. “I was knocking on your front door when I heard your voice,” he explains. “You sounded scared.”
“Did I?” I’d thought I was speaking in a calm, disarming tone.
I guess I was even more shaken up than I realized. My body is still reeling from the spike of adrenaline, and my knees are strangely weak.
“I’m sorry.” I offer a reflexive apology, and embarrassment flushes my cheeks. “I should’ve been able to handle him myself.”
If I weren’t still jumpy from the masked man’s attack, I might’ve been capable of walking away from Ron on my own.
But I can’t explain myself to Dane. He can never know what happened to me, my shameful reaction to being violated.
My white knight is touching me again, his careful fingers making light contact with my wrist to test my pulse. It’s still racing from the burst of irrational fear.
“You shouldn’t have to handle him by yourself,” he rumbles, his jaw flexing with a shadow of his righteous anger. “I’ll take care of you, Abigail. He won’t bother you again.”
I try to shrug. “It wasn’t that serious. I would’ve been okay.”
A shadow deepens in his cheek as his jaw ticks more with more force. “I’m not asking,” he says firmly. “I want to keep you safe. Trust me.”
His long fingers close around mine before I can respond. “You’re shaking,” he remarks. “Let’s go somewhere quiet. You need to sit down and hydrate.”