Chapter 1 #2
A scream lodges in my chest as I hurry to close the message box. My fingers shake, and I shut my eyes so that I don’t have to see my computer if it’s going haywire again. Because he’s lying. He’s just trying to scare me, and I can’t let him win. There is no way in hell he’s outside my house.
But then I ease my eyes open and see the message that was hidden just behind Desmond’s.
ScotlandYard842: Get out of the house.
A shadow moves outside my window. It’s little more than a flash of darkness before it disappears, but I saw it. Someone is out there.
I grab my shirt from the floor and pull it over my head.
Desmond has taken enough from me over the past few weeks, and I’ll be damned if he’s getting anything more.
My gaze darts around the room, looking for anything I can use as a weapon.
I really should have taken my friend’s advice and gotten something more substantial than a fucking golf club.
Looking at it propped in the corner, I realize how inadequate it is.
Skinny and useless, just like my ex’s dick.
“Fuck it. This is what I have. I’ll make the best of it, just like he did.” I hurry to the corner and grip the golf club in my hands. What do I plan to do with it? I have no fucking clue. At least it gives me some distance.
I give it a few practice swings. My hands shake, and sweat slicks the grip as I readjust my fingers.
The heavy driver weights the end pretty well, and if I aim carefully enough, I can probably do some damage.
I’m concerned that the thought of killing this asshole excites me, but I’m sure plenty of women in my shoes have felt the same way.
I’ll tell myself it’s normal for now and deal with the fallout in therapy.
With a deep breath, I leave my bedroom and head for the front door. My closest neighbor is nearly a half mile down the beach, but that’s where my Scottish bodyguard friend suggested I run when we formulated a plan in case shit ever went south. I’d say we’re heading toward the Equator at this point.
I’m accustomed to running in the sand, so if it comes down to a foot chase, I have home-field advantage.
And I’ve seen Desmond. Well, his outline.
He’s always in shadow when he comes on cam, but he doesn’t strike me as the type to do well in sand.
He’s bulky as fuck, and all that muscle will drive him down.
I reconsider the plan to run down the beach.
My neighbors are elderly, and I’m not sure they’ll even open the door for me, but I’ve glimpsed the little German man’s weapon room through his bedroom window.
Something tells me he’ll come in clutch in a fight.
That or he has a secret anime obsession, because who else buys that many swords?
But what if no one is home? What if I get to the door and end up looking like fucking Laurie on Halloween night? I’m not final-girl material. I’m just not.
“Fuck it, Quinn,” I whisper to myself. “You won’t be anything if you let that asshole get his hands on you.”
I consider calling the police, but that’s not really an option.
When my friend agreed to help me, it was with the promise that he would handle all of my personal security needs.
I promised never to involve cops, and he promised to keep me safe.
So far, he’s held up his end of the bargain, but things aren’t looking so good right now.
Trust him. He won’t let anything happen to you.
God, I read far too many romance novels.
They’ve rewired my brain. As I stand here at my front door, gripping a golf club and fighting the urge to scream, that realization has never been clearer.
A stalker is now at my house, and I haven’t even started a paper trail on this asshole because I’ve been too enamored by the dark-haired stranger with a funny accent.
I’ve put my faith in him, all because he makes me think dirty thoughts.
But this isn’t a romance novel and he isn’t coming to save me, so it’s time to save myself.
I unlock the door and wrench it open with a scream. I’m the vision of a mental breakdown as I burst off the porch and tear down the shore with the golf club swinging like a death threat at my side. Fear blinders narrow my vision to a pinpoint, and I focus on the porch light in the distance.
The clouds have gobbled up the remnants of fading sunshine, casting the beach in darkness. Hot breath saws in and out of my chest as my legs pump beneath me. But then I realize it isn’t my ragged breathing in my ears. Someone is behind me, and they’re getting closer.
A scream tears from my throat as I dare to glance backward.
A powerful, lumbering figure barrels toward me at a speed I can’t hope to surpass.
Each forward step is met with an explosion of sand and salt.
His fists are large and clenched as he rushes headlong into the darkness, closing the space between us at an alarming rate.
There’s an animalistic growl with each gulp of air he sucks into his lungs.
I can’t even see his face through the shadows, but I imagine he’s wearing a scowl as he grits his teeth and fantasizes about how he’ll kill me.
I turn back to my neighbor’s house. I’ll never make it.
The sand seems to stretch further with every forward lunge.
I can almost feel his hands snaking around my throat, his hot breath against my cheek.
With a guttural screech, I wheel around and swing the club.
Pain sings through my palms as he catches the driver on the downward arc and wrenches it from my hands.
I sprawl face-first in the sand, then scramble forward. But it’s too late. He’s on me.
Rolling onto my back, I open my mouth to scream for help, but his sandy palm smashes over my lips. I’m in a blind panic, unable to see his face just inches from mine as he says something over and over again. When the words and accent finally register, I go limp.
“I’ve got you, wee lass. It’s your buddy, so no worries, aye?” He brushes the hair from my face and looks down at me before glancing around. “You aren’t safe yet, though. Let’s get you to Grim’s.”
With that, he bundles me into his arms and runs toward the house in the distance.