Chapter 18 #2
He’s on his feet in the blink of an eye, his nose gliding along my neck as he breathes me in. I stand stock-still, shock holding me immobile. An animalistic growl rattles in his chest, vibrating through me. Suddenly, his teeth tear into my skin.
The ache jolts me into action. I rear back and try to scramble away, but he digs sharp fingernails into my wrist. An ace of spades tattoo graces the back of the hand that’s preventing my escape to safety. The letters G, O, D are inked separately on his ring, middle, and index fingers.
“Let me go,” I demand in a panicked voice.
Sam doesn’t say a word, but the hardness in those icicle orbs speaks volumes. Sharp nails burrow deeper, piercing my flesh. A pained whimper parts my lips.
“I’ll scream,” I threaten, frantically pulling against his iron grip.
But would anyone come to my rescue? Leah warned me that these biker guys are untouchable. Kent’s Robin Hood criminals, according to Meela. I’m inclined to believe them on both accounts.
Sam releases me, and I crash to the concrete. My elbow hits first, and the breath whooshes out of me in a rush of pain. I clamber to my feet, struggling to inflate the pinkish-gray organ in my chest cavity with precious oxygen.
Sam hasn’t forgotten or forgiven my betrayal.
And who could blame him? I falsely accused him of sexual assault.
“Sam, I’m so, so sorry about that night,” I say, my gaze briefly landing on the grim reaper painted in shiny white on the gas tank of his motorcycle. “I was afraid, but that’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have lied. Can we meet later and talk?”
“You’re sorry?” His deep, raspy baritone envelops me, scattering goose bumps across my skin. A slow smile spreads across his face. “Not as sorry as you’re gonna be.”
Danger. Run.
The warning rises unbidden in my mind, sending a jolt of adrenaline through me. I spin on my ballet flats and tear up the stairs into the building. I head straight for the girls’ bathroom, my heart shattering. I dart into the first stall and bawl my eyes out. Sam hates me.
“Are you okay?” Leah asks me, concern in her soft voice. “You seem distracted today.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, picking at my cuticles. “Just sluggish from the move.”
Meela pops my hand. “Stop that.”
“Sorry,” I grumble, thoroughly chastised.
Leah and Meela are cool peeps, but I’m not ready to tell them about Sam or the circumstances that led me here. No one wants a backstabber for a friend.
“Oh, okay,” Leah chirps, closing her locker. “Only one more day until the weekend, then you can have some downtime.”
We start down the hallway, following the throng of bodies outside. I don’t recall today’s lessons. I couldn’t focus on anything but him.
I have to speak to him again. Beg for his forgiveness. We were once inseparable, facing life’s harsh realities together. It’ll take a while, but I know we can rebuild our friendship.
“Downtime?” Meela retorts, rolling her eyes. “Jesus, what am I going to do with you? Have I taught you nothing? I can’t wait for the weekend so I can have some downtime,” she says in an overtly whiny tone, “said no teenager in the history of forever.”
Leah’s response is to shake her head and laugh. They’ve been best friends since the sixth grade. I gather she’s grown accustomed to Meela’s spicy attitude.
“Listen, babes, pay this little peach no mind. She’s still learning. Hang with me on Saturday, girly. I’m getting a new tattoo, then we can do lunch and a movie.”
Meela is dressed head to toe in lime green today. Complete with lime-green eyes and a matching wig. Does this girl color coordinate every day? Way too time-consuming for me.
“Can’t go,” I mumble, my gaze downcast in embarrassment. “I’m strapped for cash.”
I haven’t mentioned my job interview to anyone. Don’t want to jinx it. Even if I get the cleaning gig, splurging is completely out of the question. I’ll need to penny-pinch every single cent. Money will only be spent on the necessities; nothing more.
“I got you, babe,” Meela says, winking at me.
“Oh no, I can’t ask you to—”
“I insist,” she replies, her tone brooking no argument. “And you didn’t ask, I offered.”
“I’m not comfortable—”
“Just let it go,” Leah interjects. “Meela never takes no for an answer. Trust me on this, you’re wasting your breath.”
“Well, if you insist,” I concede.
She gives a decisive nod. “I very much insist.”
When we reach the bottom of the stairs, an arm slips over my shoulders. I grimace, seeing the annoying boy from my science class. I had the displeasure of meeting him yesterday.
I dig an elbow into his side and shove him away. “What do you want, Sully?”
“Don’t be like that, doll face,” he croons. “Just making sure we’re still on for eight tonight.”
Double ew, he’s so slimy. He asked me out once already, and I said thanks, but no thanks. Why he thinks my answer would change in less than twenty-four hours is beyond me.
“It’s Zilphia, and for the second time, my answer is no!”
“Playing hard to get, huh?” he waggles his eyebrows. “Me likey.”
Barf.
“Newsflash, she’s not playing hard to get,” Meela deadpans, rolling her eyes. “Get a clue.”
Sully slips his arm over my shoulders again. “Come on, babe. I’m a really nice guy once you get to know me.”
“Back the fuck up!” I snap my head toward the angry voice and see Snake barreling in our direction. “That’s Sandman’s.”
Leah and Meela exchange “what the fuck?” glances.
“I didn’t know, Snake,” Sully squeaks, quickly putting several inches between us. “Honest to God.”
“Get the fuck outta here.” Snake takes a menacing step forward. “If it happens again, it’s God’s Glory for you.”
Sully bolts around the block, falling twice in his haste to get away. What the heck is happening here?
“What do you mean by ‘that’s Sandman’s’?” I ask, frowning at him. “I don’t even know anyone by that name.”
“You’ll see.” Snake snickers and saunters down the sidewalk.
I look to my new friends for clarification, but no responses are forthcoming. “Somebody wanna tell me who this guy is?”
Meela speechless? That doesn’t bode well.
“Snake’s brother,” Leah answers, wringing her hands.
“Kent’s resident hellraiser and someone you never, ever fuck with,” Meela adds. “He has a bad temper, bad rep, hell, bad everything. How in the ever-loving fuck did you get on his radar?”
I mentally rummage through my memory bank, but that name doesn’t ring a bell.
“I don’t know,” I whine. “I swear, I never heard of him before now.”
“Well, he knows you, sweetie,” she quips. “Slapped his name all over that ass.”
“Obviously he has me confused with someone else.”
“I have to go,” Leah says, then peers at me. “Watch your back. Sandman isn’t right in the head.”
I give an imperceptible nod, picking at my cuticles again, which earns me another pop on the hand. It’s a nervous habit I’ve had since forever.
We maneuver through the congested sidewalk, retracing yesterday’s path to the convenience store.
“What does she mean by he’s not right in the head?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. There’s regular crazy, medium crazy, and ‘get this guy a straitjacket’ crazy. Sandman falls into the last category.”
Perfect. Just what I freaking need.
“Supposedly, he handles the club’s dirty work. Hence his name,” Meela whispers. “Of course, that’s just a rumor. Hasn’t been proven.”
“He kills people!” I exclaim.
“Keep your voice down,” she admonishes me. “You trying to have the Gods on our backs?”
“I’m starting to freak out,” I pant, breathing becoming labored.
“Calm down, like you said, maybe he got his wires crossed.” Meela points her index finger at her temple and moves it in a circular motion. “Straitjacket crazy, remember?”
Meela chatters all the way to the store, but I completely tune her out. I can’t stop thinking about Sandman. How dare he lay a claim on me? I don’t belong to him—psychopath, hitman, biker or not.
After buying more groceries—nothing that needs to be refrigerated—I leave the store and veer into the woods a few minutes later. Maybe Snake can arrange a meeting between me and his brother. I’d rather not talk to that arrogant asshole, but I need to get to the bottom of this situation ASAP.
Suddenly, the air shifts, causing the fine hairs on the back of my neck to rise. Something is wrong; I feel it in the marrow of my bones. I spin in a circle, but only trees greet me. There’s nothing out here. It’s your imagination playing tricks on you.
I keep walking, though my apprehension intensifies with each step deeper into the dense woodland.
“Get a grip, girl,” I mumble, but quicken my pace.
The uneasy feeling won’t go away. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is terribly wrong. My intuition is screaming at me to get out of these woods.
A slight breeze ruffles my hair before everything goes still. I glance over my shoulder, hearing heavy thudding behind me. Two huge Dobermans bound straight toward me, and my knees nearly buckle from fear as my heart rate picks up.
I take off without a second thought.
The rule of thumb is to stand your ground when a dog charges, but that’s easier said than done—especially with two dogs snapping at your ass.
Stumbling, I lose my footing and almost topple to the soft dirt. My ballet-style shoes aren’t made for running. Sticks and rocks dig into the thin soles, making it a struggle to remain upright. The slippery leaves aren’t helping either.
Climbing a tree is next to impossible because the branches are too damn high. Stopping is too risky anyway. Those rabid beasts will be on me in an instant. My best bet is to make it to the street and yell for help.
The pounding grows louder, but I don’t dare look back. That would only slow me down. My breathing soon becomes erratic, my chest tightening painfully. Asthma attack. Fuck, I haven’t had one in a long time.
Gasping for air, I trip over a root and crash to the earth with a resounding smack. My tote bag flies from my hand, sending my groceries, purse, and laptop scattering across the ground.
That’s it. I’m dead.