Chapter 10 Raven
The entire drive home, I feel like I’m being watched.
It’s not paranoia. Not exactly. It’s awareness—sharp and buzzing under my skin, like a live wire. Tony Martin wrapped his hand around my throat. He whispered in my ear. He thinks I’m his prey.
Prey doesn’t get careless.
I check my rearview mirror again, slowing slightly at the light so I can study the cars behind me. A gray sedan. A pickup. A white SUV. None of them stand out, but that doesn’t mean anything. Tony isn’t stupid. If he’s watching me, he wouldn’t make it obvious.
The light turns green, but I don’t head straight home.
Instead, I take a right, then a left, then loop through a grocery store parking lot. I drive slowly between the rows, pretending to look for a spot while my eyes stay glued to the mirrors. The same cars pass by, but none linger. No one follows me through the loop.
I’m still not convinced.
I pull back onto the road and take a longer route, weaving through side streets, doubling back once just to be sure. My pulse doesn’t settle until I’m three blocks from my apartment and I haven’t identified a tail.
Even then, I hesitate.
If he already knows where I live, this won’t matter. But if he doesn’t… I’m not handing him the address gift-wrapped.
Finally, I turn into my complex and park in my usual spot.
I sit there for a moment, engine idling, scanning the lot.
Everything looks normal. I know looks can deceive, but I don’t feel like anyone is waiting and watching.
Grabbing my bag, I head inside quickly, making sure to lock the door behind me.
As a woman living alone, I’ve learned a few tricks.
The blinds are closed tight with heavy curtains blocking the view from the street. They can’t see the light when I turn it on, so they can’t pinpoint my apartment if they were following me. I know they can’t see the light, but I still wait for several minutes before flipping the switch.
My jangled nerves need soothing. Something routine like cooking helps.
I move through the motions automatically—rice into the cooker, vegetables chopped with quick, efficient strokes.
Broccoli, bell peppers, carrots. The sizzle of the pan is grounding; the scent of garlic and soy sauce fills the apartment.
For a little while, I can pretend this is just another night.
By the time everything’s done, I plate it up and pour myself a glass of Chardonnay. My hands are steady now, the earlier tension fading into something quieter but no less present.
I carry everything to my bed, settling against the headboard with my laptop open. I put my phone on the charger, but keep it close by, just in case.
If Tony wants to play games, I’m not going to stay in the dark.
I know Tony attacked me. He wasn’t hanging with a friend.
What kind of friend gives someone an alibi?
Did he know why Tony needed the alibi? I need to learn more about his friends, because I’m not just up against him. I’m up against his friends, too.
I take a bite, chew, swallow, then pull up his gym's website. He has links to his Facebook page and other social media. I start with Facebook. The gym’s account has what one would expect.
Several before-and-after photos of his clients are intermixed with even more photos of Tony.
Images of Tony teaching a class, Tony giving one-on-one motivation, and Tony preening in competitions.
There are also several of Tony simply preening. The man loves images of himself.
I searched the photos but didn’t find many of him hanging out with other men, aside from clients. I altered my search to find Tony’s personal Facebook account. Tony Martin is too common a name, but I’m able to locate his account after a few minutes of searching.
Lucky for me, his account isn’t private.
Scrolling through, I see several photos of him attending sporting events and participating in outside activities.
There are photos of him camping with a group of men.
He’s holding up a string of fish, sporting a wide smile.
I'm starting to see some of the same faces popping up in different photos. Getting out my notebook, I jot down the names of those tagged in the photos. It doesn’t take me long to have a list of five names that appear most often.
Names that show up in photo after photo, dating back years.
The first name was easy to identify. He’s the same man who covered for Tony and protected him from the accusation of the woman Tony abused.
Paul Storr. He’s a member of Tony’s gym.
He works as a manager for a bank. I pull up his Facebook account and find several of the same names and faces.
The biggest thing I notice as I go through their accounts and the others' is the lack of women in the photos. It’s always the men.
Always the same six men hanging out together. Like they’re their own little gang.
Paul Storr.
Scott Tyler.
Jay Banks.
Cliff Mellor.
Andrew Rollings.
Time to start digging into these men.
By the time I finish searching through these men’s lives, I feel confident that they’re doing more than giving Tony an alibi.
These are not good men. These are men women should never feel comfortable around.
I put my computer away and wash my dishes before crawling into bed.
I’m resigned to having a nightmare. My subconscious doesn’t disappoint.
I’m running.
My feet slap against cold pavement, each step sending sharp jolts of pain up my legs. I’m barefoot. I know I’m barefoot, but I don’t remember losing my shoes. I don’t remember how I got here.
The streets are empty.
San Diego should never feel like this—silent, hollow, wrong. The streetlights flicker overhead, casting weak pools of yellow light that barely touch the ground. Shadows stretch too long, too dark, swallowing everything just beyond my reach.
I’m only wearing sleep shorts and a tank top. My skin prickles with cold, with exposure, with fear.
“Raven…”
The sound of my name slithers through the air.
I freeze for half a second, my breath catching, before I force myself to move again.
No. No, no, no.
“Raaaven…”
Tony’s voice is closer now. Amused. Mocking.
“Where you goin’, sweetheart?”
My heart slams against my ribs as I sprint harder, lungs burning, throat tight. I turn the corner sharply, nearly slipping—
—and stop dead.
A man steps out of the shadows.
Paul.
I recognize him instantly from the photos. Same smug face. Same dead eyes. He smiles like he’s been waiting for me.
“Wrong way,” he says casually.
I choke on a breath and spin around, running back the way I came.
Tony laughs.
The sound echoes. It’s everywhere and much too close.
I take another turn—left this time, faster, desperate—
Andrew blocks the sidewalk.
He leans against a lamppost like he’s got all the time in the world. “You’re making this harder than it has to be.”
“No—” My voice breaks. I back up, shaking my head.
I run again.
Every street twists into another trap.
Scott steps out from between two parked cars that weren’t there a second ago. Jay stands in the middle of the road, arms crossed. Cliff watches from the mouth of an alley, grinning like this is a game.
They don’t chase me.
They don’t have to.
Because they’re herding me.
My chest tightens, panic clawing up my throat as I spin in a circle, searching for an escape that doesn’t exist.
“Nowhere left to go,” Tony says softly.
He’s behind me.
I feel it before I see him—the heat of his presence, the weight of his gaze. My body locks up, terror rooting me to the spot.
Something rough brushes against my neck.
I gasp as a rope slips over my head, tightening before I can react. The fibers bite into my skin, digging in, stealing the air from my lungs.
“No—!”
Tony leans in close, his breath hot against my ear.
“Told you,” he whispers. “You’re mine.”
The rope jerks tight.
Everything goes black—
—and I wake with a violent gasp, hands clawing at my throat, heart racing like it’s trying to escape my chest.
I fight to control my breathing and racing heart as I fumble with the lamp next to my bed. Even with the lights on, my eyes flick around the space, searching for danger. Damn, that was worse than I expected. I knew I’d have a nightmare, but that felt too real. Especially the noose at the end.
Shuddering, I climb out of bed and head for the shower. Hot water and coffee. That’s what I need and in that order.
I’m still a jumble of nerves when I pull into the parking lot.
I race up the stairs and let myself into Athena’s office.
Usually, I love having the office to myself in the morning, but not today.
Today, I’m wishing I worked in a busy office.
I get everything ready with minimal effort before sitting behind my desk to check Athena’s schedule.
That’s where she finds me when she arrives.
“We have a situation,” Athena says, placing her purse and briefcase on the chair nearest the coffee maker.
She pops in a pod and starts the machine before turning back to me.
“You know Jinx, our new patient?” I nod.
“You know how she said she works the breakfast and dinner shift? It’s at the Demon Dawgs’ clubhouse. I saw her this morning.”