Grind (The Doyles #2)

1. Ava

Ava

“I f your section’s clean, you can leave, Buchanan.”

Time to get out of here. My feet throb after hours serving tables.

I spin the numbers on my locker, relief flooding through me as it clicks open. Some servers leave theirs unlocked, only to find their phones or money stolen. But I need every dollar I can earn to pay for law school. I never take chances.

Even the thought sends an icy chill down my spine.

Slipping into my coat, I step out the back door into the chilly night. The coolness hits my skin, reviving me a little. But asthma makes it harder to breathe in this weather, and my chest is already tight with fear.

I scan the darkened streets, taking in every detail. Stay vigilant. Be alert. It’s the only way I’ll make it home safe.

Sketchy clubs and bars dot the streets of Boston’s former red-light district , and all the drunks will be pouring out of them soon. As I round the corner, exiting the alley onto a better-lit street. I clutch my coat tighter around me.

His voice cuts out of the darkness just ahead of me.

“About time. I’ve been waiting for over an hour. I don’t like being kept waiting, princess.”

That voice instantly fills me with a bone-chilling fear. My heart thunders as I back up against the brick building behind me. The facade scratches against the fabric of my coat, and there’s a sound of cloth tearing

“Brooks,” I won’t let my voice shake. “You’re not supposed to talk to me. That’s part of the deal.”

The deal we’d made after he’d almost killed me.

He smiles smugly, crowding closer and pushing me harder into the wall. His eyes have that strange, vacant look they get when he’s about to lose control. Sweat beads on my neck, and I turn my face to avoid the reek of his sour breath. It’s a look I know all too well.

“I’m Brooks Stacy, baby. I do what I want.”

His hand strokes the side of my face. Involuntarily, my body shivers, his soft fingers sliding down my cheek. Repulsion pushes up through the fear, and I fight not to remember those hands touching me during more intimate encounters.

Must get out of here. Now.

Last time he raised his hand to me, I’d been in the hospital for two weeks.

Just the thought sets my nerves on fire.

The pain. The fear. Counting every day of my recovery in missed dollars from my waitressing shifts and mounting workload from my classes.

My throat tightens, raw and slick with panic.

Digging my fingers into the craggy, sharp brick, my eyes dart left and right as I frantically search for any opening to get away.

“Please,” I push against his solid chest. The edges of my own breathing close in, and the pressure on my chest constricts

Don’t hyperventilate. Not now.

“Aw, princess, you know I love it when you beg.”

It’s always worse when he’s drunk. The hairs on my arms lift, remembering the last time he caught me alone when he was drinking.

“Brooks, your father will be mad if you get in trouble again.” My voice drops to a whisper, struggling to stay steady as I try to reason with him.

The only reason he’s not in jail is because of his father.

Mayor Stacy made a deal with the judge, to rehabilitate his wayward son and pay my medical bills.

They didn’t even give me a restraining order.

One wasn’t needed against a fine, upstanding member of the rich and powerful Stacy family, after all.

Nothing makes you feel safer than top-to-bottom corruption.

“Don’t worry, princess,” his words slur and his voice drops to a deeper pitch. “He’ll only get mad if they find the body.”

Images flash too fast to process: Brooks in a rage, his skin rage-red as his mouth contorts.

Me, unable to get away, curling into a fetal position when it was clear I had no other option.

The horrible aftermath taking weeks to recover from.

Even now, I can feel the dark remembered ache of shattered bones.

He won’t catch me this time. I’d rather die fighting.

I lash out in panic. Shock dawns slowly across his face and melts into fury. But I take the opening and squeeze out from under his grip, darting into the dark night

Plunging ahead, I try to navigate winding streets. My blood pounds. My heart slams. Adrenaline spikes narrow my vision. Can’t even scream for help.

Goddamn asthma.

Brooks roars, a sound of pure primal rage, and the hairs on my arms raise in terror. He’s somewhere behind me. I won’t look back. Go, go, go . The leather soles of his shoes ringing out on the sidewalk. Closer. Closer. The street is completely deserted.

Where the hell is everyone?

There’s nowhere I’m safe. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve done. Gone in an instant because of this man. Not even safe in my own bed anymore. He knows where I live. Damnit.

It’s taking me too close to the edge. The carefully crafted sense of control that I’ve built back up piece by piece starts to slip away. I can’t spiral out of control. Hold it together, Ava.

My lungs burn as I gasp for air. Stumbling down a darkened side street, I hope I lose him long enough to get my inhaler. My hands shake uncontrollably as I claw through my bag, frantically searching.

Not enough air.

One draw on my inhaler.

One deep breath. That’s all I need. Get back in control and get away.

Hot tears stream down my face. Fear and exhaustion war in my body. Adrenaline’s the only thing keeping me upright.

And it won’t keep me going much longer.

As I finally wrap my fingers around the plastic inhaler and pull it out, relief shoots through me but turns into to a tense, icy fear. Brooks’s loud and chillingly hollow laugh echoes down the narrow street.

He’s close. Too close.

There’s no time. Running again, my legs moving as if they’re under someone else’s command. Just run. Every instinct urges me forward. Move. Faster. Forward.

My purse is still unzipped. The money I earned tonight flies out in a trail behind me. My gut gives a raw twist. Goddamnit. Three hundred dollars. It’s nothing to Brooks, but everything to me.

My vision grays as Brooks’s hand closes like iron around my forearm.

The hairs on the nape of my neck rise in terror.

My inhaler flies out of my other hand, and plastic skitters across concrete as I slam hard into what feels like a wall.

Pain arcs across my body from the impact, and I fall to the ground with another burst of pain.

“Sorry, man,” I hear Brooks say in a tight voice. “My girlfriend is drunk.”

Scream. Just scream. But there’s no breath left. Even the panic starts to fade, melting into airless oblivion.

Then everything shifts.

Thick strong arms surround me and lift me up. I’m being cradled by muscled arms, and the side of my cheek falls against a hard chest.

Something eases in my chest slightly. My body involuntarily gives a little shudder as tension drains away.

“You okay, miss?” A deep, soothing voice vibrates in the chest my ear rests against. There’s a hint of a Boston Irish accent, but right now it is compressed with concern.

Or anger.

Brooks’s voice always sounds too shrill. Just as I catch at the thought, everything shifts out of focus again, dimming to gray. But I manage to grab the soft material of his shirt.

“Please help, I can’t breathe.” It’s all I can get out, a raw whisper.

“She’s just drunk, man,” Brooks repeats louder, sounding petulant. “I can take her home.”

Silence follows, and then the man holding me growls, “I don’t fucking think so, buddy.”

The threat of violence roils just below the surface. Even though it’s not directed at me, another shudder runs along my spine.

“The fuck you say to me, asshole?” Brooks barks, back to that familiar fever pitch. “Do you know who I am?”

The man holding me shifts me to one shoulder, his arm just under my ass. Broad shoulders. Warm, comforting, and stable; it’s all I can cling to through the haze. But he snorts softly before answering.

“Jesus, do you hear yourself? You’re the one who’s drunk. Go before you regret it, son.” His voice is icy calm, derision infusing the edges of his tone.

“I’ll kick your ass right now!”

“Hey, Sully?” The man holding me calls out to someone, a commanding note in his voice. “Can you help me out for a second? Got my hands full.”

An enormous bruiser of a man pops out from a back door facing the side street. That must be Sully.

Sully takes one look at Brooks and a wicked grin slowly spreads across his face. He’s already flexing his fingers, big meaty hands that have had their share of fights. He’s missing a tooth and his nose has definitely been broken a time or two.

“Escort this gentleman on his way, Sully, while I take the lady inside, please.”

“You got it, boss.” Sully’s smile widens as he cracks his knuckles, moving with menacing speed towards Brooks.