I heard someone grumble, footsteps, and the door swung open. A fat man with light brown skin and short hair squinted at me. He was sweating through his white tank top and his jeans were skintight.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, then looked past me—and his expression changed. “Oh, shit. That’s Reid.”
“Christmas present,” I said. “Call me Santa.”
He grinned at me, his teeth white and crooked. “Well, all right, Santa. Never seen you looking so trim before.”
“Been running laps with the elves. Merry Christmas.” I hopped down the stoop and started back toward the car and the black metal outer door opened and the fat guy grabbed the bag.
I made it halfway to the door when a truck turned down the block and started toward me.
I felt my heart begin to race. It was strange—one second, I felt good, felt strong and proud of myself for stepping up and doing something uncomfortable, and the next my palms were sweating, my mouth was dry, and my vision looked as though I were staring down a pair of binoculars the wrong way. Everything went black and tunneled, and my heart hammered staccato rhythms, and I couldn’t move a muscle as I stared at the truck coming toward me.
It was happening again. They were back to finish the job, back to kill us all—and I was caught out on the sidewalk.
“Fuck,” I whispered. “Reid. Please.” I knew he couldn’t hear me, and I didn’t know what he could do. He was stuck in the driver’s side, too far to do much more than get himself killed trying to run to me. I stood there frozen with fear and felt sweat pour out of me in gallons, and I did the only thing I could do, as the truck came closer, and my death barreled toward me.
I dropped down to my knees, breath hitching in my chest.
I could barely breathe. I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs, and maybe it didn’t matter, maybe nothing mattered, maybe that damn truck was going to blow my brains out any second, the world would go black, I’d cease to exist, I’d be nothing, nothing, nothing. I remembered the gunshots, Reid screaming at me, pulling me along, Reid killing those men—Reid, my monster, my husband.
“It’s okay. Hey, Cora. Hey, look at me.” The truck rolled past, reached the other end of the street, stopped at the stop sign, and turned left. “Cora. Cora?”
I blinked twice and looked up. Reid was kneeling next to me and I was in his arms, his strong arms wrapped around me. I realized from some distant, dim part of my otherwise overwhelmed brain that I was having a panic attack or something like it—but I couldn’t do anything to stop it.
He pulled me tight against his chest and held me as I tried to suck enough air into my lungs.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, voice soft and gentle. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“The hell is wrong with her?” The guy from the door spoke and sounded a million miles away.
“Fuck off, Leonard. Get inside.”
I heard a gate shut, a door close.
“It’s okay, Cora. I’ve got you now. It’s okay. You’re safe.” He whispered to me over and over again, arms hugging me against his chest, and slowly—god, too slowly—I started to come back to myself.
I looked up at him and finally took deep breaths. The fresh air sent a rush of oxygen to my brain and the world snapped back into focus. I realized I was on my knees on the sidewalk, sweating my brains out, half-sobbing, and Reid was there with me, arms wrapped around my body hugging me tight against his muscular frame while his two guys stared at us like I was some kind of crazy person. Fuck them, fuck me, and fuck everything.
At first, I felt relieved. Reid came for me and I felt safe in his arms. The truck hadn’t been sent here to kill us, and I was overreacting. My body went into fight or flight and chose to shut down and freeze instead. Reid came to me, he held me, he calmed me down—he protected me.
And then embarrassment hit me like a tidal wave.
I buried my face in his chest. He hugged me tighter, and slowly we stood up together. I leaned against him, my cheeks burning, and I felt like such a moron. How could I do that in front of these men? How could I lose it and show weakness like that? They’ll never forget it, and from now on, I’ll be the weak mafia princess that couldn’t even deliver a bag of drugs without having a mental breakdown. Reid would never look at me the same, and forget about trying to fight for any shred of respect from his men.
I was finished. It was over.