“‘Hello, Kettle, you’re black,’ says Pot.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “Fine. Point taken. I’m out of here. Don’t forget to lock up the safe and check—”
“The side door. I know. Go.” She shooed her with her hand.
Sam didn’t protest this time, and went into the back room to grab her purse and keys. The spring night was cool and dry as she exited the side door and headed through the alleyway toward the parking lot. Her worn Vans were silent on the pavement and after the constant roar of the bar, she welcomed the quiet night around her. But despite the peacefulness, she held her little bottle of mace in her right hand.
This area of downtown was pretty safe, but she knew not to take that kind of t
hing for granted. You were never really safe. She’d learned that the hard way bouncing around foster homes and group homes, running into people who thought her petite size and vulnerable circumstances made her an easy target. Danger pounced when you let your guard down.
It’s why her first semester in college, she’d taken a Krav Maga course and learned how to protect herself. It’s why she knew how to shoot a gun. And it’s why when she turned the corner around the building and saw a familiar face heading her way, she didn’t hesitate to raise her hand and aim.
Idiot Number One from the bar fight was glaring back at her, but he lifted his hands. “Easy now, sugar. I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“Bullshit,” she said, finger on the trigger of her mace, her heart trying to pound out of her chest. “You need to back off and go home.”
He smiled. “I was just coming back because I realized I left my wallet at the table. I need to get back inside.”
“You can come back tomorrow. I’ll let the staff know to put it aside for you.”
“I can’t wait that long.” He took a step closer.
She stepped back.
And ran into something solid … and warm.
Her body jolted at the impact, but it was too late to react beyond that. A hand came around and clamped over her mouth. Another arm banded around her chest, knocking the mace out of her grip and dragging her back into the alleyway
“Well, hi, there,” a voice said against her ear, stale whiskey breath burning her nostrils.
Panic kicked through Sam, and she wrenched her body, trying to break the grip and screaming behind the hand. She’d been through self-defense. She knew there was a way to break this hold, but none of the moves would come to her. All she could think of was to stomp on his feet. But when she tried, her tennis shoes did little damage.
The first guy followed them between the buildings and came closer, his smile satisfied. “You know, we never did get those buttery nipples. But how about I taste them without the butter for now.”
He reached out and grabbed the collar of her T-shirt and yanked it down, ripping it and exposing her bra.
Tears jumped to her eyes, and she kicked and writhed like a wild thing. This was not going to happen. These disgusting men were not going to touch her. Her foot connected with the guy’s crotch and he doubled over, crying out in pain. She felt the small surge of victory, but then he hauled up and slapped her hard in the face, making her see stars and sending her ears ringing.
“You stupid, fucking bitch,” he seethed, still hunched over, one hand cradling himself. “You think you’re so high and mighty, but you’re not going to be anything when we take you to the van and fuck that attitude right out of you.”
The man who was holding her tightened his grip, and her throat began to close up with abject fear. Not again. She would not go through this again. She shook her head with a violent, sudden motion, breaking free of the hand over her mouth and let out a piercing scream.
Idiot’s eyes went wide, and she hoped to God they would run, but he just looked out toward the street. “Come on, get her to the van. Hurry.”
But before they could drag her a few steps, the door to the bar opened and Angie ran out. When she saw what was happening, Angie lifted her arms and pointed a gun their way. “Let her go or I swear to God I will blow your fucking balls off.”
The guy holding Sam tensed behind her and then let her go like a sack of grain. Her knees hit the ground hard and the two men ran off, shouting at each other to hurry.
Angie ran down the back stairs and toward the parking lot, and Billy came running behind her, cell phone to his ear. Billy stopped at Sam’s side. “Jesus, are you okay? I called the cops.”
Sam braced her hands on the pavement, panting and trying not to hyperventilate, and held her torn shirt to her chest with her other hand. “I’m all right. Check on Angie.”
But Angie stepped back into the alley a second later, face red with exertion. “I couldn’t get a license plate, but I saw what kind of van they were driving.” She hurried to join Sam. “God, honey, you’re bleeding. Billy, get some ice and a new T-shirt.”
Billy jogged back into the building, and Sam sat back on her calves, tentatively touching her lip where it’d been split. “I’m fine. They didn’t get a chance to do more than hit me, thanks to you.”
And no thanks to Sam’s own instincts. Every goddamned lick of training she’d gotten had gone down the tube in an instant. She’d always felt so strong and confident after arming herself with all those self-defense tools. And then when she’d needed them most, she’d been useless. She was just as vulnerable as she’d always been. A victim waiting to happen. The thought shook her down to the core.