Panic stokes a fire in my lungs and words no longer have sound as I choke out her name.
I don’t know what’s going on; I barely remember who I am at this point. All I know is one thing: I have to get to her.
Chapter Thirteen
Millie
Oh my god. Doesn’t one attacker in a night, like, max out the quota or something?
Pretzel Guy I can
handle. He’s currently passed out on the floor in front of me in a puddle of his own piss.
But now, some new, shadowy figure is barreling toward me from the east entrance of the mall.
Well, this new dude had better brace himself, because I’m pretty sure my brothers and their fellow cops and firefighters have busted down the doors at the west end of the mall. I can already hear the thundering of their boots and the crackling of their radios.
The cavalry is here.
For once, I don’t mind having three big, overprotective brothers who sleep next to their scanners, looking out for me while I’m at work.
I can’t make out this man’s facial features, but his leather jacket looks like it’s been brutalized by farm equipment, and his jeans are shredded all the way down one side. He looks like he’s been run over by a semi-tractor trailer and dragged fifty feet.
And he’s charging toward me.
Shaking from head to toe, I aim my stun gun at the new intruder, not sure if the device has enough charge left for a second, larger attacker. “Max? Martin? Any minute now, guys…”
About ten yards away from me now, the man speaks. “Millie.”
That’s all it takes. I know that voice immediately. It’s the voice I’ve been hearing in my ears every night for five years. Doctor Dave is in the fucking house. Holy shit.
He’s not just a voice anymore. He’s real, and he’s coming toward me, and he’s hurt.
“Oh my god, what happened to you?”
He doesn’t answer, doesn’t seem interested in the question. I can only hear him breathing heavily.
My knees tremble. And all the breath that I’d been holding in while facing Pretzel Guy, I quickly expel.
If I had any doubts about whether Doctor Dave was actually interested in me just dissipated into the air like a drop of water on a hot frying pan. In fact, everything feels hot.
“What are you doing here? You’re hurt. We need to get you to the hospital!”
Still no answer. Still only a look of primal, unrelenting focus on me.
Holy shit. He’s going to kiss me. He’s going to kiss me hard. He’s going to get blood and dirt on me and he doesn’t even care. And honestly, neither do I.
He looks like Bruce Willis at the end of Die Hard: wrung out, an inch from death, tired of everyone’s shit, and entirely focused on getting his woman safe back in his arms.
I can’t believe it. I’m going to be kissed by an action hero. Everything seems to stand still except this moment in time. He doesn’t care about anything but getting to me. And I’m ready for it. I lick my lips in anticipation, my breath heaving in my chest.
But before he can reach out for me, about a dozen men and women in uniform, guns drawn, have us surrounded. My brother Max pins him the floor, his arms behind his back.
Everyone is shouting. It’s pandemonium.
I struggle to shout over all the noise.
“Max! Let him go! He came here to save me from him!” I point wildly at Pretzel Guy.