Somehow I managed to plaster a smile on my face for my entire shift, though my tips told me it wasn’t as convincing as my recent tequila-filled grins. I was swearing off anything mood altering for the time being. My mind was taken up with the various things I had to get done, on top of making sure my best friend successfully survived heroin withdrawals and mentally calculating the days I had till my next assignment was due, one that my college career hinged on. No pressure. All of this had the underlying taste of longing. For Asher. Somehow, with my life being one kidnapping away from a soap opera or bad reality show, I missed him. I felt like I was going through withdrawals too. That my body was itching for him, yearning for my next fix.
I pulled up to my apartment with those things battling for the forefront of my mind, Asher winning hands down. It was then, a delightful sort of irony took over when my headlights illuminated a familiar Harley. Two of them in fact. My tired body soared, renewed energy coming from the fact my next hit was so close. Reason went out the door. All the reasons why not. So it was in my eagerness to get to the elation his presence promised that I forgot to check. Do what I always did when I pulled into the parking lot of my dodgy apartment building in the bad part of town. I didn’t need to. Asher’s bike was there. Asher was there. It meant safety.
Safety that obviously wasn’t guaranteed when I was slammed against the door I’d just shut.
“You think you can hide behind your dogs,” a rough voice hissed, a huge body pressing me against the car.
I could only see a dim outline of the figure in the darkness of the parking lot. His hand pressed painfully against my throat. Terror pulsed through me.
“There’ll be a time when they get sick of that snatch when they throw you aside.” The hand not at my neck trailed down my side.
My heart beat furiously, and my eyes were glued to the door of my apartment, willing it to open. I struggled to contain my panic, my airway cut off both from the pressure of his hand and the terror creeping up my throat.
“Or maybe they won’t,” the voice continued slowly. “Maybe that pussy will keep them entertained. It doesn’t mean that one day when they’re not expecting it, we’ll take what we are owed.” The hand moved to my breast, and I cried out, the sound silenced by the pressure at my neck. “Maybe we’ll just take it now,” the voice mused.
“Dude, we gotta go,” another figure emerged from the darkness.
The hand at my throat loosened and the head moved. “We’ll go when I say we go,” he snapped.
His distraction gave me the opportunity to bring my knee up to connect with his crotch. I felt satisfied with the grunt of pain he emitted, and the fact he doubled over enough for me to dart out of his hold.
I didn’t hesitate. “Asher,” I screamed with my husky voice, running past the stationary second form. I heard muttered curses from behind me as my apartment door opened.
“Asher,” I screamed again as my run across the parking lot seemed to take forever.
“Lily,” I heard his bellow.
The screeching of tires had me looking over my shoulder to watch a black car zoom out of the lot. Because I was looking one way and running another, I smacked into something, hard. Luckily that something was warm and smelled musky and safe. Hands reached out to steady me.
“Flower,” Asher said urgently.
“A-sh-ash,” I wheezed, clutching his shoulders. A fist tightened around my lungs, the terror and the exertion of my short fight and run already catching up on me. This time, it wasn’t anxiety or fear strangling me. This was real, my body’s response to the incident moments before.
“Lily, your inhaler, where is it?” he demanded sharply, immediately registering the reason for my strangled breathing.
I was frozen for a split second, then out of instinct, I reached for my bag on my shoulder. My panic intensified when the realization hit that I must have dropped it in the struggle. I pointed at my car while the wheezing got worse.
Calm. I told myself. You’re safe. Asher means safe.
“What’s going on … shit Lily, are you okay?” a familiar and concerned voice asked with urgency mirroring Asher’s.
“Get her bag from the car, now,” Asher demanded, lifting me into his arms. The dim light illuminated his attractive face, tight with concern. “You’ve got more inside, right?” he asked while striding with apparent ease up the stairs to my apartment.
I nodded. “Totally soap opera,” I wheezed between strangled breaths. I would’ve laughed if I had the ability. And wasn’t scared out of my wits.