I almost pulled a totally girly move and hugged him. Instead I held my hand out and we shook while smiling. I think some peace had been made between us.
Yes, my afternoon was so shitty I’m seriously considering bypassing orgasms from Ryker and just getting drunk on the wine.
And that’s not even considering my run-in with Hensley this morning.
Ugh. When I think about how close I came to just giving up the man I love, I want to kick my own ass. Then I want to hunt Hensley down and kick her ass for preying upon my heart as a weakness. It’s so messed up that I’m actually thankful she threatened me, because without that little maneuver on her part, I may have found myself going home alone tonight to get drunk on wine.
As my house comes in to view, I start to relax a little more. Ryker will be here soon, and just the thought of him has me reconsidering. What the hell was I thinking of bypassing the orgasms and just drinking wine to make me forget about the day? There’s nothing that can consume me as much as Ryker Evans can, so I’m thinking we put the wine up in the cabinet and just hit my bed for the remainder of the evening. We can order Chinese if we get hungry.
Just as I pull into my driveway, my phone rings.
Speak of the handsome devil.
“Forget the wine,” I tell him as I answer, bringing my car to a stop and putting it in park. “I’ve decided your amazing body will make me forget all about my crappy day.”
He laughs into the phone. At ease, rich, happy laughter. I smile because I can’t fucking help it. I turn the car off and exit, slinging my purse over one shoulder while I hold the phone to my ear.
“Too late. I’m already at the grocery store,” he tells me as I walk up my sidewalk to the porch steps. “Any particular brand you want?”
I open my screen door and fish my keys out of my purse, holding the phone in between my shoulder and my ear. “I’m not picky. Whatever looks good. Oh, and why don’t you just pick up some cheese and fruit while you’re there?”
The scuff of boots on my sidewalk has me turning to look behind me as Ryker is talking on the other end. But I can’t hear a word he says as a shot of adrenaline pulses through me when I see Claude Amedee walking toward me.
He’s wearing a dark hoodie pulled up over his head, but I recognize him.
Walking fast.
Now breaking out into a jog.
Barreling up my steps and toward me.
I’m frozen in place by fear as he crashes into me, slamming me up against the door and causing my keys and phone to go flying. My head snaps backward and hits the corner of the quarter-inch molding around the glass panes in my door. I can feel my skin split open upon contact but otherwise, that didn’t hurt too bad.
Claude takes me by the shoulders, pulls me from the door, and then slams me back into it again. This time my head catches the tempered frosted glass, which shatters but harmlessly crumbles without cutting me. The impact, though, was hard enough that I immediately go dizzy and start to sag.
“Oh, no you don’t, bitch,” he snarls in my face as he holds me up. “Can’t have you passing out on me yet.”
I smell the tangy, sour alcohol on his breath and notice that Claude is slightly weaving. His eyes are bloodshot and his skin sallow. He grabs me by my hair at the back of my head, his fingernails digging into my wound, and shoves me down to the porch.
“Get your keys,” he commands me with a slight slur to his words.
“Help!” I scream as I look around, hoping for anyone to be outside. But my neighborhood is very private, each lot a few acres in size, and neighbors don’t sit on top of one another.
“Shut the fuck up,” he screams at me, and I hope someone heard that. He pulls up on my hair so my face tilts toward him and he backhands me across the cheek. It’s a glancing blow but it hurts.
A lot.
He pushes me back down. “Keys.”
I reach for my keys and see my phone lying a foot away, facedown. I have no clue what Ryker heard, or if he’s still on the line, but I have to believe he’s on the way right now. At an ordinary pace, he’s ten minutes away, and I honestly don’t know if I have that long. I pray for him to speed.
My father told me once that cowards don’t know how to react when someone fights them back. I put Claude straight in the coward category. I grab the keys, making sure my long car key sticks out in between my index and middle fingers. I close my fist hard around the rest of them, take a deep breath, and let him start to haul me up.
When he pulls me off my knees, I surge upward and bring my hand around in a roundhouse punch, intent on jamming my key straight into that motherfucker’s eye if there’s a God above. My aim is true and almost in slow motion, I see I’m on course for a perfect strike.
Except despite his inebriation, Claude catches me by the wrist, slams my hand downward as he brings his own leg up, crushing it on his knee. The pain reverberates up my arm, causing me to drop the keys again, and I’m pretty sure he just fractured my wrist. I’m still so scared that my instinct is to keep fighting. I bring my other hand up, determined to claw his eyes out with my fingers, when I hear a very distinctive sound.
Snick.
I go dead still as Claude holds up a switchblade in front of my face. “Don’t make me use this on you,” he growls.
I can’t help the tiny sob that comes out of my mouth. My head is bleeding, I’m dizzy, and my wrist is probably broken. None of that matters. All that matters is that right now I don’t have any fight left in me.