The Rush (49 page)

             
A huge part of me had been so distressed over protecting my virginity, especially when I thought the man was going to rape me that I hadn’t really given much thought to the other physical consequences that would come out of this. But now that my virtue was safe from this raving lunatic, the rest of the real fears that he brought with him descended on me and the tears started to fall in huge, sobbing drops down my face.

             
“Don’t
cry
,” he growled. “Don’t be so
weak
.” His palm smacked across my face again and my neck snapped back from the force of it. He caught me with his other hand before I could fall, and his fingers dug into my neck until I felt the hot blood streaming down my neck.

             
“Stop hitting me,” I screamed, suddenly so furious, so
angry
that this man kept assaulting me. Surprisingly I had pictured myself being attacked lots of times before. Usually it was in the context of working for Nix one day far in the future and stopping some sick pervert from making me do something I didn’t want to. In those scenarios I was always this super-powered badass that kicked the ever loving crap out of my assailants.

             
In reality I wasn’t turning out to be the Kung-Fu master I imagined.

             
I took a step back, giving myself some space from him. He matched me, step for step until my back was to the wall, half on solid plaster, half pressed against the edge of the window frame. I tilted my chin in an act of defiance and made myself look for an opportunity to go for his junk.

             
In hindsight and in the profession I was supposed to be planning to go into, a few self-defense classes might have been a good idea. Still, there was promise in good nut-shot.

             
“There really is something special about you,” Taylor’s voice dropped to a husky murmur.
“I’ve been around sirens before, but it’s like, it’s like you really set something off.” His hands clenched my biceps, almost so that the entire circumference of his thumb to middle finger touched. It was agonizing and chilling but then he let go and started to rub my biceps, up and down with ice cold palms. I just stood their frozen, waiting for my opportunity to strike. His hands moved from rubbing my arms, to my shoulders and then across my collarbone to my neck. “Say please.”

             
“What?” I croaked.

             
“Say, please don’t hit me anymore,” he ordered, his voice still deceptively calm.

             
“Please don’t hit me anymore,” I echoed and then braced myself for the hit.

             
He smiled at me, his lips twisting to an unsettling imitation of happiness. His hands wrested at the base of my throat, his fingers wrapping around my neck until they touched in the back. His eyes intensified right before he struck, they went from dull to blazing just a fraction of a second before his hands clamped down and together, choking the life out of me.

             
My instant reaction was pure surprise. I tensed immediately and began to scratch and claw at his hands as they shook me by the neck, blocking my air supply. Then there was panic, pure panic. Not the kind that causes panic attacks, which are a slow buildup to the real deal, not even the small kind that shoots razors down your arms and makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck. No real, unadulterated panic that blinds you, that cuts off all rational, clear-thinking thought and thrusts you into the heart of fear.

             
My throat was making these gasping sounds, hoarse and deep bellied but I couldn’t get any air, I couldn’t suck in enough oxygen to get myself under control. And then my vision began to black out completely, first at the edges and then big black spots everywhere I tried to look. I kicked out with my right leg, hoping to land a good solid foot on his manhood, but I was too weak to get control of my appendages and too disoriented to cause any real damage.

             
Until a knock on the door caught us both off guard. First it was light, just a regular tapping sound. Even as I was being pulled under, I could make out the sound and recognized it immediately. Taylor cursed under his breath and loosened his hold on me just a little. And then the pounding was harder, more forceful until it was noisy banging.

             
Another stream of curse words flew out of Taylor’s mouth but this time they were aimed at the door. He released his grasp and I slid down the wall to the floor, pulling the curtain with me so that it was straining on the curtain rod. I watched his footsteps cross the room but I was gasping for breath, barely able to hold myself up in a sitting position.

             
I took big, gulping breaths, willing my heart to slow down, willing my wits to come back. That opened door was my only shot to get out of here, my only shot to escape. As soon as he turned the door handle, I would make my move.

             
I started to crawl noiselessly toward him. My clutch lay abandoned on the floor and thankfully directly in my path. I snatched it up on my way. I wasn’t very concerned about the designer bag or anything else in it besides my phone and my credit card if I needed to pay for a cab. My vision was starting to clear, and I had enough big breaths now that I felt the strength to run return.

             
Taylor yanked open the door, wider than I think he intended, but he was blind with bloodlust and unable to gauge his strength. And that was all I needed. I burst forward like a sprinter out of the blocks and bull-rushed his side, squeezing under the space just between him and the door. I ignored Blake’s shocked look of surprise at seeing me bolt out of the room like a bat out of hell and just started screaming at the top of my lungs. The sound was piercing but ragged, shrill but scratching and raspy from the choking incident not forty-five seconds before.

             
I looked around for the exit, desperate and wild and I just kept screaming. I had to. And even though my lungs were burning and my throat so ready to give up, I willed myself to continue making sound, to fulfill this plan for escape. My vision was still hazy enough that it took way longer than it should have to find the stairs, but all the while irritated guests had started to step out of their hotel rooms to see what the commotion was about. I heard the suspicious sound of a door clicking shut and locking. Without looking I knew it had to be Taylor and Blake hiding away from the crazed girl who would rat them out to the police in a millisecond if they tried to follow me.

             
I leapt down the stairs, sometimes propelling myself forward by the railings so I could take five and six steps at a time. I never looked back, never glanced behind me, I was too afraid. A tiny, but present rational part of my brain announced that not a door to the stairwell had opened since I entered and only the sound of my feet echoed throughout the stairwell but I couldn’t chance it. I couldn’t take the risk.

             
Once I reached the ground floor I tore through the door and to the lobby. I spun in frantic circles, looking for Taylor or Blake or Drew. My eyes moved back and forth, frenzied in their search. They could have taken the elevators down; they could be waiting for me. But if I saw them, I would just start screaming again. I would just keep screaming until I drew so much attention to myself that someone called the police and they carted me away to an insane asylum.

             
I didn’t care.

             
That could never happen to me again.

That was insane
.

I wasn’t. But that
was
.

Now I just had to figure out what to do.
How to get out of here. I dug through my clutch and

pulled
out my cellphone with violently shaking hands. I scrolled to the first number on my call list, only because he had called tonight to make me promise that if anything went wrong I would call him, and so I did. I called Ryder.

             
“What’s wrong?” He asked after the first ring.

             
“I need you,” I sobbed. “I need you. You said to call if I needed you and I do. I
need
you.”

             
People were starting to stare at me, to stop whatever they were doing and just gawk. I didn’t know how I could stop them, or if I wanted them to. As long as they were looking at me, nobody was going to barge down here and take me back up to that room.

             
“I’m outside, I’m waiting for you outside,” Ryder announced. That was the most wonderful news I had ever heard. Ever.

             
With numb feet and shaking knees I walked out the lobby door of the hotel and into the frigid fall air. The end of October was bitingly cold, signaling a snowfall soon and the presence of a looming winter. I was convulsing with shivers but I was certain those would have been happening with or without the cold air.

             
Ryder leapt from his Bronco that he had pulled front and center of the covered driveway. A valet was yelling at him to move his junky POS from in front of the Hilton Hotel, but Ryder ignored him.

             
Instead he sprinted to me, and opened his arms before I was even close enough to fall into them. I threw my arms around his neck and buried my face against his throat.

             
“I’m taking you home,” he demanded and then picked me up like a child. One hand supported my back, the other slipped under my knees and he walked directly to his car. He deposited me in the front seat and then buckled me in before taking my face in both of his hands. “I knew this was bad news. I just couldn’t…. I wanted to be here if something went wrong.” He reasoned for his being already present in the parking lot.

             
“Something did go wrong,” I admitted in a croaky, harsh voice as if it wasn’t obvious. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

             
Ryder pulled my face down and gave me a sweet kiss on the forehead before closing my door. When he turned around Blake and Taylor were just walking out the sliding doors of the hotel. They noticed me immediately in the passengers’ seat of Ryder’s car and pointed at me. Ryder noticed them too unfortunately and I watched his body physically react to Taylor. It was like I could feel his stare fall on Taylor’s outstretched hand that was bloodied and scratched from when he tried to choke me. I might not have ever gotten a good punch in or hit him back, but scratching his hands turned out to be its own form of karma.

             
Ryder’s whole body tensed when he realized Taylor was the one that hurt me. It was like he followed that bloodied fingertip up the length of his arm and to his face and put the entire night together in his head. And then Ryder snapped.

             
He launched himself forward, onto Taylor and his fist connected with Taylor’s face like a branch breaking off a huge tree during a lightning storm. I heard the crunch of bones from even inside the car and then watched the splurt of blood soil Ryder’s face, hands and chest. My hand flew to my mouth and I gasped against the horror of the moment.

             
And then I just watched in trancelike fascination as Ryder cocked his arm back and delivered one punch after another. Ryder tackled Taylor with his initial hit and so with each subsequent one, Taylor’s skull bounced against the hard concrete. There was blood everywhere, flowing in thin crimson rivers.

             
And even though Ryder was the younger man, and maybe not even equally muscled he had the element of surprise on his side. And revenge. He was a man
possessed
by rage and retribution.

             
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I just watched Ryder take out my pain on the man that inflicted it.

             
Blake tried his hardest to pull Ryder off, but it was like he was a machine with super human strength. Eventually the valet jumped in to help Blake and then the concierge. Someone called the police but by the time the ambulance and police cruisers pulled up six men had stepped in to restrain Ryder.

             
I stayed frozen in place while Ryder was handcuffed and then shoved into the back of a police car. His hand swollen, mangled and bloodied. But his face was calm, satisfied…. justified.

             
And I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel those same emotions coursing through me.

             
Taylor was loaded onto a stretcher and the ambulance left immediately with sirens blaring. I barely heard the sound though. After everything that happened tonight, I had finally become numb.

             
I finally started to just float through these events as if everything was happening to someone else. As if someone else’s lungs were burning, someone else had finger length bruises across their neck, someone else had bloodied fingernails and black and blue marks painting their skin.              

             
As if my entire life was happening to someone else.