Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Marie
As my pace picks up, so do the steps behind me.
Following me.
Tracking me.
There’s nothing to listen to on this empty street other than our echoing strides and my anxious breathing. The clacking of his shoes against the pavement resonates loud in my ears. The sound of my heels is nothing compared to the loud thuds from whoever the fuck is back there. It has to be a man. Those steps are too damn heavy to belong to anyone under two hundred pounds.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I’m too nervous to look behind me. In the movies, when they look back, that’s when they have to start running. You run or you die. Even though in most cases it’s too late by that point. Anyway, I’m in no condition to run.
I’m tipsy and in three-inch black studded Jimmy Choos that my mom got me for my twenty-fifth birthday. I’m not fucking stupid; if I started running, I wouldn’t make it one minute before he caught me. At least right now whoever it is back there is keeping some distance. For now … I shake the unwanted thought away.
Maybe he’s not following me, I tell myself over and over. He’s just walking to his car or another bar; maybe he’s just walking home. But after a few blocks the sound of him following me is unbearable. My heart rate picks up as the reality sets in. This isn’t good. There’s no way this is a coincidence.
A bad man is behind me, I know that much. There’s no way in hell he’s not following me. If he had good intentions, he would’ve said something by now. At some point he’ll get closer and then I’ll have to run. But I’m definitely going to make him work for it. If he wants to put his hands on me, then he’s going to have to catch me and fight me. I’m not going to be a good little victim.
I wonder if I should throw down my clutch when I take off. It might distract him for a few minutes. Maybe he’s only after money. I stare down at the simple black Coach clutch hanging from my wrist. Inside is a mere twenty in cash, my dead iPhone, raspberry lip gloss, and my ID. If he makes a move, I’m dropping it ASAP. I just hope the prick sees it and decides that’s what he wants.
My confidence vanishes as I hear the steps growing closer behind me. The noise brings me back to this shit reality. Who knows what the guy behind me wants, but I’ll save my strength for now and continue to pray that I’m not going to be mugged … or worse. I’m not a fool; at some point I’m going to have to book it. I’m saving my energy for when that time comes.
I try to steady myself, but it’s so fucking cold out, just breathing hurts. I took a cab to get here and that was a mistake. Cabs don’t come around this part of town unless they’re dropping you off. And my phone died before I left the bar, so I couldn’t call for a ride anyway. So I’m royally fucked unless I can make it to the train station. I fucking hate taking the train, but right now I would beg on my hands and knees to be there this very second. I doubt the man behind me will let me get close to the train station. Tears prick my eyes, but I shake them off. I’m not going to cry.
I hug my shaking shoulders as best I can while keeping up my pace and try to think. My hands are freezing. My black cashmere cardigan isn’t anywhere near thick enough for the cold night air and the gloves that I thought were in the pockets are now missing. I debate on whether I should rub my hands back and forth against my upper arms or shove them in my pockets. Snap! The sound of something being crushed underfoot behind me makes me stumble as my legs lock up in fear. I shove my hands in my pockets and will my body to keep moving forward. I keep my eyes down and watch my warm breath turn to fog while the crumbling concrete moves beneath my heels.
What the hell was I thinking, listening to Lexi? She’s a flake and lately she’s been a shit friend. She wanted me to meet her so she’d have a wingwoman to help her score the sexy tattoo artist who touched up her ink last week. I remember her eyes lighting up when he mentioned the dive bar he goes to nearly every night after his shift. She’s such a sucker for tattooed men. And that place was filled with them. She would’ve been in heaven … had she bothered to show up. Well maybe not heaven, since the guy she had her heart set on was busy with some bimbo who had her breasts on full display. From the way he was staring at them you’d have thought he was having a full-on conversation with her tits.