Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Get out of my way,” he snarls, but she's got the knife and isn’t going to let him get past her.
“Who the hell do you think—that's my—”
“Oh, so sorry,” she says, and she actually puts her leg out and trips him.
Then I run.
There are people all around me—chefs, waitstaff, and delivery people. It's utter chaos in here, but I see the exit door and run toward it with everything I have.
I push my way to the exit.
A big, burly chef looks at me with concern.
“You alright, love?” he says quietly.
“No.” I shake my head. “He's trying to hurt me. Please help.”
His eyes narrow to slits, and he blocks the doorway with his body.
“Go to the right,” he hisses. “There's an alleyway. It's where we throw the rubbish. He'll never see you there.”
With a loud bang, he shoves a huge stockpot to the ground. It clangs and crashes, metal on tile, hot stock sloshing over the sides.
“Get your hands off her!” somebody shouts from inside, because Marcus is trying to shove past the woman who blocked him.
I snatch a knife from a nearby counter and keep going. I can hear Marcus causing a commotion in the kitchen behind me.
“That's my fiancée! She’s unwell!” he shouts. “She cannot be left to her own devices!”
Fucking liar.
I still have my clutch. I reach for my phone with trembling hands and dial his number.
“Lass?”
“Ashland?” I break into a sob. “Help me. Please.”
“Where are you?” he asks.
“It's a little alleyway behind Tessa's Bistro. He's coming. He's going to take me. And I know he's—Ashland, please—”
“Tell me what you see,” he says, his voice low and clear. Why is it so soothing to me?
“I'll be there in five minutes, Bianca. Do you have any weapons on you?”
“I have a knife.”
“Use it if you have to, lass. Stay calm. I'm on my way.”
I press my back against the cold brick wall of the alley, the knife shaking in my hand. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps, visible clouds in the frigid night air. I can hear Marcus inside the restaurant, shouting, his voice getting closer.
“Ashland?” I whisper into the phone, my voice breaking.
“I'm here, lass. I'm listening.”
“Stay on the line with me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I left. You were right. You were right about everything.”
“Bianca.” He cuts through my panic like a blade. “Listen to me. You've got nothing to apologize for. None of this is your fault.”
Of course he would say that. Of course he would because Ashland…
No. I won't think of that now.
Tears fall hot and fast down my face. “He's going to… I think… I think he's trying to kill me.”
There’s a long, dangerous pause.
When Ashland speaks again, his voice is pure ice. “He'll not get the chance, love. I’m right nearby. I wasn't going to let you face that bastard alone, Bianca. I wasn't going to take you again unless it was… unless it was your choice, love. Where are you? Same place? Tell me now.”
“Still in the alley behind Tessa's Bistro,” I whisper.
And it's not lost on me that I'm in the exact place where I first met Ashland six years ago. Right here in this alley.
“I'm two minutes out. Can you see the street from where you are?”
I peek around the corner of the alley. The main road is maybe sixteen yards away.
“Aye.”
“Good girl. That's my girl. I'm in a black Range Rover. You run to me, Bianca. You don't look back. You don't hesitate. You just fucking run when I tell you.”
“What if he catches me before—”
“He won't.” The absolute certainty in his voice steadies me. “And if he tries, you use your knife. Do you hear me, Bianca? You scream bloody murder and use that fucking knife. Go for the soft spots. Don't hold back. Gut him if you have to.”
A door slams somewhere behind me, and my hand trembles around the phone.
Marcus's voice echoes off the walls, high-pitched and mocking. “Bianca, love. Come out. Don't run from me now. Don't make this harder than it needs to be. It's alright, love. We'll get you the help you need.”
The help I need? Is he already forming a story about my mental health? About how I'm fucked up and he needs to take care of me? My blood runs cold.
I whisper frantically into the phone. “He's in the alley.”
“I'm thirty seconds out. Get ready to fucking run.”
I hear footsteps scraping on the pavement, slow and deliberate.
“Bianca,” Marcus says, deceptively gentle. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
It's like a cat-and-mouse game, and he's enjoying every goddamn second.
“Oh, there you are,” he says, his silhouette appearing near the dumpster. His eyes are murderous, but his face is placid, as if he's wearing a mask. He tsks softly, shaking his head. “Very embarrassing behavior, darling.”
I press deeper into the shadows and grip the knife so hard my knuckles turn white.