Street Safe (11 page)

“What do you want, Na’arah?”

For a heartbeat she contemplated not telling just for being such a jerk and dismissed the notion. She balled her hands into fists. “I’m. Pregnant.”

“Well good for you. What do you want me to do about it?” He went back to typing numbers on the calculator.

Stunned, her jaw dropped. At the very least she expected a denial of disbelief, or elation if she was delusional, but apathy? He’d totally dismissed her as if she’d asked the time.

“Did you hear what I said?”

He pierced her with a sharp look. “I heard you, but I’m disappointed in your lack of imagination and such an obvious ploy. Were you expecting money or a proposal of marriage? Either way you’re mistaken and certainly not the woman I thought you were.”

What the hell? He thought she was some gold-digging tramp? “You arrogant bastard! You think I’d make this up? Like some joke or worse, some sort of game?” She scrutinized him and found her answer. “Unbelievable.” She spun on her heel to leave.

The chair scraped across the floor and a moment later she was staring into frigid brown eyes and a dark, stormy face.

“What’s unbelievable is thinking you could fuck me and blame a pregnancy on me. Although I applaud your timing. At least you waited a reasonable amount of time before coming to me.”

His callous words cut deep and she staggered away. Angry tears stung her eyes. She hadn’t even been the one to initiate sex, but she hadn’t stopped it either. How could she have been so wrong about him?

“Clearly you’re not the man I thought you were.”

“So you’re off to choice number two?”

She lifted her chin in defiance and planted her fists on her hips. “There is no choice number two!” She glared at him, conveying as much contempt as she could. “You are the only man I’ve fucked in the last eight weeks.” She threw his own word back at him and was almost satisfied when he flinched. “As a matter of fact I hoped we could get to know one another better as you suggested, but when my messages went unanswered I realized I was indulging in a high school crush.” She dragged a stuttered breath and paused long enough to regain her composure. “I am pregnant and you are the father, whether or not you want to believe me.” She spun on her heel and stalked away.

****

Street plopped back in his chair and dropped his head in his hands. The sultry scent of her perfume lingered in the air. He’d been such a fool to think she was different. He hadn’t returned her calls because by the time he’d worked up the nerve he’d seen her hanging out with some other guy.

Jealousy roiled through his gut like rusty razors. He didn’t want to admit that he had any feelings for Na’arah other than lust, but just the thought of her with someone else left him with a bad taste in his mouth.

And she walked into his office smelling good and looking even better. All he could think about was throwing her on the desk and banging her brains out. Then she said she was pregnant. It had to be Auggie’s. Every time he turned around, those two were together. Yet what reason did she have to lie?

He’d seen the hurt and anger in her eyes. That hadn’t been rehearsed. But if he was wrong about the other guy, he’d accept that. There was no way he could be wrong about fathering her child. He couldn’t make babies, at least that’s what his doctors had told him.

“Street. Booze is here. Driver wants to speak to you.” Beau paused in the doorway. “You okay?”

Street nodded. “Yeah. Be there in a sec.”

Beau nodded and left, leaving Street to his thoughts once again. He dragged a hand over his head and blew out a breath. If Na’arah wasn’t lying, then how the hell did she get pregnant?

Auggie was dead.

Na’arah knew that with absolute certainty as she cowered in her hiding space. First her argument with Street and now her friend was dead.

Blood, still warm, oozed beneath the crack where the counter met the floor, coating her shoe and filling the air with its metallic, coppery odor. She fought the bile burning the back of her throat and tried to breathe through her mouth to ward off the worst of the nausea.

She swiped at the moisture dampening her face. Darkness enveloped her, heightening every little sound. She’d never been afraid of the dark...until now. Grunts and muttered curses punctuated the otherwise silent shop. Desperately she tried to calm her ragged panting, nearly as audible as her jackhammering heart.

What did they want?

She hadn’t even gotten a good look at the two men, before Auggie shoved her and her belongings beneath the counter in its ancient hidey hole. Her body screamed at her to move, to adjust her folded legs in the cramped space, but self-preservation won, kept her still. Kept her calm. But for how long?

A heavy thud shook the tiny shop. She jammed her clenched fist in her mouth to keep from crying out. Oh god, where were the police? Someone had to have heard the screams, the crashes.

Listening to Auggie being hit, how each punch and slap reverberated through the shop left her raw, helpless, sick. And she’d tried to cover her ears to muffle the awful sounds, but it didn’t help. Just when she thought the torture was over, Auggie had yelped in pain, a terrible high pitched shriek she’d hear in her nightmares for a very long time. After so much noise and the rasping gurgle of a dying man, the silence was just as frightening.

Someone had to have heard.

Just above her head, wood scraped against wood. Her gaze flew upward and she bit down on her knuckle as she struggled to contain the whimper longing to burst from her throat. Another blow to the counter rattled her teeth and she clamped her other hand over her mouth. Each bang left her to wonder, when would they find her?

“Dammit!”

She flinched at the unbridled rage in the gravelly voice.

“It ain’t here!”

Papers fluttered and something heavy crashed. Glass shattered and trilled to the floor. Each scuff of thick soled boots ratcheted her heartbeat up a notch.

“Keep looking! It has to be here.” This voice was calmer. More in control, but still holding a sharp edge of menace.

Shivers tiptoed up and down Na’arah’s spine. Why didn’t they leave? Footsteps echoed closer and the breath stilled in her lungs. Metallic pounding reverberated above her head. Her stomach lurched in protest. If they didn’t leave soon, she was going to be sick and then they would kill her too.

The familiar chime of the cash registered penetrated her petrified brain.

Robbery? That’s why they killed Auggie? A few stupid dollars?

Hysterical laughter bubbled and she bit down harder on her hand. Pain shot through her system, quieting the hysterics, reminding her she was in terrible, terrible danger.

“Where’s that girl he’s been talking to?” The calmer voice said.

Blood congealed in her veins and she stopped breathing altogether. Her stomach knotted as her fear became a living breathing entity. These men would find her and do the same thing they’d done to Auggie.

“Leave her out of this!”

Her pulse jumped. She knew that voice. Even heard it recently? But where?

“Oh yeah. So you do know her?”

Silence filled the void.

“Find out what she knows.”

Her stomach twisted while panic seized her by the throat and shook hard. They could easily find her. The town wasn’t that big.

“No! This isn’t what I agreed to.”

A sharp slap followed by a howl of pain permeated her hiding spot and sent tears rolling down her cheeks. She wouldn’t last if he decided to kill someone else.

“The rules have changed. I own you. Find her. The entire village is preparing for the Labor Day celebration. If we can’t find her before then, she’ll be around for the festivities.”

The short barking laugh chilled her to the bone, leaving her numb and lightheaded. A few moments later an eerie silence descended over the shop. A muscle in Na’arah’s leg twitched.

Were they still there?

She strained to hear. The faint rumble of traffic and the thudding of her heart filled the heavy quiet. Maybe they left. With a trembling hand, her fingers stumbled over the coarse wood, seeking the release for her prison. Soft chimes startled a gasp from her lips and every instinct screamed at her to be still. She huddled in the corner, wrapping her arms around her legs, and buried her face in her knees.

Glass crunched beneath a heavy uneven tread and the floorboards creaked a protest. She bit her lip. They were back. Thump-thwack. Thump-thwack. Thump-thwack.

Closer and closer. Each thud resonated in her bones, until it became the only sound in existence.

Thump-thwack. Thump-thwack. Thump-thwack.

She lifted her head, inhaling sharply. For a moment her senses were bathed in the subtle scent of citrus and cloves. Visions of hard muscles and an easy smile brought momentary calm. What she wouldn’t give to be in his arms right now. She swiped at the moisture dampening her cheeks. But he wouldn’t be the one to rescue her. Heck, he didn’t he believe he was the father of her child or care.

She was alone, huddled beneath an ancient counter wishing Rue, modern heartbreaker and wounded warrior, would forget their differences and rescue her. If she got out of this alive, she’d make amends. And if he still ignored her...

A soft sigh brought her back to reality. Floorboards creaked and whined at the additional weight, yet whoever was in the store gave the counter a wide berth. Maybe it was the police. Hope sprang anew and she opened her mouth to call out. A muttered curse had her clamping a hand over her mouth. Not the police.

Oh god! Think! If she was going to get out of this alive—and she wanted to live—she had to think. The idea calmed her enough to clear her muddled thoughts. Stay alive. That’s all she had to do. Stay alive to see her baby.

She lifted a hand and ran her fingertips against the rough wooden walls of her hiding spot. The tiny space left her little room to maneuver, but she wouldn’t let them find her cowering in the dark, no matter how terrified she was. With wobbling resolve, she rummaged in her purse, and her fingers closed around the smooth handle of her metal nail file. Hopefully it would give her a few precious seconds to escape. Or at least scream her fool head off.

Footsteps grew louder, the uneven tread scraping across the wooden floor. She clenched the file in her right fist, the pointy end aimed toward the door.

Hit a soft spot. Hit a soft spot. Over and over she chanted the litany.

Silence. She tightened her grip. Unseen fingers fumbled at the catch. A mild curse. Sweat trickled along the corner of her eye and she blinked it away. Another bead rolled down the small of her back. Sucking in a breath, she waited, crouched to attack.

Hit a soft spot. Hit a soft spot.

A shaft of light stabbed through the darkness. Hit a soft spot. Hit a soft spot. Muscles clenched. Her heart raced. A face blotted the light.

She lunged.

“Whoa!”

He moved. The file merely kissed his chin. A hand wrapped around her wrist and jerked her from the confines of the counter. The file clattered to the floor. She swung blindly. Strong arms closed around her and hauled her against a powerful chest. With her hands locked at her sides, she was reduced to kicking and trying to smack her captor with the back of her head.

She drummed her heels against his shins, while her head cracked against sinew and bone. He swore and dropped her. Her legs went from under her, but she scrambled to her feet, snatching the file as she went. Again she was yanked off her feet and this time shaken.

“Goddammit woman. Be still! I’m not gonna hurt you!”

The warm timbre of his voice washed over her, calming her efforts as nothing else could. Inhaling, her senses collided with spiced cloves and warm masculinity. She sagged against him. Muscles rippled beneath the blue cotton stretched across his chest as his strong arms tightened around her. Heat wiggled its way into the chill invading her limbs. Slowly she lifted her gaze, momentarily resting them on the exposed hollow of his throat. Would he run away if she pressed her lips to the temptation of his pale buttery skin? Dragging her gaze upward she stared into a handsome, but scowling face. A trickle of blood marred the corner of his mouth. He had such a great mouth, with full, sexy lips meant for kissing. Longing crept through her veins. She could spend hours learning the taste and texture of his mouth, and sliding her tongue against his skin. He was branded on every cell of her memory.

A droplet of blood snatched her attention from his lips to the scratch shadowing his square jaw. Still, the momentary imperfections only enhanced the strength of his face. He came. She leaned into him.

“Rue,” she gasped.

He smoothed her hair from her face. “Yeah, it’s me.”

She tossed her arms around his neck and dissolved into tears.

Tension ebbed from her body as his arms cinched her quivering form tighter. If it hadn’t been him, she doubt she’d have survived. Now she struggled to corral her errant emotions.

“You’re okay.” Street stroked the length of her spine. He’d uttered those same words to her outside of Hack House. The heat of his hand was reassuring. He’d held her then, too.