Page 86 of Dare to Love Again

Convinced Carlos would end her as heartlessly as he had Gerald, she prayed her not-always-reliable eight-year-old vehicle would start. The engine turned over on the first try, and with a sob—half relief and half terror—bursting from her throat, Esme threw the car in reverse.

Without sparing a glance behind her, too afraid to, she roared out of the space. Her fear was justified because as she slammed on the brake and shoved the gearshift into drive, a gunshot rang out. Near simultaneously, a metallic ping sounded as the bullet deflected off her car.

Screaming in terror, she ducked down just as another bullet hit, this time shattering her rear window. She didn’t think, just reacted, and stomped the gas pedal to the floor. The tires spun and squealed, telling her to let up a bit. When she did, the vehicle hurtled toward the exit.

Someone up above must have been watching over the crazy lady on Wilshire that day because when she barreled out of the lot doing sixty and turned onto the always-busy street without looking, no one was coming. Esme recognized that small piece of luck on a horrific day such as today, couldn’t possibly hold out and scooted up in her seat just enough to peek over the dash. With no destination in mind other than getting away from Carlos as fast as possible, she went straight if the light was green, turning right when it was red, doing whatever was necessary to keep from stopping.

She’d witnessed a murder and an attempt on her own life. He’d come after her to protect his ass. She had to go somewhere safe.

The police station was the obvious choice, but the only one she knew of was in her Northridge neighborhood ten miles away. Calling 911 wasn’t an option because her phone was with her keys and purse at the office. She didn’t dare stop to make a call.

Finn’s image popped into her head. If not him, one of his men would be in the office this time of day, surely. Searching the street signs to find her bearings, she passed a sign for I-110 and realized she was headed the wrong way.

“Shit!” she cursed, sensing the black cloud creeping over her again. Crossing two lanes of traffic, she made a left at the next light, her eyes shifting between her mirror and the road constantly, like she was at a tennis match.

And in all that time, she never passed one police station or patrol car.

The only space in front of his building was the fire lane. She didn’t care at this point, and pulled into it. Opening her door, she checked both ways. With no deranged man intent on murdering her in sight, she sprinted for the glass double doors with the Rossi company name etched in black and gold. Her legs were rubbery as shock took hold, so her sprint was more of a stagger.

The receptionist, who looked up as she entered, gasped, “Dear God.” Even though she stared at her, horror-struck for some reason, she reached for her phone. Her alert of “Code 6 in the lobby” echoed from speakers overhead.

“I’m calling EMS now, honey. Hang on.”

“No. Call Finn first, if he’s here, then the police.”

A door slamming open coincided with a ding, and she turned toward the barrage of thudding footsteps that came next. Four big men, all of whom she’d seen before in the unlabeled, nondescript, warehouse-big, bondage club across the street, skidded to a halt when they spotted her. All except Master Eric who shouldered past the two frozen men in front of him and came toward her.

“Jesus, fuck, Esme,” he exclaimed. “Where are you hurt?”

“Were you shot?” one of them asked.

“Joan, call 911,” another demanded.

“I’m doing it now,” the woman told them. “Gunshot wound. Rossi Building. Beverly Boulevard.”

“Call Thomas, too. He’s at the club,” another man advised. “Tell him to bring his kit.”

“How are you on your feet, sweetheart?” Eric, next to her now, took her gently by the shoulders while he scanned her chest and abdomen.

“I’m not shot.”

“Then where are you injured?”

What were they talking about? She was shaken up, and the right side of her face was numb where the bastard had backhanded her, but not badly enough for an ambulance. But as she stood there, surrounded by men who could help her, only one man would do.

Already the adrenaline surge had begun to recede. Her hands were shaking so badly, they didn’t stop when she clenched them into tight fists. As the hysteria rose within her, she felt sure she would lose it if she didn’t find Finn soon.

Her voice came out high pitched and squeaky as she pleaded, “I need to see Finn. Can you call him for me, please?”

“I’m right here, lass.”

Spinning around, she found him standing in the same doorway she had entered only moments before. Overwhelming relief washed over her. She wanted to go to him, to melt in his arms, to feed off his strength, but her feet wouldn’t move. But thankfully, she didn’t have to. He came to her, his hands encircling her upper arms. At his touch, her knees gave way and so did the hold she had on her tears, emerging in a loud barrage of sobbing.

His greeting was the same emphatic, “Jesus, fuck,” as his friend’s and followed by a similar but more frantic question. “Where are you injured?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” she wailed.

“Because, baby, you’re covered in blood.”

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