Page 88 of Philly
Oh, this is not happening, Callie thought as she instinctively reached up to her neck. A thick, rough texture met her fingers, making her even more aware of the rope cutting off her breath. Each tiny frayed filament of jute pricking her skin like a needle while the thick, twisted strand dug into her flesh.
The shock of the attack lasted less than two seconds, though, before her training roared to life. She had less than a minute to dislodge her attacker—no doubt another man sent by Aiden Nolan. Every second counted.
Forcing her focus away from her dwindling air supply, away from the pain and panic screaming through her body, she concentrated on the weakest point in this battle. The man holding her instrument of death. And his kidney.
Bringing her arm in front of her, she drove it back into her attacker’s side, registering several details as she did. He wore a thin coat that made a small crinkling sound when her elbow connected. His shoes, shuffling on the pavement as he absorbed the blow, sounded like smooth-soled dress shoes. And the huffof breath that left his body in a grunt suggested a bad case of halitosis.
Those observations flowed through her as she prepared for her next move. Her first had caught him off guard, enough that the constriction around her neck eased, although not enough to release her. And now he’d be on guard.
Reaching over her head, she gripped her attacker’s hands, leaned back to throw him off-balance, then jerked her body forward, bending at the waist. He stumbled into her, and she took advantage of the closeness to drive her heel into his knee.
The satisfying pop, followed by “Fucking bitch” exploding from the man’s body, sent a burst of power through her. When the pull of the rope shifted downward as her attacker adjusted his step, she used his moment of imbalance to spin. Taking him with her, she slammed his body against the SUV, her back still to his front.
Her vision dimmed at the edges as the rope continued to squeeze, but she refused to give in. She’d had the best hand-to-hand combat instructor at the academy, a man she continued training with when she graduated, and she’d been an excellent student.
As she lurched forward then back again, brutally pushing the man against the rear passenger door, she could all but hear her trainer’s voice. Adrenaline and fear and the exertion of fighting could be her strength or her weakness. She could succumb to them; she could let the rope choke her rapid, labored breaths from her. Or she could use them, draw from them, draw from the energy they created, and fight.
She chose the latter.
A surge of strength and determination seized her mind and body. Lunging back, she pressed him against the car, then dipped her head before flinging it backward into his face at the same time she drove another elbow deep into his side.
“Hey!” came a shout from somewhere in the parking lot. She ignored it and kicked out, catching her foot around her attacker’s ankle and yanking him forward.
He let out another unimaginative string of swear words as their bodies hit the ground, but the sudden shift had done what she needed, and the rope loosened.
Slipping her fingers under it, she tugged. The man wasn’t as willing to let go as he should be, so for good measure, she used her elbow again.
He grunted and one of the ends slipped from his hand. Grabbing hold of it, she spun, sliding away from his body onto her hands and knees, gasping for breath.
When she looked over, her eyes met Aiden Nolan’s.
Blood streamed down his face from the broken nose she’d given him with her headbutt, but fury and self-righteous entitlement dominated his expression.
This wasn’t over. Not for him. Not for her.
Ignoring the deep throbbing in her throat and the pain in her chest as she struggled to bring air into her lungs, she scrambled far enough away to be out of his reach but close enough for her next attack.
“Hey!” the voice called again, followed by the sound of rapid footsteps.
Aiden tensed as a debate raged in his head—finish what he started or retreat and finish it another day.
He was welcome to try either, as far as she was concerned. She wouldn’t let him succeed.
Self-preservation won out and as the footsteps neared, he shot up to his feet with surprising alacrity. “Fucking bitch,” he repeated. “This isn’t over,” he said, turning toward the woods.
They agreed on that. It wasn’t over. But as she tensed her muscles to launch herself after him, he spun back around and kicked out, too fast for her to react. His foot connected withher lower ribs, sending her tumbling onto her back. The air whooshed from her body and pain pulsed across her chest and up her side as he slipped into the woods.
“Hey, are you okay?” A man’s face appeared above her, followed by a woman’s.
“We saw some of it. We called the police,” the woman said.
She forced a breath in, then a second. The man reached out a hand but didn’t touch her as she started to roll to the side. “You shouldn’t move,” he said.
Like hell was she going to let Aiden Nolan best her. Ignoring the Good Samaritan, she rolled to her knees. The gravel of the parking lot dug through her pants into her knees, but the sharp pain faded when she spied her phone lying not two feet away, the call still connected.
Grabbing it, she rose with the assistance of her two helpers. “Which way did he go?” she asked.
The man’s brow furrowed. The woman hesitated, then pointed to a narrow trail between two towering pines.
