Page 56 of X Marks the Stalker
I back away slowly, changing direction. The main street with its all-night diners and gas stations is only three blocks in the other direction. People, lights, witnesses.
Two men step out from between parked cars ahead of me. They wear black, faces obscured by pulled-down beanies.
I spin around, ready to sprint back the way I came, but a third man blocks my retreat.He’s massive, a human wall of muscle filling the narrow sidewalk, hands already reaching for me.
I don’t hesitate. My finger finds the trigger of the pepper spray, and I aim at his face, depressing the button with every ounce of strength I have.
“Fuck!” He claws at his eyes, staggering backward.The stream catches him full in the face, the caustic liquidtransforming his expression from menacing to agonized in an instant.
His hand lashes out—blind, instinctive, brutal. His fist connects with my jaw, sending stars exploding across my vision. I hit the ground hard, my shoulder cracking against the concrete, the pepper spray skittering away across the pavement.
Pain explodes through my face. Blood floods my mouth, metallic and warm. For a moment, the world tilts sideways.
“Grab her!” The voice comes from behind me.
Rough hands seize my arms, dragging me upward. I twist, kicking backward and connecting with something solid. A grunt of pain tells me I’ve hit my mark.
“She’s fighting. Hold her tighter.”
“I’m trying! The bitch is strong.”
I scream. My elbow drives backward, finding a solar plexus, and I hear a satisfying whoosh of expelled air.
The grip on my right arm loosens just enough. I wrench free, spinning toward the nearest gap between buildings.
Three steps. That’s all I manage before a hand fists in my jacket, yanking me backward. My feet scramble for purchase as I’m slammed against a parked car, my spine hitting the metal with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs.
“Blackwell sends his regards,” one whispers, his breath hot against my ear.
I buck against his hold, twisting my body and landing a solid kick to his knee. He curses but doesn’t release me. His partner steps forward, and I barely register the fist before it connects with my stomach, driving deep into my abdomen.
All the air rushes from my lungs. I fold around the pain,trying to breathe, to fight, to do anything besides hang in their grasp as black spots dance across my vision.
The man’s fingers dig into my cheeks, squeezing until my jaw throbs. He yanks my face close to his, close enough that I can smell coffee and cigarettes on his breath through the mask. His eyes are flat and cold, cruel.
“Stop asking questions about Blackwell,” he growls, his thumb pressing into the hollow beneath my cheekbone.
I try to wrench away, but his grip only tightens. My pulse thunders in my ears.
“We know what you’ve been doing. The calls.” He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Your little meeting with Martin before his unfortunate accident.”
My blood freezes in my veins. They’ve been watching me. For how long? Days? Weeks?
“Blackwell says you’re smart. Smart enough to walk away from this,” the man continues, releasing my face with a small shove. “This is your warning. Next time, we won’t be so gentle.”
I spit blood onto the pavement, my split lip burning. “Tell Blackwell I’m not afraid of him.”
One man snorts.The third—the one I pepper-sprayed—has recovered enough to join his partners, eyes red-rimmed and watering, but locked on me with undisguised hatred.
His gaze drops to my chest. “What’s this?”
Before I can react, his hand shoots out, grabbing my mother’s locket. With a sharp yank, the silver chain snaps from my neck.
“No!” I lunge forward, desperation overwhelming caution. “Give that back!”
He dangles the locket, examining it in the dim light. “Mine now.”
That locket holds the only picture I have of my parents together. The last thing my mother touched before she died.
