Page 79 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
Air is snatched from my body. It takes a second to think straight, but then I slam my head forward, refusing to be weak. I lived my life cowering, taking beatings. No more. I will die before this bastard restrains me. Sensing my will, he roughly grabs my neck and squeezes, yellowing eyes bugging out as he snarls.
A pan smacks into the side of his head, knocking him right off of me. I clutch my neck and stare at Avi whose face is still lined with worry. He glances at me for a second, then drops onto his ass and drops his head into his hands, rocking back and forth. I scramble off the floor, wrapping my arms around him and whispering reassuring words that feel hollow and taste like ash as I speak them.
I only give him a minute before I’m up and moving. Curtis and the other guy are gone and so is the car. I scan what I can see of the front yard, sighing in relief when I see no sign of them. I grab Avi’s phone from the counter, and I race back to him to unlock it with his face, finding Trev’s number and calling him. I don’t know why I pick him, but it feels right, so I don’t second guess myself.
Four rings later, he answers.
“Hey,” he says.
“Trev?” My voice comes out as a rasp, and I clutch my neck, scowling at the asshole who choked me.
“Whitney?” he whispers, static crackling down the speaker like he’s turned away from someone for privacy. “Is everything okay?”
“Something happened,” I say, surveying the porch. “I need you.”
“Is Avi okay?”
I glance at the alpha. “He will be. Curtis showed up with two guys… someone probably called the cops…” I trail off. I should run.
“Don’t move,” he says, reading my thoughts. “I’ll take the call and get the guys on it. Hayden, Asher,” he shouts away from the phone. More rustling and movement before he breathes, the sound coasting down the line. “Can you take Avi to my bedroom?”
“I think so. One of them is still here.” The guy is out cold.
“There are cuffs in my top dresser drawer. Can you cuff him to something?”
“I’ll try.”
“Good girl. I’ll be there soon. Stay in the back.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“How bad is it?” he asks quickly before I can pull the phone from my ear.
“It’s bad, Trev.”
“Fuck. Okay. Give us ten.” He disconnects the call, and I clutch the phone, letting dread win for a full second before I shove that emotion aside and do what he asked. The drawer is filled with socks and boxers, but I find cuffs at the bottom. They’re heavy in my hands as I rush back to the man. He’s lying in the middle of the hall. There’s nothing to cuff him to… unless I use the dining room table. He could get out if he wakes up. I chew on my lip, eyeing the pan.
I’m going to hell. For sure.
I pick it up and smack him in the face again, hoping it’ll keep him knocked out a little longer. Dropping it with a thud, I grab his feet and pull him toward the table, grunting and squatting a bit so I can maneuver him across the floor. Thank fuck it’s wooden. I cuff him around a wooden leg and step back, frowning, but deciding there’s nothing else I can do.
Avi is still sitting on the floor. I brush my fingers on his arm, whispering his name. He glances up at me, eyes rimmed red and face pale.
“I’m sorry.”
“Shh,” I tell him. “It’s okay.”
Grabbing his arm, I help him stand and lead us to the bedroom. He doesn’t say anything else. Once we’re in Trev’s room, I shut the door and shove the dresser so it’s blocking part of the door, preventing it from fully opening.
Trev’s comforter is slightly rumpled. He has four pillows, but only one where he sleeps. His room smells like orange and cinnamon. Minutes tick by. I name off more things, wearing a hole in Trev’s carpet as I pace. I stop when I hear someone step onto the porch. Curling my hands into fists, I listen, trying to discern if the newcomer is friend or foe. We’ll be useless against guns, and I was too frazzled to think of grabbing the shotgun and more shells.
So fucking stupid.
“Whitney?”
Trev’s voice in the hallway sends a flood of relief through me. I sigh and uncurl my fingers, glancing at Avi. He’s still recovering from his episode. I think he might be in shock, but I’m not a doctor. He’s not very responsive and that bothers me most of all. I flick my gaze over his body, making sure I didn’t miss a bullet wound. There’s no blood.
“Hang on,” I call. The carpet bunches underneath the dresser’s weight, but I shove it mostly out of the way and rip the door open.
