Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
She was the woman, months ago, who was standing outside my offices that Sunday morning after the Blazing the Trail gala.
I knew then she was also Hale Wheeler’s number one fan.
I lifted my hand her way and started, “Okay, I—”
That was all I got out.
She whispered, “He’s mine.”
Then her hands came from behind her, and she slashed at me with a knife.
I felt the blade cut through the flesh of my hand, and I screamed bloody murder, the noise ricocheting around the bathroom fueled by adrenaline and filled with fear and pain.
Instantly, my mind flooded with thoughts, trying to decide on retreat, and closing the door on her, or advance, pushing her away and running.
I was wearing four-inch heels, she was not, and there were gaps at the bottom of the stalls she could get under.
I could kick her if she tried that.
All this flew through my head in less than a second as she pulled her hand with the knife back in preparation to deliver another, deadlier strike.
I took that opportunity and reached out, pushed her at her chest, getting my arm slashed in the process. I felt the pain. The blood swell and ooze over. But she fell back.
And I stepped back, slammed the door and locked it.
Then I fumbled with my purse to get out my phone.
My hand hurt like crazy. My arm.
But…
911, or Hale?
Hale would be faster.
But she had a knife.
Then I wondered what I was doing.
Noise.
Always make noise.
I screamed again, this time words, “She has a knife! In here! She has a knife!”
She banged on the stall door twice, then I saw her down below, trying to crawl underneath.
She led with the knife, so I stomped on her arm.
And suddenly, she disappeared, like she was pulled from the other way.
Someone heard me scream.
Thank God.
“Call 911,” a man’s voice ordered through what sounded like a struggle.
Oh, thank God.
Someone heard me scream.
I was getting blood everywhere, all over my dress, the floor, my bag, my phone, but I managed to get it out and call emergency.
I told them where I was, what was happening, who I was, and then I heard Hudson say, “Open the door, Elsa. You’re safe.”
I opened the door.
He took one look at me and muttered, “Jesus.” He then took my phone, which was still connected to emergency, put it to his ear and said, “Send an ambulance. She’s been cut.”
After that, he threw my phone in the sink and led me out of the stall.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you I was coming up here. I should have told you I was coming up here,” I babbled to him.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry. It’s okay,” he said, drawing me toward the door, his fingers wrapped around my wrist, multitasking, taking in the cuts to my hand and arm.
I looked over my shoulder and saw a tall, dark, aggressively handsome man I’d never seen before standing over the woman. The bloody knife was on the floor. It looked like she’d been bound in some way, her hands behind her back, her ass to the floor.
She was glaring at me with such hate, my stomach bottomed out.
Hudson led me out and next door to the men’s room where he took me to the basin.
I was glad he didn’t try to see to this with her close. I needed to be away from her. I needed space and doors and people between us.
Still, I started shaking.
“Okay, you’re safe, Elsa. Breathe. Stick with me,” Hudson said. “Fucking fuck,” he bit off as he ran a gentle stream of water over my hand, then, “It’s good. The cops are on their way. I need you to keep it tight just for a little while. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said unsteadily.
“We knew it was her. Vaughan followed her here,” he shared. “We didn’t know she had a knife. She lost us when she got here. It was a fuckup,” he admitted.
“It’s okay.”
“Not sure Hale is gonna think of it that way,” he mumbled.
No. Hale wasn’t going to think of it that way.
He’d pulled out some paper towels, dropping the first few to the counter, the rest he was using to put pressure on both cuts.
“You need to sit down?” he asked.
I totally did.
I nodded.
“Hold those,” he ordered.
I held the towels, and he put his hands to my waist and lifted me on the counter.
Then he went back to the towels.
“Rest back. Deep breathe,” he instructed. “Paramedics will be here soon. These don’t look too bad. But you’ll need stitches.”
“Okay,” I said, and it sounded choked.
Hudson looked at me. “You’re not breathing.”
I concentrated on breathing.
The door opened and Hale was there.
His eyes took me in and all the oxygen on the planet vanished for an unnaturally long second before he whispered, “The fuck?”
“Hey, honey,” I called.
He strode in, his long legs bringing him to me in the flash of an eye.