busier of the two streets. Her head throbbed from the foul smell and the vicious frustrations that had
piled on her one after another the past few hours.
Behind her, the hinges on the pub door squeaked. Looking over her shoulder, she saw a man step into the alley. Not Marc, and
not the waiter who’d helped her escape—someone beefier than both.
Hesitating and dropping back into the shadows, she waited to see which way he was going, tensing when he started toward her.
She squinted at him, about to continue, when she caught his direct gaze and froze.
“Not another step.” Broad shoulders flexed as he took direct and purposeful strides toward her. She retreated, her feet hitting
a broken bottle and crunching on glass.
He kept coming.
Damn it, she hadn’t even taken her handbag when she ran out of Marc’s room. She could have thrown money at this guy and…
He was five feet away, his nostrils flaring with each breath. Shaved bald, thick-necked, fat lips. Scarily silent.
A shiver of fear vibrated through her. This man didn’t want
money
.
She stumbled, reaching for the brick wall to keep from falling. He got two feet closer, and she whipped around to run, but
he snagged her elbow in a viselike grip, wrenching her right back to him.
“Let me go!”
He shoved her against the wall, hard enough that the brick slammed her skull. Bile rose in her throat as he smacked his hands
on either side of her head and rammed his knees around her thighs. She pushed his chest, but she might as well have been pushing
the wall behind her.
“Get away from me,” she ground out, ready to bite, spit, kick, or kill to protect herself.
He did just the opposite, closing in on her face, his dark eyes cutting her. “Listen to me.” His voice was low and thick with
a Belfast accent, but the words were spoken eerily slow.
“You…” He growled the word, dragging it out. “Are coming with me.”
“No, no,” she said as he breathed hot air on her face. “I won’t. Please, don’t hurt me. Let me go.”
“You’re coming now. Is that clear?”
She shook her head. Nothing was clear, except his breath smelled like pretzels, and droplets of spit stung her cheeks with
his every word.
“Then let me make it clearer.” He increased the pressure of his legs, locking her in place, then slid both hands to grasp
her shoulders. Something in his right hand glinted.
Oh, Lord, he had a knife.
“Please…”
“I’m gonna make it real easy for you, miss.” The tip grazed under her jaw. “You’re gonna get the fuck out of Belfast. Right
now. Wi’ me.”
She opened her mouth to scream, and the blade pressed right against her side.
“You’ll be dead before anyone hears you.” He slammed her against the wall. “There’s a car coming down that street.” He jerked
his head in the opposite direction. “We’re gonna get into it. Or I’m gonna cut you to ribbons. Is that clear?”
So, so clear.
She fought for inner strength, but there wasn’t muchbut watery terror and rushing blood inside her. Oh, God, where was Marc now?
“Let’s go.”
“No,” she said, spinning through every self-defense class and article she’d ever come across in her life, her brain a useless
blank.
Don’t fight him. Let him take down his guard, then… She had no idea what then, but it was all she could come up with. She
forced her body to relax, and sure enough, the pressure from the blade eased up. Still, he kept a firm grip on her shoulder.
“Go,” he said simply, shoving her forward.
She staggered on the uneven bricks but found her footing and went with him, light-headed.
“Where are we going?” she managed to ask.
“Just move it.” He pushed her hard, passing the door to the bar, which she glanced at longingly. Where was the waiter who’d
said he’d cover for her? Where was Marc? Suddenly he seemed like the much lesser of two evils. “You shoulda never come here,”
he mumbled.
She slowed her step,
piled on her one after another the past few hours.
Behind her, the hinges on the pub door squeaked. Looking over her shoulder, she saw a man step into the alley. Not Marc, and
not the waiter who’d helped her escape—someone beefier than both.
Hesitating and dropping back into the shadows, she waited to see which way he was going, tensing when he started toward her.
She squinted at him, about to continue, when she caught his direct gaze and froze.
“Not another step.” Broad shoulders flexed as he took direct and purposeful strides toward her. She retreated, her feet hitting
a broken bottle and crunching on glass.
He kept coming.
Damn it, she hadn’t even taken her handbag when she ran out of Marc’s room. She could have thrown money at this guy and…
He was five feet away, his nostrils flaring with each breath. Shaved bald, thick-necked, fat lips. Scarily silent.
A shiver of fear vibrated through her. This man didn’t want
money
.
She stumbled, reaching for the brick wall to keep from falling. He got two feet closer, and she whipped around to run, but
he snagged her elbow in a viselike grip, wrenching her right back to him.
“Let me go!”
He shoved her against the wall, hard enough that the brick slammed her skull. Bile rose in her throat as he smacked his hands
on either side of her head and rammed his knees around her thighs. She pushed his chest, but she might as well have been pushing
the wall behind her.
“Get away from me,” she ground out, ready to bite, spit, kick, or kill to protect herself.
He did just the opposite, closing in on her face, his dark eyes cutting her. “Listen to me.” His voice was low and thick with
a Belfast accent, but the words were spoken eerily slow.
“You…” He growled the word, dragging it out. “Are coming with me.”
“No, no,” she said as he breathed hot air on her face. “I won’t. Please, don’t hurt me. Let me go.”
“You’re coming now. Is that clear?”
She shook her head. Nothing was clear, except his breath smelled like pretzels, and droplets of spit stung her cheeks with
his every word.
“Then let me make it clearer.” He increased the pressure of his legs, locking her in place, then slid both hands to grasp
her shoulders. Something in his right hand glinted.
Oh, Lord, he had a knife.
“Please…”
“I’m gonna make it real easy for you, miss.” The tip grazed under her jaw. “You’re gonna get the fuck out of Belfast. Right
now. Wi’ me.”
She opened her mouth to scream, and the blade pressed right against her side.
“You’ll be dead before anyone hears you.” He slammed her against the wall. “There’s a car coming down that street.” He jerked
his head in the opposite direction. “We’re gonna get into it. Or I’m gonna cut you to ribbons. Is that clear?”
So, so clear.
She fought for inner strength, but there wasn’t muchbut watery terror and rushing blood inside her. Oh, God, where was Marc now?
“Let’s go.”
“No,” she said, spinning through every self-defense class and article she’d ever come across in her life, her brain a useless
blank.
Don’t fight him. Let him take down his guard, then… She had no idea what then, but it was all she could come up with. She
forced her body to relax, and sure enough, the pressure from the blade eased up. Still, he kept a firm grip on her shoulder.
“Go,” he said simply, shoving her forward.
She staggered on the uneven bricks but found her footing and went with him, light-headed.
“Where are we going?” she managed to ask.
“Just move it.” He pushed her hard, passing the door to the bar, which she glanced at longingly. Where was the waiter who’d
said he’d cover for her? Where was Marc? Suddenly he seemed like the much lesser of two evils. “You shoulda never come here,”
he mumbled.
She slowed her step,
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