Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
The skin where he’s touching me starts to crawl as his mouth forms a predatory smile. I may not be A-list famous, but I have more than enough online followers to be considered a powerful influencer on social media. Still, this man isn’t my typical follower. I doubt he’s interested in my make-up and fashion advice or photos of the cuisine I sample around NYC.
Yanking my arm out of his grasp, I try to recover. “I’m sorry I bumped into you. Have a nice night.”
Stepping around him, I hurry across the lobby, determined to get to the elevator and then behind the closed door of my suite. He has me rattled.
I wave at the front desk agent as I walk past, using the opportunity to glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m not being followed. When I get to the elevator bank and have the lift to myself, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves as the doors whisper shut.
By the time I step off the elevator on the sixth floor, I sigh with relief at escaping the stalkerish guy in the lobby bar.
My cell is in my hand as I approach my door and I love that an app on my phone acts as my electronic key since I go nowhere without my phone. Pushing open the door, I see the soft lighting the turn-down housekeeper left on when they touched up my room while I was out.
I’m just reaching down to take my shoes off my aching feet when I hear the door behind me hit something soft instead of banging closed like normal. I don’t even get the chance to turn around before arms encircle me from behind, squeezing me so tight it knocks the air out of my lungs.
The door finally bangs shut just as I recognize the same chuckle I heard a few minutes ago in the bar.
Fight or flight instincts take over and the self-defense moves I learned in high school PE come to life. I lift my foot to stomp down on my attacker and then fight to turn my body so I can slip from his grasp, but it fails.
“I knew you’d be a feisty one. My favorite kind.”
It’s tempting to panic, but I know fear won’t help. My mind races through my options. Realizing I still have my crossbody purse on, I reach down to open the zipper as I continue to flail, trying to break free. I feel around in my bag until I can grab the small canister of pepper spray I carry and yank it out.
It takes all my effort to force myself to relax enough so that my attacker finally loosens his hold on me, probably thinking I’m giving up. As soon as my body has enough freedom, I spin around, aiming the nozzle directly into his eyes.
His scream of pain is satisfying, but I’m still not out of the woods yet. Moving closer, I lift my right knee and connect with his balls, bringing an even louder bellow of pain from him.
Relieved, I rush around him, desperate to get out into the hall where I can run to safety. My hand is on the doorknob when my entire body convulses. A sharp stabbing pain explodes in my neck just as a deafening buzzing sound surrounds me.
It’s as if my legs have fallen asleep beneath me as I crumple to the tile floor just inside my suite. For a few seconds I don’t understand what happened, but as the wave of pain spreads through my muscles, I see a plastic gun fall to the floor next to me.
The fucker tased me.
My brain tells my arms to move. I need to push to my feet… escape.
“You little bitch!” he shouts. “I just wanted to have a bit of fun, but now you’re gonna really pay.”
I can hear him in the guest bathroom not far inside my suite. He’s left me alone. Now is my chance, but the best I can manage is to roll from my side onto my back. My muscles are not cooperating.
Real panic is closing in. If I can’t get my body moving, this is not going to end well.
My phone. It has to be close. Through sheer willpower, I get my arm to move enough to feel around, desperate to find my cell. That search fails, but my hand does connect with the small decorative table where I usually leave my purse and other small items I don’t want to lose.
I don’t have time to pull myself up with the table before he returns, standing over me with red eyes and a wet cloth looking furious.
Still unable to push to my feet, I watch in horror as my attacker pulls a knife from his suit pocket, flicking it open with the push of a button. Even in the dim light, the blade is terrifying—six inches long. Until that moment, I was afraid I was about to be raped. Now… I’m sure I’m going to die.