Page 46 of Love and Lies

“Yes, you’re right,” I managed to say. “He sent me.”

“I knew it!” Pratt snarled, but he didn’t loosen his grip. I could practically feel the rage radiating off him. “It’s about time I showed him once and for all what happens to the people he sets on me. I’m not some small-time dealer intimidated by Carter Fields anymore. Maybe he’ll understand if I dump his little snitch’s body on his doorstep, what do you think?”

The knife’s pressure increased, and I felt a sharp pain all the way into my arm. Pratt had just given me a name, but it would be no use to me if I were dead. I held my breath and ran through my options. Try to free myself and risk his slitting my throat? If you don’t try, he’ll do it for sure.

Suddenly, there was a clang behind him in the alley and an angry hiss. Pratt turned around in surprise, lowering the knife, and I wasted no time: a well-aimed blow to his stomach, and he folded over and dropped the blade with a clatter. I raised a knee and connected with his face. Pratt groaned, but he wasn’t beaten by a long shot, and I was in the absolute worst clothes for a fight. Cursing, he came at me again, pressing me against the wall with his entire body. Then he put both hands around my throat and squeezed.

I groped at his arms and tried to free my legs, but he had me completely pinned. I gasped for breath and found none.

“You worthless little slut,” he hissed. “I’ll finish you!”

He squeezed harder, determined to make good on his threat. I held on, clamoring for air, but nothing reached my lungs. Gathering every ounce of strength for one last attempt, I tried again to push him off me—and failed. Stars danced before my eyes. I was running out of oxygen. It was almost over.

At that moment, someone grabbed Pratt from behind and tore him off me, slamming him against the opposite wall. My hands went to my neck, and I coughed, gasping frantically for breath, watching helplessly as Pratt flung himself forward with a snarl, picked up the knife again, and thrust it at his attacker. I couldn’t see what was happening, but a cry of pain told me he must have connected.

“Watch out!” I cried, but I needn’t have. The guy who’d saved me moved like lightning, a shadow in the shadows, and Pratt didn’t stand a chance. Two, three precise blows, a perfectly placed kick, and Pratt was on the ground.

“I’ll kill you,” he groaned.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, asshole,” the stranger growled and, with a final blow, knocked the dealer out. He leaned over him, apparently making sure he really was unconscious, then turned toward me. When he was close enough that I could see the outline of his face, I realized why his voice sounded familiar.

“You?” I stared at him in disbelief.

“Everything okay?” asked Jessiah.

I gave a hollow laugh and promptly broke into a coughing fit again. “You promised… never to ask me that again, remember?”

“I didn’t know then that you had a preference for getting into dangerous situations with fucking sketchy dudes.” He reached for a switch next to the door and turned on an outside light. In its faint glow he examined me carefully and saw the blood at my throat.

“Let me see,” he said, reaching out hand.

“It’s nothing,” I protested. “What about you? Did he get you?” There was a dark stain on his T-shirt.

Jessiah looked down and gently touched his fingers to the spot. “It’s just a scratch.” He peered at me apprehensively. “Did he do anything else to you? Did he touch you? If he did—”

I shook my head. “I’m fine,” I said, touching a hand to my throat. The wound didn’t seem all that deep; it would heal quickly, I was sure, but my throat felt tender and was bound to bruise—I’d have to try and cover them somehow. And I had no idea how I was going to explain it all to my parents; I’d have to think of something on the way home. Where was the main street? I had to get a taxi home as soon as possible. My knees were like jelly, and I felt like I was going to collapse right there in that alley as soon as the adrenaline wore off. But crumpling next to the garbage dumpsters in front of Jessiah Coldwell was the very worst place I could think of for that to happen.

“You’re not fine, Helena,” he argued softly. “Your whole body is shaking, and you’re in shock.” He made as if to take his jacket off to give to me, but he wasn’t wearing one—just his gray T-shirt, which by this time was wet through.

I had some idea what I must look like to him, injured and soaked to the skin, just like him. Still, I gritted my teeth to hide the chattering.

“It’s okay,” I said in a shaky voice. “It’s just the shock. I’ll go get my things and order a ride home.” I didn’t know how I was going to get my bag without running into Maddy and the others, but maybe I could ask that friendly bartender to pick them up for me.

“I have a better idea.” Jessiah came closer; I could feel the heat radiating from him. He didn’t touch me, though, pointing instead down the alley behind him. “One of my restaurants is just around the corner. We can go there. I’ll get you some dry clothes to change into, a dressing for your neck, and a slice of pizza to get your system on the level again. Then I’ll put you in a taxi, and you can go wherever you want.”

It sounded tempting. Very tempting. All that awaited me at home was an empty apartment, and even though I was acting tough right now, I knew the night’s events would catch up with me. Pratt, the knife at my throat, the danger I’d been in. What would happen when that tsunami hit?

“I can’t,” I said, though I’d have loved to accept his offer. “You’ve done enough already. Thank you for your help.” And with that, I turned away and pulled open the door that would lead me back into the club.

The next moment, my vision went black. I held on to the cold metal and waited for it to pass, but it didn’t. Instead, I felt two warm hands on my arms, keeping me steady.

“Pizza, first aid, clothes,” Jessiah said sternly. “No arguments.”

“Okay.” I gave up—or my shaky knees gave up for me. Eating something really would be a good idea. “But my stuff is still inside—my bag and jacket.”

I tried to open the door again, but Jessiah stopped me, casting a furtive look at Pratt lying motionless on the cobbles in the rain.

“What are we going to do with him?” I asked. He’d threatened Jessiah, and me as well. At some point he was going to come around and remember what had happened. I couldn’t imagine he was just going to let it go.