“Jackson,” she calls out and I can't help but turn around. “Thank you,” she says before she opens a car door.
I nod my head, but can't help but wonder. “You drive?”
“Yeah, I live on Long Island. Nassau County to be exact,” she says.
“I thought you said before that you were a real New Yorker?”
She snorts and her eyes shoot daggers at me. She lets out a slew of curses finally ending with, “I am a New Yorker, you Boston prick.”
Then she slams her car door and guns the engine.
That's when I notice it. It's a few years old...but she's definitely driving a BMW.
She's obviously not that hard up for money after all. And I just gave her everything in my wallet.
Shit, I guess it's true what they say. There really is a sucker born every minute.
Chapter Three
Alyssa
Most women go to bars when they're looking to pick up men for a quick hookup...not me.
I prefer to pick up my men at libraries, bookstores, and the nearest Starbucks.
I glance at the clock on my dashboard. It's just after 11 pm. Luckily, since I'm still in the city everything is open late, especially on the weekends.
I parallel park into the nearest spot outside the coffee shop and turn my engine off.
The nerve of that bastard. Long Island is in New York.
But it's not that statement of his causing me to be in need of seeking out a distraction. It's his other statement from earlier still running through my head. “Don't you value yourself at all?”
I almost wanted to laugh when he said that the club was no place for a girl like me.
He obviously has no idea who I am. Either that, or he's putting on a really good show.
I walk into the almost empty Starbucks and look around before I spot my target.
Glasses-check. Button-up shirt paired with khakis-check. Not overly attractive by conventional standards, but relatively pleasing to the eye- check. Fingers working furiously on a laptop- check.
I order my favorite- a vanilla chai latte with whipped cream and pull up a seat next to him. “Hey there, handsome. Come here often?” I ask as I lean across the table, giving him a nice view of my cleavage.
He gives me a shy smile and takes a sip of his drink. “Lately, yes. I have a thesis I'm working on.”
“Sounds exciting,” I say.
He then goes on and on for the next fifteen minutes about his thesis which has something to do with acid rain, before I decide I've had enough and interrupt him. I reach across the table for his hand. “It sounds like you're under a lot of stress,” I say sympathetically.
He nods his head. “Yes, It's tremendous. I feel like I'm going out of my mind.”
I swipe the whipped cream from my drink with my finger and lick.”You know what helps with that?”
He blushes. “Just so you know—I've never, ever, done this before...but I live 15 minutes away from here.”
Oh, he's a virgin...that's even better. Perfect even.
“I have a car. We'll be there in five,” I say before I stand up and head for the door.
I park in the lot across from his apartment building. I don't usually go to guy's houses and I'm feeling apprehensive about it.
I take a look around the parking lot. It's empty and pretty dark. “You know, I have to be up early. Maybe we can just do it right here?” I offer.
He looks surprised but doesn't protest as we climb in the backseat.
I begin straddling him and grinding against him until I feel his entire body tense. Poor guys nervous. First-time jitters.
I cup his face in my hands. “Relax. You don't have to be nervous with me. I'm gonna make this good for you.”
I tilt my head to the side and begin kissing him. At first, the kiss is tender...until he bites my lower lip...enough to draw blood.
I pull back. “Whoa, not so hard, sweetie.”
In the blink of an eye, he grabs both my wrists in one hand, before he pulls them around my back and secures them with something metal.
My first thought—is that I'm being arrested for prostitution. But the thing is. I'm not a prostitute. This is all just some horrible misunderstanding.
Way to go, Alyssa.
“Look, I know what you think. But I assure you, I'm not a prostitute,” I begin yelling.
He flips me over so that I'm lying on my stomach. Then he slams a piece of duct tape across my mouth.
This isn't typical police procedure. Oh, fuck.
“You may not be charging me for sex, sweetie. But we both know what a slut you really are. I knew you looked real familiar. Let's just say that I've seen you before,” he sneers against my ear before he begins unbuttoning my pants.
Oh, God.
It's obvious he's not some safe, nerdy virgin after all. Nor is he an undercover cop trying to arrest me.
It's so much worse than that.
And the worst part is...this is all my fault.
I struggle against him, but it's no use.
I bash my head against my window in hopes that someone will hear my muffled screams. Or that I'll pass out before the unthinkable happens.
I close my eyes and whimper against the window before the door is ripped open and I feel myself begin to move forward.
I open my eyes and can tell I'm about to hit the concrete, but I'm hauled up just in the nick of time. I'm then shoved out of the way as some massive creature reaches inside the car and yanks my attacker out.
Wait a minute...I recognize that broad back.
I open my mouth to scream, but can't due to the tape.
For the next few minutes, Jackson unleashes a plethora of punches and kicks. Blood is dripping from the guy's face, lip, and nose down onto the concrete.
I begin jumping up and down in hopes to get him to stop.
I don't want to be the cause of him murdering some guy...even if a part of me thinks he deserves it.
Finally, he stops punching the guy and looks at me. His features change from concern to disbelief. “Alyssa?”
He quickly rips the tape off my mouth. “He handcuffed me, Jackson.”
He looks at my bound hands behind my back. “Yeah, I can see that,” he says before he picks the guy up by his collar and searches his pockets. “I can't find the key.”
The guy lifts his head and spits blood at him. “That's because there isn't one. Whore's like her don't deserve to be free,” he says, before Jackson delivers one final punch and the guy passes out cold.
“Um, is he?' I ask.
“No. Should be, though.”
With a grunt, he lifts the guy's body over his head and throws him in the nearest dumpster. “I think it's safe to say that he won't be bothering you anymore.”
“Thanks, but it was my fault.”
He shakes his head. “Why do most victims feel the need to blame themselves?”
“You don't understand. I was the one who propositioned him for sex. I mean, I thought he was a nice, normal guy. Then things got out of hand, but before that, I knew exactly what I was getting into.”
He gives me an odd look, almost as if he's seeing who I am for the first time. “Still wasn't your fault,” he mumbles. “I saw you fighting against him, you clearly didn't want it anymore.”