She yelped, the pain in her shoulder stealing most of her breath, and she tried to yank free. But whoever had her was bigger and stronger, twisting her arm behind her back. She parted her lips to scream, but a gloved hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the sound.
Her mind was on fast-forward, the whole thing taking on a surreal quality. This had to be a nightmare. She’d imagined this scenario so many times that it couldn’t possibly be happening. This isn’t happening.
Her attacker pulled her back against his body, her arm still pinned behind her, and laughed. His breath reeked of cigarettes and beer. “You stupid bitch,” he said, sounding so damn proud of himself. “What can we learn from this? Obviously, you haven’t learned shit. You made this too easy. Didn’t even get your mace fired. Poor Andrea.”
Evan.
Terror filled every cell of her body. He’s found me. The feeling was old and familiar. Lying next to a serial killer, waiting for him to fall asleep, hoping to God she made it out alive. Her worst nightmare all over again. But she forced herself to push through the swirl of flashbacks, not to lose herself completely in the panic. Panic could lie.
This couldn’t be Evan. Evan was in prison for the rest of his life. And replaying the words in her head, this guy didn’t sound like him. What can we learn from this? He’d said that. This was someone who knew her podcast.
She closed her eyes, forcing her voice into something resembling calm. “What do you want?”
The words were muffled against his hand, but she knew they were loud enough for him to hear.
“To see you just like this,” he said. “Terrified. Shaking. Ready to beg me not to hurt you. A useless little girl who thought she was soooo smart, who acts like she’s tough shit online but is just a dumb bitch who could be grabbed right off her own front porch. Your minions would be so disappointed.”
Online. Her minions. She couldn’t believe it. This guy was a fucking troll? She’d been grabbed by some butthurt dipshit from the internet? Her body was trembling from the top of her head to her toes, but she absorbed his words, letting them become fuel. Anger was so much more productive than fear. Her teeth clenched.
No way was she getting taken out by this guy.
“Open your door,” he said, shuffling them both forward. “We need to have a private conversation.”
Never let them take you to a second location.
The words echoed through her head. They were from an old Oprah show she’d once overheard her mom watching. The words had stuck with her, and she’d talked about them on the podcast. She didn’t know if inside her house qualified as an official second location, but there was not a chance in hell she was letting him in without a fight.
She stalled, jiggling her keys in her left hand like she was trying to maneuver them as she quickly ran through what she knew, her mind grasping at information. He had one hand holding her arm behind her back, the other over her mouth. Which meant he had no weapon—at least not actively in his hand. He was bigger than she was, so in a fight, she was at a disadvantage. Her best shot was a distraction and then either getting loose enough to get away and run to the neighbor’s house or at least get her mouth free so she could scream bloody murder.
“Put the key in the fucking lock,” he said, squeezing her jaw so hard it made her eyes water.
She nodded like she was the scared little girl he thought she was. But as she did it, she was getting her keys between her knuckles again. She lifted her left hand with the little range of motion she had as if she was going to reach for the lock, but then she quickly swung her hand back the other way and stabbed him as hard as she could in his thigh.
“Fuck!”
It wasn’t enough to truly injure him, but it was close enough to his crotch that the element of surprise had him angling back to protect himself, and his grip loosened. She wrenched away and screamed like she’d never screamed before. Her arm came free from his grip, and she bolted toward the stairs. But before she could get there, he grabbed her hair and viciously yanked her backward. She fell and landed hard on her ass. Pain shot up her spine, and her scalp burned like it’d been lit on fire.
He called her a slew of names and tugged her hair again, but she was already scrambling, her hands searching. When they found what she was looking for, she didn’t think, just turned and aimed. The hiss of the pepper spray was like a prayer going up. The high-pitched scream that followed was the prayer answered.
Her attacker released her hair to grab for his face, and the stinging burn of the pepper spray made them both cough. But Andi hadn’t taken a direct hit, so she scrabbled backward like a crab toward the stairs, kicking off her shoes. Once she was out of his arm’s reach, she got to her feet and ran down the stairs, screaming the whole way. Her phone was in her purse, which was somewhere on the porch, and she’d dropped her keys in the fray, but she’d bang on every neighbor’s door until someone answered.
However, right before she reached the edge of the front yard, headlights blinded her. She put up her hands to shield her eyes, but then started waving both arms when it registered that this could be someone to help. The vehicle screeched to a halt in the street, and the door swung open.
When her vision adjusted and she recognized the truck, relief rushed over her like a tidal wave. Oh God, oh God. Thank you, God.
Hill climbed out with the headlights still on blast. “Andi!”
She ran toward him, the warm pavement rough against her feet. “Get in the truck! Someone’s on the porch. He attacked me.”
Horror filled Hill’s face as he took in the sight of her. He grabbed her, pulling her to him. “Jesus Christ. Tell me you’re okay.”
The feel of his arms around her was the sweetest relief, but they weren’t out of danger. “I’m okay. In the truck. Get in the truck.”
“Right.” Hill herded her over to the passenger side and got her into the seat.
“I got him…with the pepper spray,” she said, her words coming in gasps. “Need to call…police.”
Hill pulled his phone from his pocket and punched in 911. “Talk to them. I’m not going to let him get away.”
Fresh panic zipped through her. She grabbed him by the belt. “No. Stay here. You’ll get hurt. He could have a weapon.”
The operator came on the line, asking what was her emergency. Andi quickly gave the lady her address and told her she’d been attacked.
As she was trying to describe what was happening, a figure appeared in the beam of the headlights. A lanky white guy in dark jeans, a black T-shirt, and a backward baseball cap. He was swiping at his eyes with one hand and still coughing. He started jogging in the opposite direction.
“Motherfucker,” Hill seethed.
“Please,” Andi begged, pulling the phone away from her ear. “Don’t. Get in the truck. The police are on the way.”