Rising Hope by Edie James

12

Fingers still digginginto her neck, Sarah’s attacker shoved her forward. “Get moving.”

She stumbled down the front steps, trying to stem the panic bubbling through her veins. Observe. Plan. She knew the steps. Wait for an opening, then run.

Throat clogged with fear, and the acrid stench of old sweat and stale marijuana smoke, she struggled to stay calm. No way this attack was random. The man would be after her stash. And the cash a high-volume dealer would have on hand.

The porch light illuminated the two of them. They’d be easily seen from the street. Stalling him would be the best plan. If only someone would drive by. In this neighborhood, the odds weren’t good.

“Go.” The man shoved harder, pushing her toward the street.

Another figure appeared from around the corner of the house. The delivery guy. He reached for her, revealing a lurid tattoo of a laughing devil on his needle-scarred forearm.

Diablos.

A local motorcycle gang with ties to the Hells Angels, they sold drugs, stolen goods, women, basically anything they could get their hands on. And they didn’t play well with others.

So this was a drug raid, pure and simple.

As the men yanked her toward their vehicle, she kicked herself. Stupid to go to the door.

The first attacker had a hunting knife on his hip and a handgun in the waistband of his greasy jeans. The delivery guy had a sawed-off shotgun trained in her general direction. If her experience was anything to go on, these two would be heavy on armament, light on skills.

And ruthless. Never forget that. Killing her wouldn’t bother them. Most likely, they’d enjoy it.

The first attacker released his grip on her neck and gestured for her to get in the back seat.

She thought about fleeing, but it would be too easy to shoot her in the back. She’d have to bide her time.

The older man had dead eyes and an air of menace. Nothing she wasn’t used to dealing with. He may have committed his share of heinous crimes, but he was standing too close. That was his first mistake.

His second? Not seeing her as a threat.

Both men were too focused on their surroundings to notice her much. They were worried about being IDed. About the police showing up.

They should have worried about her.

“Stop it!” she pleaded in her best girlie-girl voice, channeling her inner Peaches. “Let’s talk. I’m open to a deal.”

The driver snorted, but the guy holding the gun on her paused. She could literally feel him thinking.

“The deal’s simple, woman. You’re going to take us to your stash.”

A glimmer of an idea hit her. “We don’t n-need to go anywhere. It’s here.”

The man grunted. “Cool. Get in the car.”

“There’s no need—”

“Get in. You’ll be hanging out with my man here while I get the drugs.” He grinned meanly. “Play nice and we’ll let you keep your credit cards.”

She craned her neck, trying to judge whether they were still in view from the outside security cameras on the porch. She’d been told the DEA had agents monitoring the house security feeds, but she knew what the agency’s budget looked like. Any outside monitoring would be random, at best. Especially when they weren’t on high alert. There was no telling when, or if, anybody was watching this.

She had to figure she was on her own.

Probably best to play dumb and hope these burnouts continued to underestimate her.

She sniffled, splaying her hands so the faint streetlight ahead caught the enamel on her brightly manicured nails. “You don’t need my stash. I know people. I-I can get you a meeting with the suppliers. Seriously. Just don’t hurt me.” She sobbed, turning her head away so the guy wouldn’t notice there were no tears in her eyes.

Her performance didn’t sway him. He jabbed her in the ribs with his weapon. “Get in. We’ll take a little ride around the block while you think about it.”

Before he could poke her again, she pulled the door open.

Delivery Guy got in the front seat and fired up the engine.

Now was her chance.

She clutched the doorframe. “Let me go! I’ll scream.”

“Knock yourself out.” The man looked amused. “Who’s gonna hear you?”

He had a point. Her nearest neighbor was a quarter mile away. If they were even in residence. The surf boomed in the background, as if to highlight his point.

Maintaining a high profile had its risks.

She’d known an attack like this was a possibility. Playing like she had unlimited access to a very pricey designer drug would bring out the cockroaches.

Hoping she could execute the plan she’d just devised, she dove into the part, slamming her head on the doorjamb as she tried to get into the vehicle.

Hand to her head, she reeled back, moaning. “Ouch! I hit my head.” She screeched loudly. “Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.”

She danced back from the car, shimmying ineffectually, hoping she wasn’t overplaying the hysteria.

Her attacker backed away, too. A natural reaction to an out-of-control female. “Calm down. You’re fine.”

Exactly what she hoped for. Now she had enough distance to strike. She kicked out, feeling the snap of contact as her heel hit his wrist, sending his gun flying.

Then she ran.

Her back tensed. She expected a bullet to slam into her any second, but after a few shouts, all she heard were crashing waves and the squeal of a slipping fan belt as the delivery car lurched into gear. The older guy was probably giving chase on foot, but she didn’t dare slow down to look. It wouldn’t matter. Either she was faster and fitter, or she wasn’t. Slowing down to check would only ensure he caught her.

By the time she hit the first corner, her lungs burned. She ignored the pain and sprinted on, searching the shadows for a bailout. Anything to get her out of the line of fire.

One block farther down, a row of wind-stunted trees separated the exclusive neighborhood from the slightly less-exclusive places closer to town. She dove straight through the shrubs. Branches tore at her arms and legs. She ignored the pain, pushing straight through the matted vegetation.

Once on the far side, she stumbled out onto a narrow street, far darker than the well-lit ones in the nicer ‘hood. She slowed to a walk, hoping to hear her pursuers, but she was breathing too hard to hear a thing.

She risked a look behind her. Now she heard the vehicle. They were racing up the street on the far side of the trees. She pulled back into the shadows.

It wouldn’t take them long to reach her position. She eyed the cliffside homes. Backs to the ocean, they lined the road, shoulder-to-shoulder, with barely a few feet between dwellings, blocking off access to the beach beyond. Like many beachfront places, the entries were nothing but fortresses, high walls with unscalable gates, making it impossible to tell if any were occupied.

Not that she could bring this kind of violence into anyone’s home. These prison-hardened men wouldn’t hesitate to take out anyone offering her shelter.

She’d have to do this on her own.

The squeal of tires reached her. They were exiting the neighborhood. She had a few seconds. Maybe.

A glimmer of light caught her eye from the far end of the street. Yellow light. A sign. Pizza.

There’d be people there. Lots of them, if the place was any good. Too many for her attackers to take on.

Clinging to the shadows, she sprinted onward.