Page 38 of Devil's Azalea

No, don’t go there.

But my body betrays me, heat pooling low in my belly as I remember the insistent pressure of his erection against my ass, the way his breath felt hot against my neck.

Then the image of Ryan Barlowe’s lifeless body crashes through the memory, and the heat dies instantly. The poor dead waiter. I found his wallet after Rafael left me alone in thatoffice. Tomorrow I’ll look him up, see if someone’s waiting for him to come home, someone who’ll file a missing persons report when he doesn’t. I flip to my side, not wanting to think anymore.

A bone-deep exhaustion weighs me down, anchoring me to the bed. It’s been a long day. A long year. Scratch that—a long decade. I need sleep. Twelve dreamless hours where I don’t exist, don’t remember, don’t want. But my brain buzzes relentlessly, keeping me painfully awake.

I toss and turn for hours, still wide awake when Katie finally comes home in the early predawn hours. Her footsteps are soft as she approaches my room. I squeeze my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep when she opens my door to peek in.

“Oops,” she murmurs, carefully closing the door again.

I keep my eyes shut, listening to her footsteps fade towards her room. Seconds later, the shower hisses to life. Still, I keep my eyes stubbornly shut.

Then—

Dark voices speaking in angry Italian fill the frigid room.

I’m flat on my stomach on the cold, unforgiving concrete floor, my jaw, hip, and arms throbbing in symphony with the roaring ache in my skull.

Everything hurts.

And from the snippets of conversation I catch—men arguing over who should get a turn with me first—I know it’s about to get worse. So much worse.

I need to get out of here. But I can’t move without my entire body screaming.

Have to move, have to move, have to move.

Each breath burns, my chest wrecked from the kicks I took earlier.

God, I was so stupid. Coming here.

Hot tears mixed with snot drip to the floor.

Move!

My heart gallops wildly, painfully. I stretch a hand out. Drag myself forward.

Not even an inch.

It’s unbearable.

Pain lashes up my spine. And a scream threatens to tear through my throat.

But I can’t stop.

Move or risk a fate worse than death.

So I drag myself again and again. Crawling inch after agonizing inch.

Help me!

Somebody, anybody, help...

More tears as I gain another precious inch.

My hand stretches again?—

Sudden movement behind me casts a man’s shadow over my broken body. He chuckles as if he’s amused by something.Me. And my pathetic attempt at escape.