Page 2 of Unbreakable Bonds (The Boston Romance #2)

ALISHA

"Please, stop," I plead after he removes his filthy hand from my mouth. The stench of stale cigarettes and cheap whiskey lingers on my lips, making bile rise in my throat.

He smiles – all predator, no humanity. Pain explodes behind my eyes as his fist connects with my face.

The world spins, concrete rushing up to meet me as I crumple like a marionette with cut strings.

The impact jars every bone in my body. Before I can catch my breath, rough hands grab my dress, dragging me across the ground.

The asphalt scrapes against my skin, each tiny stone a fresh point of agony.

When his palms violate my breasts through the fabric, my mind fractures. Body screaming. Brain shutting down. Please, no!

A sudden bang echoes through the alley. He springs up, head whipping around like a startled animal.

I seize my chance, muscles screaming as I try to crawl away.

The first kick to my back steals my breath.

The second makes something crack. The third.

.. I lose count, each impact sending shockwaves of white-hot agony through my body.

His laughter – low and evil – circles around me like a vulture.

"I'll see you later, doll face."

Footsteps retreat. I try to move, but every twitch ignites fresh fire in my nerves. The pain comes in waves now, each one threatening to drag me under. No blood, but something feels broken inside. Like shattered glass beneath my skin. The edges of my vision blur, darkness creeping in.

"No!" I bolt upright, sweat-soaked sheets tangled around my legs.

My heart slams against my ribs as I fumble for the nightstand light.

The soft glow reveals my bedroom – safe, familiar, empty.

Still trembling, I slide out of bed and stumble to the kitchen.

The coffee machine whirs to life, its gentle hum a poor distraction from the phantom pain still ghosting across my skin.

The clock reads 3 a.m. Just fucking great.

A long, exhausting sigh escapes my lungs when nine o'clock finally crawls around. Time for work. The knock at my door sends my heart rocketing into my throat. You're home. You're safe. Nobody's here. The rational thoughts do nothing to stop my muscles from coiling tight as springs.

"Alisha Alexandra McQueen, open up. We know you're home."

The familiar voice releases some of the tension, and I hurry to unlock the door. "Jeez, give a girl time. I was in the bathroom."

Emma and Bella stand shoulder to shoulder, concern etched across their faces. While Emma plants herself in front of me, hands on hips and eyes searching mine, Bella drifts to the couch with her usual artistic grace.

"So, how are you doing?" Emma's tone brooks no bullshit.

I roll my eyes. "Both of you. Stop asking me that stupid question every single day. I'm fine, look." I force myself through a pirouette, fighting to keep my movements fluid despite the lingering stiffness from another restless night.

"We're not here to analyze your outfit," Emma says, brows furrowed. "How are the nightmares?"

"I don't have them anymore."

Twin looks of disbelief cut through me. "Bullshit! You can't fool us! You're not yourself."

I cross my arms, armor against their concern. "God, what's gotten into you today? Your maternal instincts on overdrive or something?"

"Alisha, tell me the truth." Emma's voice softens. "Did you sleep last night?"

A huff escapes me. "A few hours. But if you'll excuse me, I must go to work. Amanda is waiting in the store."

Their stares burn into me – too knowing, too caring. I love these women, but their concern feels like sandpaper against my raw nerves.

Emma raises one perfectly shaped brow. "We're going if you answer Bella's question truthfully. Do you still have nightmares?"

I turn toward the hallway, unable to face them as the words scrape out of my throat. "Yes. And they're better called night terrors." Without waiting for a response, I escape to my room to make myself presentable.

* * *

After a long exhausting day, I sink into my favorite spot—my loveseat lounge chair.

The giant purple monstrosity might be an eyesore, but right now it feels like heaven as I stretch my aching legs.

Venus had been busy today, the kind of steady stream of customers that usually makes me happy.

Usually. But every ring of the bell above the door had my nerves jumping, every male customer's voice making my skin crawl.

I grunt and massage my temples, trying to rub away the tension headache building behind my eyes.

The worst part? I slapped the delivery guy today—the same one I used to flirt with before.

.. before everything. He'd only tapped my shoulder while I was helping a customer, but my body reacted before my brain could catch up. Will I ever go back to my usual self?

A soft scraping sound freezes me mid-motion. My eyes snap open, scanning the apartment until they land on a pink envelope lying by the door. My heart stutters. When did that—how did it—

I force myself to stand, legs trembling as I approach the innocent-looking paper. No name. No address. Just pristine pink envelope against dark hardwood. My fingers shake as I pick it up, the paper feeling like ice against my skin. The sound of tearing envelope echoes too loud in the silent room.

The typed message stares back at me, black letters burning into my retinas:

See you later, doll face.

The note slips from my numb fingers. My legs give out and I stumble backward until I hit the wall, sliding down to the floor. Through a haze of panic, I manage to pull out my phone, hitting the speed dial with trembling fingers.

"Hey, girlfriend!" Amanda's cheerful voice feels surreal against the roaring in my ears.

"Amanda..." My voice comes out as barely a whisper.

"What is it?" She laughs softly. "Why are you whispering?"

I try to swallow past the desert in my throat. "C-can you please come over?" My eyes stay fixed on the door, half-expecting it to burst open any second. Every shadow in my peripheral vision becomes a threat.

"What's wrong?" The playfulness vanishes from her tone, replaced by sharp concern.

"I-I..." My voice cracks. "I'm scared."

"What—I'm on my way, honey." Keys jingle in the background. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

The call ends but I can't lower the phone.

Can't move. Can't breathe properly. I draw my knees to my chest, making myself smaller, and rock back and forth.

My heart pounds so hard it hurts, each beat a desperate attempt to escape my ribcage.

Tears track down my cheeks, soaking into the sleeve of my robe, but I can't lift my hand to wipe them away. Can't think. Can't—

Time stretches like taffy until a knock breaks through my panic-induced fog. "Alisha? It's Amanda. Open up, honey."

I force myself to stand on wobbly legs, checking the peephole before opening the door. Amanda's concerned face comes into focus as she steps inside, closing and locking the door behind her.

"What's wrong?"

My lip trembles as fresh tears spill over. "He found me!"

"Who?"

With a shaking hand, I point to the letter still lying on the floor. Amanda picks it up, and I watch her jaw clench as she reads the five words that have shattered my fragile sense of safety.

My fingers tangle in my hair, tugging at the strands. "I have to move, Amanda."

She guides me to my chair, her grip gentle but firm.

"Come, take a seat, and I'll make you a cup of tea.

" She hurries to my kitchen, the familiar sounds of her moving around somehow both comforting and surreal.

The clink of cup against saucer, the whoosh of boiling water, the soft thud of the tea canister—normal sounds in a world that's suddenly tilted sideways.

After placing the steaming cup on the table, she sits beside me. "Alisha, I understand you don't want to, but we need to call the police. This is going too far. They need to find this asshole."

A bitter laugh escapes me. "I regret ever going to Six-Pack. If I had stayed home, this wouldn't have happened."

"You don't know that. It may have occurred in another bar or another day. So don't beat yourself up about it. What happened isn't your fault." She hands me my phone. "Now, make the call, or I will." Her tone is commanding yet gentle, laced with the kind of love that won't take no for an answer.

I give her a sidelong glance. "You sound exactly like Bella and Emma this morning."

"That's because we're your friends. We love you, and we want to help you get through this, but you need to accept help. It's okay to say you're not okay. You hold up a strong front to the outside, but behind that wall, you're afraid."

I want to argue, but she holds up her finger, stopping me. "Do it."

With trembling fingers, I dial. Each ring feels like an eternity until finally—

"Boston Police Department. How can I help you?"

Amanda's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. When I don't speak, she squeezes harder, grounding me in the present.

"H-hello, my name is Alisha McQueen. I'm calling because I've received a threat letter at my house from someone who assaulted me a few months ago.