Vanessa Carmichael
The rapping of knuckles against the door announced Zane’s arrival, effectively causing me to pause in my kitchen.
I glanced down, making sure I was presentable, then chastised myself for being so vain. It wasn’t like he could see me from where he was. Nor could he hear the way my heart began to race, or the little marching band that took to running around like ants on crack in my belly. That was all taking place right there in my small kitchen, but he was too far away to know.
Thank God.
I was both anxious and nervous to see him again. Although I had repeatedly refused to go to Alluring Indulgence’s groundbreaking ceremony with him, he wasn’t giving up. If he was anything, Zane Walker was persistent. His appearance on my front porch was proof.
Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly and turned toward the front door. I walked over, attempting to appear cool and aloof, wanting him to think I wasn’t excited by his presence.
I pulled open the door, my gaze sliding over the big man on my porch. Zane’s dark hair was peeking out from beneath his Stetson, that incredibly sexy smirk was plastered on his too-handsome face, and those beautiful blue-gray eyes were shining brightly back at me.
No matter how much I tried to stay away from him, one tilt of those beautiful lips had my pulse jackhammering and my heart giving up the fight to keep my distance.
“Give me one minute. I just need to get my purse,” I told him, and turned back to the kitchen.
The last thing I needed was for him to come inside, because if he did, we’d probably never make it to the ceremony. He’d have me flat on my back and naked in the blink of an eye. For some reason, when Zane was close, my clothes just seemed to fall off.
Glancing one more time in the mirror in the entryway, I smiled at my reflection. My brain was a scrambled mess of emotions lately; most of them having something to do with Zane and his relentless pursuit of me.
I wasn’t used to that sort of thing from a man, and quite frankly, I’d gotten so good at turning men down. Zane Walker was the exception to the rule. He was an enigma, and I wasn’t sure how to handle him. He wasn’t giving up, and as much as I dreaded going out with him, I was also looking forward to it. Had been for days. No matter how many times I turned him down, I always secretly hoped he wouldn’t give up on me. So far, he hadn’t.
Reaching for my purse and grabbing my keys and cell phone, I turned back to the door only to flinch, startled by a loud noise that sounded like it was right on my front porch.
“What the hell?” I muttered, rushing to the door.
I came up short, frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at the scene playing out right there in my yard.
“Not here,” Zane growled fiercely, moving closer.
“Right here,” one of the men countered roughly. “You wanna act all tough, we’ll show your whore just how tough you are.”
Dropping everything, I darted out the door, the wooden screen slamming against the wall as I barreled through it, a loud noise piercing the air around me. I realized immediately that the sound was coming from me. I was shrieking like a banshee as I pounded down the stairs, stumbling over the last step and falling to my knees.
“Go back inside, V. Right now!” Zane yelled, but I couldn’t understand what he was telling me. I heard the words, but I was too distracted by the four men standing around him to comprehend his instructions.
Jake Sanders.
Oh, God!
My heart began pounding harder, the roar of my blood in my ears, and my breaths soughing in and out of my lungs. From where I was, I could see blood on the back of Zane’s head, but he was standing on his own two feet, poised like a fighter in a ring as he moved slowly, trying to keep all four men in his sights.
Suddenly there was movement. Lots and lots of movement.
All four men rushed Zane, each of them holding something in his hands.
I squinted, my brain scrambling to identify what—metal. They were wielding metal pipes. No. Wait. Those were … tire irons.
Oh, God!
Without hesitation, they began slamming them against Zane repeatedly as he tried desperately to fend them off. I watched in absolute horror as Zane stumbled to the ground before pushing himself back up again.
“No!” I shouted, pushing back to my feet and stumbling yet again as I tried to get closer. “Stop!”
The words never stopped coming. I kept yelling, trying to get closer, wanting to help, but not sure what to do.
Call the police.
Yes. That was what I needed to do.
My gaze darted to my hands, expecting to find my cell phone, but it wasn’t there. I needed to call for help, but it was nowhere to be seen.
Pushing back to my feet, my adrenaline racing like a freight train through my bloodstream now, I ran directly into the melee, as the four men continued to attack Zane with the weapons they brandished. I shoved at anyone I could reach, only to be shoved back. One guy—I didn’t recognize him—threw a fist toward my face, connecting with my jaw.
I stumbled back, momentarily stunned by the pain.
Zane roared with fury, slamming into the guy and sending him backward, only for another to slam a pipe into his back.
“Teach you to help the whore,” one of them shouted.
“Stupid slut,” the one who’d hit me snapped.
I didn’t give up, attempting to get close again. They were taunting me, laughing at my feeble attempt to help.
“Leave him alone!”
“Shut up, bitch.”
I wanted to cry, but there was no time for it. I had to do something. But what? I looked around, my gaze darting to the houses as I started screaming again, trying to get someone’s attention.
Zane was bleeding profusely, but he kept fighting, continued to defend himself.
Why wasn’t anyone responding to my screams?
Oh, God!
There was so much blood. Right before my eyes, Zane was crumpling to the ground, but I watched in amazement as he tried to hold his own. Before he dropped to his knees, his fist slammed into the face of one of his attackers. The guy stumbled back, holding his nose as blood spurted everywhere.
“Go inside!” Zane’s voice didn’t sound nearly as charged as it had moments before, but I didn’t listen to him anyway. I wasn’t leaving him.
Continuing to scream, I lunged into the guy closest to me, crashing into his back, sending him sideways. Before my brain could tell my feet what to do next, I was falling, my legs unable to hold me up as I went flying backward, landing with a hard thud, knocking the breath from my lungs as my head slammed into the ungiving ground. I tried to get up, but the pain was intense, and the world was spinning.
As I opened my eyes, a wave of dizziness crashed into me. I watched in absolute horror as Zane was brutally, viciously beaten by three of the four men standing in my yard. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t trying to get up, and the loud screeching sound was making my head hurt more.
It was me. I was still screaming at the top of my lungs.
Trying to pick myself up off the ground was harder than I expected, but I managed to make it to my knees, a wave of nausea rushing over me and making me drop my head to the ground. The sound of metal against bone and flesh was too much. The sickening crunch echoed all around me, and I knew they were still hitting Zane, although he wasn’t moving. I lifted my head enough to see that they were now kicking him, landing vicious blows time and time again.
“Stop it!” I was attempting a shout, but the best I could muster was a weak whisper. “Please. Stop!”
I tried again to get to my feet, but I fell. My head was pounding and the world was topsy-turvy, but I had to get to him. I had to stop them.
The next thing I knew, there were more people. My neighbors. Running toward us from all directions. The four men scattered like birds. Somehow, I managed to crawl over to Zane, my hands running over his beaten and bloodied body while I pleaded for him to open his eyes.
He didn’t respond.
Oh, God!
He wasn’t answering me!
I was about to go out of my mind.
Despite the fact that I was the one who told the police all the gory details and I was the first one to the hospital, no one was telling me anything. Begging and pleading hadn’t worked either. So here I was, pacing the floor in the emergency room waiting area, hoping someone would get tired of watching me or, at the very least, feel sorry for me and tell me what the hell they were doing to Zane.
God, I was surrounded by people I didn’t know, some waiting to be seen by a doctor, others waiting patiently for someone or something, and strangely enough, I was as clueless as they were.
I continued to pace, praying that one of those someones they were waiting for would tell me something. Anything. The EMTs had whisked Zane away in the ambulance, leaving me to break down the gory, ugly details to the police. After I’d refused medical treatment, I’d answered a barrage of questions, but the only thing I could think about was getting to Zane. They hadn’t even let me get my phone while they questioned me.
By the time they let me go, I had used my only working brain cells to go inside my house and retrieve my phone that, yes, I had dropped in the entryway. However, I hadn’t even contemplated calling anyone in my race to the hospital. It wasn’t until the nurse at the desk asked if I was a family member that I realized his own family didn’t know what was going on. When it was painfully obvious they weren’t going to let me see him, and they weren’t going to tell me anything, I texted Zoey.
Since then, I had answered my phone at least ten times, every time speaking to a different brother or Zane’s parents, and one time talking to a man named Luke McCoy, whom I didn’t even know. Supposedly, according to the brief phone conversation I had with Lorrie Walker only minutes before, Zane’s parents were on their way, and I was to sit tight.
Right. As if I could even sit down.
Coyote Ridge wasn’t all that far from the Round Rock hospital, but they weren’t getting there fast enough. From what Zoey had messaged, they’d left the groundbreaking ceremony after my initial text.
The groundbreaking ceremony.
Where Zane and I were supposed to be.
Oh, God!
Gripping my head, I paused in my pursuit to cover every square inch of floor space. I had to battle the urge to vomit, which was from the concussion—according to the EMTs—that I likely had. Not that I cared. A slight headache and some nausea were nothing compared to what Zane had endured.
My heart was racing ninety miles a minute, the not knowing taking its toll. I didn’t care about myself. I needed to know how Zane was.
How bad was it? What were they doing to him? Was he going to be all right? Those were only a few of the questions running at lightning speed through my brain, the same questions that everyone who worked in that damn hospital refused to answer for me.
The other question—where was Zoey?
I desperately needed a distraction before I started chewing off my fingernails. A terrible habit I had broken years ago, but one that was threatening to reemerge with a vengeance.
A loud commotion at the ER entrance caught my attention, and I swung around to see a group of people—a large group at that—pushing into the small waiting area. Coming in with them were the chaotic murmurs of concerned family.
“Zoey.” I whispered my friend’s name as she emerged from the group of massive males, making a beeline for me. Never in my life had I been happier to see my best friend than I was right then.
The second I came in contact with her much smaller body, I nearly fell to my knees. Overwhelmed by the enormity of what this all meant, I began sobbing like a baby.
“Honey, I’m here,” Zoey whispered, holding me tightly against her and running a hand through my hair. Being held had never felt so good, and I was relieved to have someone I knew I could turn to.
Chaos ensued around us, but I didn’t look up; nor did I stop crying as I sent up a steady stream of silent prayers for Zane. Even when the buzz of more Walker males settled around us, I continued to sob, never speaking, just quietly begging.
Please, God, please let Zane be okay.
