Battlefield Love

by Skyler Andra

  But when he spoke, there was something almost weirdly respectful about his voice. “You’re perfect.”

  “What?” I hung up on him, shaking my head.

  Whatever. Tomorrow I’d go to the cops, and on Monday get my number changed at the phone kiosk in the mall. But for now, I switched off my phone and chucked it on my kitchen counter. Still shaking, I checked the locks on my door and windows. Content that no one was getting inside my apartment, I sat down on the futon that served as my couch. I took a long, slow breath to calm my spiking pulse, the same one that had made me want to throw my work phone at my wall.

  Despite buying a few items of furniture with my phone sex money, namely a two-person dining table—which doubled as my study desk—and a bed and the futon, my apartment was still pretty barren. The desk by the window I’d gotten off the curb, and the last tenant had left my microwave. The bed was in the tiny closet that served as my bedroom. Thinking of further ideas to decorate my place helped as a distraction. Right when I had a brilliant idea for a tree lamp on a coffee table a bright glow lit up my window.

  Alarm bells peeled in my mind. What was that thing? My imagination ran wild with ridiculous theories like a nuclear blast and citywide disasters. Damn the phone sex gig. It heightened my creativity and sometimes I couldn’t switch it off.

  The white glow grew so strong that it blinded me, and I lifted my hands to shield my eyes. I didn’t have time to run or to hide from the bright orb flowing through my window right at me. The thought oh no flashed in my mind before the heat of it overwhelmed me. Brightness claimed me, and everything else just… stopped.

  Chapter 2

  Oh, wow, I’m not good at drinking.

  That was my first thought upon waking up on the floor of my bathroom, my cheek pressed on the cold antique checkered tile, and my shoulder aching from my awkward position. I sat up, also conscious of the dull ache in my head and a strange warmth in my body. My fingers found my forehead and rubbed it.

  “Damn it,” I said at spotting all the molted hair and dust littering my floor.

  Two thoughts flashed in my head. One: I really ought to sweep my bathroom more than I did. Two: I hadn’t gone drinking in months.

  What the heck?

  Then all the details of earlier came flooding back. The brilliant glow that had lit up the window. Lit me up as well. But I didn’t remember getting to the bathroom. Who knew how much time had passed since then.

  Oh god, what if I had a tumor? Suddenly, it all made sense. Threatening voices on the phone that shouldn’t have been able to get through to me, a bright light, me falling unconscious. Terror pulsed in my veins. I scanned the bathroom for my cell phone to look up the symptoms of a tumor, but it wasn’t there. Even in the midst of a freak-out, I figured that I would have my phone with me. Damn it. I must have left it out on the counter after that creepy call.

  Don’t be ridiculous. I tried to reason with myself and calm my hammering heartbeat. My mind really got away with me sometimes. I still blamed my overactive imagination, spawned from my phone sex gig.

  What if it was something as simple as dehydration or exhaustion? Some beneficial even. Like I’d woken up with super powers.

  Yeah.

  Phone Sex Spiderwoman. I snorted at myself. That sounded exactly like something that would happen to me.

  Using the sink to brace myself, I stood up, pleased that I wasn’t really shaky at all.

  “Good god,” I said, catching my reflection in the mirror. “I look a hot mess.”

  Brown hair everywhere and in need of a decent trim. Grey eyes wild and sleepy. Lines from the tiles across my left cheek. A strange stain on my high school shirt. Damn it. I’d have to soak that.

  My feet padded against the cold tiles as I moved to the closed door.

  “That’s strange,” I mumbled.

  I never closed the door unless I had someone visiting. At turning the knob and it refusing to budge, I got what my eighth nasty surprise of the night. Even when I applied more pressure, the door wouldn’t open, and I realized it had locked me in.

  “Not again,” I groaned.

  This was one reason why I didn’t close the bathroom door. My apartment was legitimately terrible—the door about as flimsy as varnished cardboard. I went to rattle it and try to shake it free when I heard a noise from outside.

  Heavy footfalls. Two voices. Men speaking.

  My heart thudded hard in my chest.

  I put my ear to the door and strained to make them out.

  “She’s definitely the one,” rasped one voice.

  “Yeah, he doesn’t make mistakes,” another croaked. “We have to get the extraction team here soon from Carbondale. Shouldn’t be too long.”

  Extraction team? Yeah, no, that wasn’t happening. Escaping through my front door wasn’t a possibility when I had to walk past the creeps in the living room.

  That left me with three options. Get out of my apartment before they came for me. Call the cops and let them deal with the creeps. Or chase them the hell out of my apartment. Option one meant leaving through my bathroom window to get to the fire escape outside. I wasn’t keen on breaking the glass and possibly cutting myself to do that. The second option meant I had to get out of the bathroom and get to my phone. But from the sound of it, the dudes hovered in the kitchen where I’d left it, so that option was also out. Left with only the last choice, chase the creeps, and so I took it. No one was going to invade my space without paying dearly.

  Once before I’d been locked in by accident. I never made that mistake again. It hadn’t been hard to get out that time. I just rattled the door and shook it out of position. That’s what I did this time, quietly and gently of course, and open sesame. I snuck my head out the door, catching one of the creeps in my kitchen, hunting through my drawers. How dare he? He was going to pay for going through my personal effects.

  Over my shoulder, I searched for anything I might use as a weapon to get rid of these creeps. A bath bomb rested on the edge of my tub. I could throw it. But that would leave me empty handed. Squirt a bottle of body wash in their eyes? Nah. Might make things messy. The mouthwash on the sink? Shit. Why hadn’t I stashed a secret weapon somewhere for an occasion like this? An iron saucepan or something. Oh, that’s right. Because I never planned on my apartment being invaded.

  Another idea came to mind. I could sneak out to the cupboard in the hallway and grab my broom. Whack these dicks right where it hurt. That’d get rid of them.

  My feet made the choice for me. Slowly, I snuck out of the bathroom into the hall, stopping at the rickety cupboard.

  Okay. I was doing this. Suddenly, my chest was pumping furiously. I was surprised they didn’t hear me wheezing like an old radiator.

  The cupboard clicked as I opened it, and I shut my eyes and scrunched up my face, hoping they hadn’t heard. They hadn’t. They were bragging about catching me, the bonus they’d get paid, and how they’d get laid because of it. That made me shudder.

  My hands shook, making it hard to hold the broom steady. I wiped my sweaty palms along my shirt. Taking a deep breath, I gripped my weapon tighter, ready to wield it. But as I stalked into my living area, my stomach dropped. A Taser and gun hung from each of the creeps’ belts.

  Crap. Crap. Crap. A broom was no match for those weapons.

  Silently, I retreated back into the hallway. Terror clamped on my lungs. Back pressed against the wall, I struggled for breath. I wasn’t wasting any time trying to figure out what was going on. Nor was I going to get any decent response from whoever was in my damned living room without an invitation.

  Panic streamed through me. Now I was left with only one option. Escape through the window over my toilet. I rushed into the bathroom, carefully closing the door again.

  I turned to the window. The frame was made of rotting wood, and a cold winter breeze filtered through the cracks. I’d been trying to get the landlord to repair it for the entire time I’d lived here. With my wide hips, I didn’t have a chan
ce of crawling through the open window. But if I could get the frame out, that might be a different story.

  By the way the dudes in my living room spoke about me, and their big payday for catching me, I figured they weren’t going to just let me escape. In case they heard me messing around with the frame, I locked the bathroom door again. Not that it would hold them for long, but it was a head start. Enough time to get down one level into another apartment to call the cops.

  Standing on the closed toilet, I wrapped my towel around my fist. The smart thing to do would have been to grab a pair of shoes and avoid running around barefoot. But there wasn’t enough time. I had to work fast. Who knew how long I’d been knocked out for, and at any moment, the extraction team could arrive. I didn’t want to think about what those assholes had in store for me.

  Taking a shaky breath, I tried to remember what I’d learned from the free martial arts class I’d taken in college. I could still remember the older Korean woman walking around the group with a sharp eye, shouting at us to punch through, not at something.

  All right. Here goes.

  I envisioned my fist hitting the corner of the window frame squarely, busting the wood off it. This probably was going to hurt like hell, and I sucked in a breath, preparing for the pain. Ready as I’d ever be, I punched at the corner of the frame. The wood splintered, but the frame remained intact. Pain cracked in each knuckle and I shook my fist.

  Oww…. I wanted to say more curse words, but I bit back at them.

  From the living room, I heard male voices rise in panic.

  Damn. They were onto me.

  Time to suck up the pain, princess. Ignoring my aching knuckles, I took a deep breath and did it again. The frame tumbled from the wall, and the glass shattered. So much for not making any noise. If I stopped to feel the pain, it would hurt a lot more, as would the dozens of tiny cuts that I’d gotten from the broken window.

  A muffled swear broke out from beyond the window.

  What the hell? Don’t tell me more of these creeps were waiting out there for me to prevent my escape.

  Cold air blasted me as I peered out the window. Light from the nearby streetlights illuminated the silhouette of a slender man, about my age or slightly younger. A mad grin extended across his face, and for some reason, when I saw him, I wanted to laugh with delight.

  “Come on, love of my days,” he said, extending me a manicured hand through the hole. “We need to run.”

  “Who the hell are you?” I said, suspicious of this stranger perched on the fire exit outside my window. For all I know he one of them. Or worse.

  To my surprise, he grabbed my upper arm and lifted me with ease. My feet dangled over the toilet and I flailed trying to get free, even though falling might result in something not so pleasant. His other hand clamped on my opposite arm and gave a powerful tug. I grunted as he yanked me through the opening. My hips wedged in the space much more snugly than I was comfortable with. Oh, goddamn it, what a time to be reminded about that extra ten pounds I needed to lose.

  I was half out of the window and half in it when someone rattled the doorknob. Crap. Either way, I was in deep…

  The stranger outside my window kept tugging me. Inch by inch, I slid free. The hard edges of the hole scraped my hips, ripping my T-shirt. Shit, if I wasn’t careful, I was not going to have much to cover me soon.

  Behind me, the door bust open. One of the creeps staggered in.

  “Come on, love of my days,” the man holding me said, his voice strained as he pried me free of the window frame.

  There was a kind of hairy moment where the creep pulled his Taser loose from his belt.

  My throat dried to the point where I couldn’t swallow.

  He was about to shoot me with the thing when it turned into a toy gun with a suction cup dart instead. The damn dart ejected and hit me in the head. Again I screamed, yanking it off me. The man’s brows knotted in confusion.

  “Hurry, love of my days.” The slender man behind me hoisted me up by my armpits.

  “Why do you keep calling me that?” I snapped, wriggling to get free.

  My answer was smothered by the creep in my bathroom shouting, “Let her go.”

  From the sliver of bathroom still visible, I saw him leap onto the toilet and shove his arm through the opening. He seized my leg and dragged me backwards.

  I screamed, instinctively kicking like a stomping horse. My socked foot cracked him right in the nose. Clutching his bloodied face, he staggered backwards and fell off the toilet. His companion caught him and pushed him aside.

  “Come with me, love of my days,” the slender man said, dragging me down the fire escape by my arm. “Unless you want to die.”

  He was dressed awfully suave for a rescuer. The fine silk of his suit and shirt reeked of flashy wealth. Truthfully, he reminded me more of a hitman, and perhaps I shouldn’t have been going anywhere with him. I didn’t have time to examine him further, to check for stashed weapons or handcuffs, before something moved above.

  The butt of a gun poked out my windowsill.

  My nails dug into the slender man’s back, and he glanced over his shoulder.

  The metal of the creep’s gun sagged like something I’d see in a cartoon.

  Just what in hell was going on here? My breath was stuck in my throat, along with my voice. I lurched forwards as I was pulled down another level. My legs were shaking like crazy and almost giving way beneath me.

  Something clattered on the metal above. The toy gun, no doubt. Grunts sounded as if the creep were trying to climb out after us.

  I chanced a peek and found his shoulders jammed in the aperture.

  Good. That’d keep him for a moment.

  I didn’t take a breath until we landed on the alley below. Trash skittered along the grimy pavement. Steam hissed out of an exhaust from the back of a restaurant. Rats squeaked in a nearby dumpster. Figures in the middle of a drug deal yelled and scattered. Sirens blared in the distance. Talk about the epitome of deadbeat. I rubbed my forearms, wanting to be anywhere but here.

  “Who are you?” I demanded, refusing to take another step until I got answers.

  Everything about this rescue was so predictable. How did this stranger know I was in trouble? Why did he just happen to be perched outside on my fire escape at the right time? Dammit, why was he so handsome?

  He stroked the side of my face as if familiar with me and I shivered. The corner of his full lips turned upwards. “Someone who wants you safe.”

  Uh, yeah, handsome strangers just didn’t happen to girls like me.

  Car lights flickered over us as a vehicle drove past, illuminating the deepest green eyes I’d even seen. Dark like a forest of ferns, but concealing secrets. Many of them.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and glared. “I’m going to need more answers than that.”

  “You’re welcome to stay here and wait for Mr. Rubber Gun,” he warned with a grin, totally at odds with the danger behind us.

  “This isn’t funny,” I said, not appreciating his flippant attitude. “Someone is bringing an extraction team to collect me. What for? Where do they want to take me? Who were those jerks in my apartment? How do I know you’re not one of them?”

  The man ran a hand through his sexy blond hair, which was long on top and short at the sides. Goddamn, with that cheeky grin, he kind of reminded me of a model I’d see flicking through a fashion magazine. His grin that tugged at my insides, urging me to smile with him.

  “I’ll tell you everything in the car,” he promised, offering his hand.

  “No,” I said, storming off in the opposite direction. “I’m going to the damn cops about those assholes who broke into my apartment.”

  The stranger raced after me, skidding to a halt in front of me. “Oh, trust me, they can’t help you. I can.”

  How the hell did he know that?

  For some reason, I believed him. Call it gut instinct. It always warned me to get off the line when a crazy called in. Som
ething about him, his magical appearance, the look in his eyes, the concern for me, told me he wouldn’t hurt me. That I could trust him. Call me stupid, but I followed him down the alley. I just hoped he didn’t make me regret it.

  Chapter 3

  My rescuer led me around the corner, where a series of parked cars shone under the glow of the street lamps. Despite the fact that time was of the essence, I blinked at the sleek black car on the curb and then glanced back at my rescuer.

  “Bit flashy for a getaway car?” I said, admiring the sleek latest-model BMW.

  “You like it?” he asked, slipping his hand between the handle and the door, and it unlocked.

  For a girl like me, a luxury car like this was a treat. “The best vehicle a man has ever driven me in was a SUV. And that had smelled like sweat and air freshener.”

  The delicious sound that came out of his mouth, a honeyed laugh, stroked my insides in ways I’d never felt before. I had to brace myself against the window to stop my knees from giving in.

  “You’ve never been treated like a goddess, before.” The way he said goddess left tingles all over my body. I sure hoped to be treated like one. If he offered to do so, then I wasn’t going to complain one bit.

  He gently held the door open for me, and the new car smell hit me. The softness of the leather interior called to me to sit in it. I bet I looked super classy in my ripped T-shirt, sexy pajama bottoms and socks inside this car. Probably no different from half the rich, spoiled celebrity teens on reality TV. And with plenty of junk in my trunk, although mine was all real, bitches.

  Holding back a smile, I got in, gliding along the leather and into the seat.

  The stranger grinned at me as he got behind the wheel.

  Among all the prestige, I felt scruffy and unkempt with my messed hair and worn, old pajamas. Head tucked, I picked balls of fluff from my pants and stared at my leg.