Crash into You (Pushing the Limits, #3)(39)

It’s frightening seeing Eric. At the drag race he fit in, but here, among guys who wear white shirts and ties to school, he looks...terrifying. He’s tall, blond, and his body is more bones than muscle, like this skinny man I saw once in a drug prevention video. My heart quickens its pace. Why is he here? How does he know my name?

“Rachel Young,” he says again. “You have something of mine.”

My head shakes back and forth and then I wonder if it’s my body shaking. “I don’t have anything of yours.”

He tips a hand to his ear. “What was that? I didn’t hear you. You should speak up.”

The smile on his face says he’s mocking me, but I don’t know why. I’ve done nothing to him.

Eric invades my personal space and I beg my feet to move. Instead, I become stone embedded in the ground. My breath comes out faster and I can’t draw in enough air to compensate for the loss. He reaches in my direction and touches my hair. His hand is ashy, cracked in spots, and I want so badly for him to disappear.

“You’re pretty,” he says. My gold hair falls from his fingers like rain. “And you played the innocent act well. I bought it then, but I won’t buy it now. Give me my f*cking money or I’ll have my boys put you in the hospital.”

My voice trembles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit!” he snaps. His anger gives me the courage to stumble back.

He advances on me with his hand waving in the air. “The cops can’t touch me. Your parents can’t touch me. But I can touch you. The only thing that will stop that from happening is if you give me my money.”

The world spins and all the thoughts in my head jumble together. I can’t breathe. I can’t. Instinctively, my arms wrap around my stomach as I sway.

Rough hands grab my face and all I see are eyes with no soul. “Hell no. You’re not going down. Give me my money or tell me where it is.”

My stomach lurches and a high-pitched buzzing washes away his voice. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. Eric tightens his hold on my chin, creating pain, making me unable to open my mouth for air. He’s going to crush my skull.

My airways no longer work. Small lights flutter in the periphery, and Eric’s mouth moves as if he’s yelling. I can’t hear him over the loud humming in my head. I close my eyes. A hand clamps on my shoulder and shakes me as if I’m a doll. The buzzing shifts into roaring.

The pressure on my chin, on my shoulder, disappears—leaving me floating in nothing until gravity forces me to the ground. I crumple—gasping. I convulse with the dry heaves. Blood pounds at every pressure point. I retch forward and place my hands on the cold blacktop to keep my face from hitting the loose rocks.

I suck in air and the sound is a wheeze. I draw air in again, lift my head, and through disoriented tunnel vision I spot a shadow throwing Eric against my car. Someone has come for me. A savior.

He turns and I know those eyes. Isaiah. “Rachel!”

I sit back on my knees and waver when a fresh flash of dizziness disorients me.

With a fist curled into the material of Eric’s coat and an arm shoved into his windpipe, Isaiah slams Eric into my car. “What the f*ck did you do to her?”

Eric speaks as if he, too, is having trouble breathing. “Make your move, my brother. But if you do, you better kill me because you will not like my retaliation.”

Lifetimes stretch as Isaiah stares into Eric’s eyes. With a final push, Isaiah releases him. “Stay away from her.”

Eric smooths out his shirt and readjusts his coat. He leans into Isaiah. “I am not your enemy. That girl—” he points at me “—stole what’s mine. Stop thinking with your dick and get your head in the game. That was your money, too.”

The staring continues and Eric glances away first. Isaiah rounds on me, and I fall back onto my bottom in terror. This isn’t the guy who protected me in the bar and kissed me in his apartment. Like a thundercloud racing across the sky, he’s massive, strong, and he’s moving my way. The muscles in his arms ripple as he stalks.

My breath continues to pump in and out in shallow intervals. Isaiah crouches next to me. His eyes a gray storm; his expression cold, flat. “Rachel.”

I don’t remember his voice sounding gruff. I don’t remember him being this frightening.

He lifts his hand and hesitates when I shudder. His lips press together in a line. “He will pay for touching you.”

Several feet behind Isaiah, Eric calls out, “Whenever you’re ready to discuss this situation, I’ll be standing right here.”

My eyes dart behind Isaiah’s shoulder, but Isaiah shifts so that he fills my line of sight. “I’ve got you, Rachel. You need to trust me.”

Trust him. His eyes soften to liquid silver, and for the first time I can inhale a lungful of air. And I smell him: his calming scent of spices. Isaiah did scare me before—when I first met him, but then he saved me, like he’s doing now.

I nod and Isaiah caresses my cheek. His fingers are warm against my freezing skin.

“I need you strong, okay?” he whispers. “Eric thrives off of weakness. I need you to stand and let me handle this.”

I lick my dry lips and test my voice. “He said I have his money.” He said he’s going to hurt me. “I don’t understand.”