Off Limits(92)

My heart leapt into my throat when I saw Alix’s car parked in one of the visitor spots in the parking lot, and I threw my car into park, blocking her in but not really giving a damn. If someone wanted to call the cops and give me a ticket, I’d be happy about it. Shutting off the engine, I sprinted up to the main gate, frustrated when it turned out to be locked by a number code. Looking around, I saw a gap in the stucco wall that surrounded the building, so I hopped it quickly, landing in what I thought was the middle of someone’s tiny little front yard, probably the building superintendent or handyman. A startled woman stared at me through the window before pointing and beginning to yell.

“Sorry!” I replied before she could come outside. Instead, I ran through onto the main walkway through the building, keeping the number for Hale’s apartment in my mind. It was on the second floor, I quickly figured out, taking the stairs three at a time to the next level, only to find I was on the wrong side of the huge horseshoe that was the building.

I ran as hard as I could, my fear growing with every step. Apartment two twenty-nine was on the corner of the building, and from the way it was shaped was most likely larger than its neighbors. I came closer and slowed to a stop, reaching for the handle, which was locked. “Alix! ALIX! It’s Kade!”

Inside I could hear something moving, then a sound that would haunt me the rest of my life. “Kade! Help me!”

I lowered my shoulder and rammed it into the door frame, the whole thing shuddering but not giving way. Stepping back, I reached up and kicked, wishing I’d chosen kickboxing instead of boxing as a hobby in college. Still, my kick was enough to splinter the simple lock on the door, one of those automatic jobs that was supposed to only supplement deadbolts and chains. The door banged off the hallway drywall before trying to shut on me again, but I threw my shoulder into it again and was in.

Running down the hall, I burst in to see a man, shorter than me but still taller than Alix, kneeling over her with his fist bunched. Alix was on the couch, and the man had one foot on the floor and the other beside Alix’s hip, his left hand reaching for her throat. Alix’s fingers were hooked into claws and she was trying, but he was too far away. Similarly, his legs were positioned so that he could push on her, but she couldn’t knee him in the balls or reach with her hands.

“Get your f*cking hands off her!” I yelled, grabbing Sydney as he turned his head toward me. With all of my anger and rage I pushed him, slamming him into the wall on the far side of the room.

“Get the f*ck off me!” he yelled, trying to turn. “Fucking bitch was trying to rob me!”

“Like hell she was,” I replied, spinning him around. Using some of the street tactics that my boxing coach had taught me, I slammed my forearm into his face, shattering his nose and sending him dazed to the floor. “Motherf*cker.”

I turned away from Sydney and looked at Alix, who was trying to cover herself. In her fight with Sydney, he’d torn her t-shirt and bra, her right breast exposed to the light. I immediately pulled my shirt over my head and handed it to her and grabbed the money off the table. “That’s not his.”

Alix pulled my shirt over her head and tried to get up, but her legs were unable to support her. Trembling, she collapsed to the ground and I caught her, letting the stacks of cash fall to the floor. Ignoring the money, I picked her up in my arms, holding her tight.

“Shhh Alix, it’s okay. I’m here, I’ll protect you,” I whispered before turning my attention back to the still-dazed Sydney. “When I get out of here I’m calling the cops. I swear, if I ever see you again, I’m not going to let you leave alive.”

“My bag,” Alix whispered. “Please, my bag.”

I snagged the bag with my free hand and carried her out of the apartment and out onto the walkway. Neighbors were already sticking their heads out of their apartments, curious as to what was happening. I tried to enlist their help, but nobody would get involved. I tried again in what Spanish I remembered from my childhood and one class in legal Spanish—I asked them to call the police.

One of the neighbors, a middle-aged woman with two kids sticking their heads around her legs, nodded and slammed her door. I could only hope that she was calling the cops, but I wasn’t going to stick around to make sure. This wasn’t the sort of neighborhood that the police responded to quickly, and I worried it would be more dangerous to stick around than to get the hell out of there.

Alix was able to walk a bit as we went down the stairs, and I helped her into the passenger seat. She had a torn shirt, but didn’t look otherwise harmed. She was definitely a bit rattled though. “My car,” she started to object, and I shook my head.

“I’ll call a tow truck for it or something,” I said, firing up the engine. I pulled away and headed toward the Interstate. “Alix, did he touch you?”

“No, you got there in time,” she said, her voice cracking as she realized how lucky she’d been. “But if you hadn’t . . . ”

She broke down sobbing, and I pulled over, leaving the engine running. Reaching over, I took her hand carefully. “Alix . . . Alix, look at me.”

She looked up at me, her eyes puffy with tears, and I knew something for certain: I’d never leave her. “Kade . . . I’m sorry . . . I screwed up so much . . . ” she got out, before the sobs took over again.

I held her hand, wanting to reach over and hold her closer but knowing that she was going through the aftereffects of domestic violence. If I comforted her the way I wanted, I could actually end up hurting her more, scaring her. Instead, I held her hand carefully, looking at her with concern in my eyes. “Alix, do you want me to take you to a hospital?”