Beautiful Beast (Gypsy Heroes #3)(100)

He grins hatefully. ‘Still think you’re too good for me, slut?’

‘No,’ I say, shaking my head, and he punches me in the face.

The blow stuns me. Colored stars dance across my vision, blinding me and making me wobble, before my brain actually registers the explosion of fierce pain. Blood erupts from my nose, splatters his hand, and pours down the sides of my face. Sick fear spreads in my stomach. I want to vomit or piss myself.

He digs his knee into my chest and taking his mobile out of his pocket, starts taking pictures of me bleeding and pinned under him! Terror is like an enveloping coat of freezing cold leaves. This guy means to kill me. But it is a good thing he does that because it allows me to recover slightly. My brain starts rolling into action again. He is too big for me to push off and his position means I cannot even knee him or do any damage to him with my hands.


My only option is to pretend to become unconscious and find a way to open my purse, which is still hooked to my elbow. I let my head loll to the side. If I can just get inside my purse. He takes his knee off my chest and starts unzipping his pants. I do nothing. I keep my breathing even while my fingers are slowly moving into the flap of my bag. Suddenly he drops over me and like a rabid animal bites hard into my neck. So hard I am no longer able to pretend to be unconscious.

I scream. My hand searches frantically inside my bag. He slaps me hard. I feel a knife at my throat. I close my mouth. I have located my mace. Very stealthily I bring it out and in a flash I spray it into his face. He falls backwards, his hands clawing at his face. I seize the moment, pick myself up, and run screaming toward the building. A man—I have seen him before, he must live in the building too—runs to me. He wants to call the police but I say no. I tell him I am too frightened to call the police. I definitely do not want him to call the police.

‘You’ve been attacked. You must tell the police.’

I look at him. ‘It’s someone I know. An ex. I don’t want to call the police, OK?’

He shakes his head in a disgusted way. Together we go back and get my handbag. I thank him, find my keys and go into my apartment.

Melanie is on the phone ordering a Chinese takeout.

‘Fuck! What happened to you?’

‘One of the customers from the club. Remember that creep I told you about?’

‘That pervert Simon?’

I nod. ‘He took pictures of me with his mobile camera.’

‘What a nasty piece of work?’

I go to the mirror. My nose is bleeding copiously and one side of my face is starting to swell badly.

I hold my head tilted upwards while Melanie applies ice packs that she uses on her feet on my face. ‘It’ll be a bit smelly but you’ll survive,’ she tells me. Then she picks up her phone. ‘I’ve got to tell Brianna. Ban him and warn the other girls. You need to make a police report.’

‘No police. But yes, warn Brianna.’

She comes to sit beside me, her forehead creased with concern. ‘Why no police, Jewel?’

‘I’ve got history. Minor things, but I can’t go to the police.’

‘OK. No problems. No police.’

‘Thanks, Mel.’

Literally a minute after Melanie ends her call, my mobile goes.

‘Jake,’ I say, with a frown.

‘Wow! Brianna was fast,’ Melanie comments.

‘Are you all right?’ Jake barks urgently into my ear.

‘Yeah, minor bruises.’

‘Are you sure it was him?’

‘Yeah, I got a good look at him.’

‘Right. I’ll be there soon. I got something to take care of first. And, Lily…’

‘Yeah?’

‘Don’t go anywhere until I get there, OK?’

‘OK.’





FIFTEEN


Jake

I ring on the little cunt’s bell and wait, nausea clawing at my guts. He put his filthy hands on my woman.

His disembodied voice comes through the intercom. ‘Yeah?’

‘You hurt one of my employees this evening. I’d like to come up and talk to you about it. Discuss some compensation.’ Jesus, I sound calm.

‘What? You’ve got the wrong guy, mate. I’ve been in all day.’ He does offended and indignant very well.

‘Or if you prefer I can go to the police and let them sort it out. You decide.’ I do rational and threatening very well.

For a moment there is silence and I think the coward is going to take his chances with the police, but then the buzzer sounds. First mistake, Motherf*cker. I push open the door and run up two flights of stairs to his door. I lean the baseball bat against the wall next to his door, ring his bell, and affect a relaxed pose. He looks at me through the spy hole, then takes his time about opening the door. But he does.

‘I’m telling you, you’ve got the wrong guy,’ he says strongly.

I shove him hard and he flies backwards and lands sprawled in his corridor. His eyes widen with terror as he sees me casually retrieve the baseball bat from its place. I come in and kick the door closed. Shame. He has cream carpets.

He starts moving backwards. ‘It wasn’t me. You’re making a big mistake,’ he whimpers like a f*cking *.

I throw him a ball gag. He doesn’t catch it. It bounces off his body and falls on the floor. ‘Put it on.’