Surprise Delivery(51)

I stand up straight – or, at least, try to. I need to get home. I need to lay down. The stress of the evening is taking a toll on me and I need to get out of here. Need to get away from Brad.

“Come on, Lexi, you knew the score all along,” Brad pleads. “You flirted with me too, you know. You knew this thing between us was leading to this. And you know you want to be with me.”

“I did no such thing,” I spit. “And no, I don’t want to be with you. I told you that a million times, Brad. I only wanted you to be my friend.”

“Bullshit,” he says, his voice suddenly full of heat.

I look up and find him staring back at me, his face dark and full of anger. I feel myself growing weaker – like a toy or something whose batteries are draining fast.

“I’m not doing this,” I say. “Get out of my way, Brad.”

I push past him, but he grabs my arm again, spinning me around to face him. His eyes bore into mine with a crazed light that scares me. He leans close, his breath warm against my face. I recoil and try to pull away, but he holds me fast.

“You and I belong together, Lexi,” he growls. “You know it and I know it, so stop fucking around. Stop playing hard to get. You belong to me. You’re mine.”

The sharp crack of flesh meeting flesh rings out and it seems to take him a moment to register the fact that I’ve just slapped him across the face. His cheek is red from where my hand made contact and his eyes grow wide and startled, the expression on his face is one of pure disbelief that I would hit him. He’s so shocked that his hold on my arm loosens and I take the opportunity to pull myself away from him.

“Stay the hell away from me, Brad,” I hiss.

The shock doesn’t last long enough for me to get away, though. When I turn, his hand shoots out like a piston, and his grip on me is like steel. My head swimming and starbursts appearing at the edges of my vision, I cry out again. The people passing by us slow and look at me curiously. Some of them are just looking forward to the prospect of bloodshed because it excites them – yet, nobody steps in to help me.

“Let go of me,” I scream in his face. “Get your fucking hands off me.”

I reach back to slap him across the face again, but Brad catches my hand, squeezing my fingers together, bone grinding on bone in my hand painfully. There are tears rolling down my cheeks and a spike of pain pierces my entire body.

“You’re hurting me, Brad,” I shout. “Let go of me.”

As I’m rocked by another blast of pain, I close my eyes and grit my teeth, refusing to give in to it. All of a sudden, Brad releases me. I open my eyes to see two large men – bikers, by the look of them – pulling him off of me. The larger of the two, a bald man with a goatee has his massive hand wrapped around Brad’s throat, his face filled with malice. The second one turns to me, his eyes filled with concern, and when he speaks, he’s surprisingly soft-spoken.

“Are you okay, Miss?” he asks.

Not really, but I’m better now than I was ten seconds ago. Flushed with gratitude for my two guardian angels, I nod.

“I’m okay,” I say. “I just need to get out of here.”

The man nods. “You go on ahead,” he encourages. “We’ll keep him – entertained – for a bit.”

“Thank you,” I say, fresh tears rolling down my cheeks. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he answers.

Brad is struggling mightily in the other man’s grip, his eyes wide and filled with terror. He’s screaming my name and the crowd on the sidewalk has stopped to watch the spectacle unfolding. Still holding onto his throat, the goateed man drives his fist into Brad’s stomach. I hear the breath leaving Brad’s lungs in a violent whoosh and he doubles over, wheezing as he tries to catch his breath. I look to the soft-spoken man and give him a nod.

“Thank you again,” I say.

“Think nothing of it,” he tells me. “Now, you’d best be on your way.”

I turn and take off as quickly as I can – which, at my stage of pregnancy isn’t all that quickly at all. I waddle down the sidewalk, people parting for me like the Red Sea as I go. I hear cheers and shouts behind me, hear Brad cry out, and suddenly feel a stab of guilt for the rough treatment he’s getting at the hands of the two bikers – it’s a feeling I quickly try to snuff out.

“He brought it on himself,” I mutter. “He deserves it.”

I round a corner and feel a lightning bolt of pain lance through my entire body. I cling to the wall for support, but it’s so blinding and intense, my knees buckle and the next thing I know, I’m on the ground. A crowd has gathered around me, people looking at and talking to each other, a few of them shouting questions at me. I groan loudly as I’m riddled by another sharp burst of pain.

It’s then I realize that something isn’t right. No, something is, in fact, very, very wrong. My vision is starting to darken and all of the noise on the street around me takes on a fuzzy, muted sound to it – almost like I’m hearing everything from underwater or something.

“Just hold on,” somebody in the crowd says. “We’ve called an ambulance.”

All I can do is sit there, moaning as more, fresh pain tears through my body. I don’t know what’s happening. Hell, I don’t know if I’m going to last until the ambulance gets here. There’s a sticky wetness between my thighs I know this isn’t normal, but I don’t want to look down and see how bad it is.