I feel sick to my stomach. I wish I could just throw up and be done with this feeling, but it’s not from drinking too much, or food poisoning, or anything like that. I’m just sick of my life and the shitty position I put myself in.

Getting turned down for your ninth job interview sucks. And it was for a hair salon. Like, really? All I’d be doing is bookwork. It can’t be that fucking hard. I’m starting to think there’s no hope. That’s what makes me so damn sick. Like there’s nothing I can do, and I’m just screwed.

It’s been three weeks since I got expelled from the university. It was all over alcohol. They have a zero tolerance policy. So of course getting kicked out also meant losing my scholarships. And losing my scholarships meant losing my income, plus my part-time job in the registrar’s office. Which means when the rent is due, I’m fucked if I can't hurry up and land a job already.

As if this wasn’t already the worst month of my life, my mother won’t even answer my calls. It's her idea of tough love. Yeah, I know I fucked up. I don’t need to hear it again. It’s not like this is what I usually do. Like I went to college and suddenly became a horrible person. I was in all the honors classes in high school. I was a teacher’s pet.

I’ve gotten straight A's my entire life, except for that one C in Advanced Literature. Fuck English, I only took the class because I had to in order to fulfill my graduation requirements.

I've always been a brown-noser, as Cheryl calls me.

Fuck, Cheryl. It’s her fault!

I bite my lip and cross my arms over my chest to warm myself up. I shake my head, trying not to be bitter about it all. It’s not really Cheryl’s fault. She may have put the bottle in my hand, but she didn’t make me drink. She was only trying to help. After all, it’s not every day that your first real boyfriend, the man you gave your virginity to, dumps you for someone prettier.

Tears prick my eyes, but I’m sure as shit not going to cry over him. I’ll cry over my self-esteem though, because that shit hurt. When I asked him how he could just break up with me like our relationship meant nothing to him, he just shrugged and said her tits were bigger. Fucking asshole. How did I ever fall for him?

Daniel Croast is hot and athletic, and really knows how to lay on the charm.

But he’s a fucking dick. I knew this, yet I still fell for him. I still spread my legs for him and let him take every last piece of me that he wanted.

Curse my fucking hormones. Tall, with broad shoulders. He played on the rugby team and there's just something about men crashing into each other and taking those brutal hits; it makes my pussy pulse with desire. I’m not a biology major, but it was definitely my fucked-up hormones.

I fell in lust, not love.

I finally had a boyfriend and friends. Real friends who liked me for me. Cheryl may be a bad influence and not have a clue about how the real world works, but deep down I know she cares about me.

Drinking on campus in the dorms was stupid though.

Real fucking stupid. I just went there to cry to Audrey about everything, and instead we ended up drinking. I even thought, No, we should go to our apartment if we’re going to be drinking. Shit, that’s the entire reason we got the apartment off-campus.

But I felt horrible, and my friends were all around me, and I just wanted to feel better.

I fucking hate that RA prick that busted us. I swear he's got a stick shoved up his ass. He can go to hell for all I care.

I turn twenty-one in two months, and Cheryl in three. That RA's so fucking pretentious and likes to pretend he did this for the “right reasons” but seriously, he can go fuck himself. He’s never liked Audrey since she turned his scrawny ass down during freshman orientation. That’s really what it was about, his dumb fucking vendetta.

Luckily for Audrey, she left to go get more booze. And while she was walking to the liquor store, campus security showed up. She got a strike, and we got booted.

So now I’m at the lowest point in my life.

What kills me the most is that my parents aren’t talking to me, which I don’t understand. I know they’re disappointed and all, but the silent treatment is just not helpful. All it's doing is hurting me. I stop at the edge of the sidewalk and wait, standing in the chill of the fall night, hugging my arms tighter around myself. My legs are freezing since I wore a black A-line skirt to my interview, but at least I grabbed my cream chenille sweater.

I stare up at the red hand on the crosswalk sign and just wait.

There aren’t any cars this late at night. But the hand is red. And that means you can’t go, so I don’t. I'm not a fan of breaking the rules.

I huff a laugh at this train of thought. The one time in my entire life I break the rules, and of course I get caught. And now everything I’ve worked so damn hard for is crumbling all around me. Tears prick at my eyes again, and this time one escapes.

I breathe out slow and steady, calming myself. I wipe the stray tear with the cuff of my sweater and start walking as soon as I get the green signal to go. Mascara covers the end of my sleeve now, but I don’t care.

I feel like I'm balanced on the edge of a razor. One one side, I care entirely too much about everything, and my heart aches with all the disappointment I've caused, not to mention the disappointment I feel in myself. But on the other side, I don't give a fuck about any of this. I've hardened my heart with hate for everyone around me that doesn't care enough to try to help.

I swallow thickly. They don’t have to help me. No one owes me anything, and that's just fine by me. I have a plan.

This isn’t going to ruin me.

Yes, I got kicked out of one of the most prestigious universities in the country, but I can get into another. If I can just get a job, I can survive until February for sure. That's when I'll find out if I got in anywhere else. I’m sure another school will take me. They can’t hold having a drink over my head forever, especially since I'm sure this kind of thing happens all the time. I’m just happy they decided not to press charges, and it’s not on my legal record. As for my academic record, it was embarrassing as hell to have to explain that I got kicked out for drinking on campus. But I'll do whatever I have to do.

I’ve already filled out twenty applications for other colleges. I filled out nearly forty for jobs.

I’ll keep applying myself until someone gives me a break. I’m sure my professors are disappointed, but at least they were kind enough to offer their recommendations.

My heart twists in my chest. I hate disappointing people. Especially those I look up to. In my mind, I see Dr. Griffins shake her head slightly, mouth parted in shock as I told her I had to leave.

Disappointed.

Well, you and me both, I guess.

I keep walking down the sidewalk and I start to get a real uneasy feeling creeping over me. It’s so fucking quiet. There’s no one around. It’s just dead. I’m pretty used to walking everywhere, even late at night, but not on this side of town. I don’t even know what time it is.

I should be home this late at night. I shouldn’t be here. It’s obvious this isn’t the safest part of town. But I just couldn’t go back to the apartment and have nothing to tell Cheryl.

I’m the one who looks out for her. But right now I’ve got nothing for either of us.

I couldn’t tell Cheryl that I didn’t get the job, and that I have no plan for us.

She's freaking out about money. She’s kind of a wild child, and she’s never had a worry in her life. I love her free spirit and all, but that needs to take a back seat when your parents cut you off. She isn’t like me though. She’s never worked a day in her life. Between all my savings and the scholarships, I was able to pay for college on my own. Not Cheryl Fletcher. I don’t think her perfectly manicured hands have ever performed any sort of manual labor. Which is fine if you don’t have to, and it’s not like she’s a spoiled brat who throws it in your face.

But her parents were pissed about the expulsion and completely cut her off. And it's not like she isn't trying--she’s filled out more job applications than I have. Partly because she doesn’t plan on going back to school. She was undeclared anyway since she doesn’t know what she wants to do with her life.

But the best plan we have to make rent this month is to start selling our shit. And by our shit, I mean hers. A purse or two from her collection would be enough to do it. I’m not going to ask though. My everyday purse is a clutch I bought on clearance from Target a few semesters ago. Hardly glamorous, and hardly expensive. Nope, not like Cheryl's newest purse, a Michael Kors hobo with buttery soft leather. Still, I’m not going to ask and put her in that position.

It’s the only option I can think of though.

I see a few guys walking two blocks up from me. They’re on the opposite side of the street and heading in my direction. I don’t like it. They’re talking and laughing, and having a good time. They don’t seem threatening. But still, a young girl walking alone and three men… I just don’t like it.

There’s an alleyway on my left that lets out a few blocks down from the main road where our apartment is. As I stand in the opening, I can see it opens up on both walls of the alley halfway through and that there are some cars farther down on the other side. It's empty.

I don’t even hesitate to take the left turn and walk toward more people. Toward safety. I’m pretty sure it’s an even faster route home--I think, anyway.

It’s dark, and things look different when it’s dark.

I pick up my pace with my eyes straight ahead on the light at the opening to the other street.

I’m about halfway through, right near the openings on both sides of the alley when I hear shouting.

My heart jumps in my chest, and my breathing stalls. I instinctively take a step back and nearly fall on my ass with fear.

It’s angry shouting. More than two men arguing in what I think is Russian. Or maybe German. I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t understand anything they're saying, and I shouldn’t be here. I look behind me for a moment, but I don’t know where those three men are. Fuck. Fuck.

I don’t know what to do. The yelling gets louder and closer. My heart hammers faster in my chest. I feel lost and trapped as my throat closes with fear.

I could just run as fast as I can through the opening. It’s large enough that a car could get through. But they sound so close. If they saw me, they’d definitely be able to catch me before I made it out the other side.

I take a deep breath and chance a look, just a small glance to see what’s happening.

My breathing slows, and the only thing I can hear is my blood rushing in my ears. My heart thumps, thumps, thumps way too loud. They’re going to hear me; they’re going to see me.

I feel a small sense of relief as I see a row of trashcans blocking the path. I can see past them though. Maybe twenty feet from me, there's a group of men gathered in the parking lot of a warehouse.

I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not good. So far, no one's spotted me since I'm peeking around the corner with just part of my head showing. I could still get down on the ground, try crawling in the dirt and gravel, and hope I get through unnoticed.

Instead I watch, paralyzed with disbelief at what I’m seeing.

A man’s standing apart from the others. It’s not the fact that he’s in a custom-tailored suit when they rest of them are all in wrinkled khakis or worn-out jeans. He’s one of the tallest men, with broad shoulders that stretches the rich fabric tight across his gorgeous frame. But that’s not it either. His very presence is a dominating force. It’s the air around him.

He’s a dangerous man. The other men may be mean, or even pure evil. But this man is ruthless, calculated, and something tells me he can get away with it. He’s a man who isn’t denied, and for good reasons. The shadows on his face only make his high and sharp cheekbones even more severe. A light dusting of rough stubble lines his hard jaw.

He’s handsome in the most sinful ways, but he’d break you without thinking twice. Maybe even intentionally.

He straightens his crisp white shirt from under his dark navy suit with a gun still firmly in his hand, his finger on the trigger. His barely contained anger is evident even at this distance. He’s listening to the man screaming, the one being dragged over on his knees to the center where the other men are circling.

Another man, Ricky, is yelling back. At least I think that's his name, since that's what it sounds like they're calling him. Ricky is obviously in charge of the group of men who are mostly dressed in dark denim jeans, and Henleys or hoodies.

All but him.

All of them are under Ricky's control, except the man with the absolute power.

Their guns are pointed at the one man who’s unarmed and on his knees. Two men are pushing down on his shoulders, forcing him to maintain that position.

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you!” the man on his knees yells out and spits on the ground.

“So it’s true!” yells one of the men holding him down.

“Fucking pig! Fucking liar!” the men are yelling, practically chanting. I realize with a start that the man being forced to kneel must be an undercover cop. I fumble in my clutch for my phone. I need to get help.

“What did you tell them?” asks Ricky. Bang! I almost scream and have to cover my mouth with my hands as the sound of a bullet cries out and echoes through the alley. My phone drops to the ground, and the screen cracks from the impact.

My heart stills as Ricky yells out and grabs the cop's shoulder.

Somehow I don’t think they heard me, or saw me. Their focus is on the cop who's still on his knees clutching his leg and wincing in pain.

“The next one will be in your skull.” Ricky walks closer to the man and puts the gun up to his temple, twisting the barrel of the gun to taunt him. “What did you tell them?”

The kneeling man attempts to laugh although he’s in obvious pain. “Just do it. You’ll never get anything from me.” He sneers as blood soaks through his jeans. It’s so dark, it almost looks black.

No! No! I need to do something. As I bend down to get my cracked phone, the man in the dark suit moves forward. A hush falls over the men. The only exception is Ricky, who’s cussing and making threats that don’t seem to affect the undercover cop.

“Is it true?” a deep, rich voice asks so calmly that it doesn’t seem real. The loud click of his gun cocking makes me take a step forward. My head shakes. No. No.

It’s silent. Everyone's waiting for his answer, even Ricky.

“Fuck you, you fucking criminal.”

“What did you call me?” The man’s voice raises with a deadly tone. He points his gun at his target’s head.

“You really going to make me say it again?” the man on his knees asks, but his voice cracks. The fear of imminent death is finally coming through.

And with that, his death sentence is complete. One shot, bang, and he falls to the ground. The man in the suit moves his arm again and aims at the ground this time. I can’t see, but I hear the shots ring out, again and again. Bang, bang, bang!

I shake my head with disbelief, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. They killed him, and I saw the whole thing. My blood runs cold, and the sickness I'm feeling threatens to come up my throat.

And then I do scream. I shriek louder than I ever have before.

A pair of hard, unforgiving arms wrap around my waist and chest before a hand covers my mouth. I struggle against what feels like an unmoving brick frame holding me tight, my back to his hard chest. Caught. I’ve been caught. I fight for my life; my nails dig into his skin, piercing and scratching. But it does nothing. He’s so much taller than I am, so he easily picks my body up off the ground and wraps his hand around my throat, suffocating me. I struggle as much as I can. But it’s hopeless, I'm already losing consciousness. The last thing I see, before my world goes black, is the man in the suit looking down the alley. His intense gaze is focused solely on me.