Tess
THE TEMPERATURE DROPS again by Monday.
It’s in the high thirties as I make my way to the coffee shop, and my car is barely warmed up before I park in the lot around the corner from the café.
I didn’t sleep. I haven’t eaten. And I can’t get a hold of Nick. His phone is going directly to voicemail now, so I’m pretty certain he’s turned it off.
The overcast in the sky makes everything darker, especially for this early in the morning. I really wanted to stay in my bed and feel sorry for myself, but I made myself get up and go to work.
Bracing myself for the cold, I take a deep breath and open my car door. It’s eerily quiet, and there aren’t any cars parked here yet. I pop my trunk, needing to bring in the crate of samples I brought home and never even removed from the spot it currently occupies. I should have just left them in the café.
Before I even make it past the passenger door, a hard object runs into me. I’m taken off guard, and try to see what is happening. But my head and body are being slammed against the car. It’s not an object. It’s a person. A man. And he’s pounding one side of my face into the metal so hard, I can feel blood trickling from my brow.
Terrified, I cry out for help, but a hand covers my mouth to stop me. Tears clog my throat and panic grips me.
A jab, or maybe a punch lands against my side and a radiating pain tears through my belly. I try to scream, but he’s still covering my mouth. I try to kick, but his grip on my body is too tight. I try to bite him, but all that makes him do is clamp down on my mouth harder.
I feel like I can’t breathe.
When he pumps his hips against me in the most vulgar way, I start to hyperventilate, certain he’s going to either rape me or kill me, or both. The feeling of his body against mine makes my flesh crawl.
Roughly, a hand digs into my hair and yanks it back, and then he slams my face against my car one more time. I can taste blood in my mouth, and an agonizing pain splinters through me.
The metallic tang of blood on my tongue makes me feel nauseated. Dizzy. There is a gulf of blackness, and I force myself to stay conscious. I’m frightened. Scared. Weak. And I hate being weak. I focus on that. Using that rising anger to fight him off, anyway I can.
With all my might, I somehow manage to get my foot out of the vise-like lock his legs have my legs in, and donkey kick him right in the balls.
“Motherfucker,” he sneers and takes ahold of my hair again, this time even harder, pulling me back away from the car.
I’m shaking from head to toe as fear curls in my belly, spreading to my chest and into my throat, grabbing me, and squeezing me until I can barely breathe. He’s going to kill me right now.
When he lets go of me instead of inflicting more pain, my mind races with what to do.
Should I turn and gauge his eyes out?
Grab him by the balls?
Stomp on his foot and then run?
Or scream my brains out?
I’m calculating which move might work when he shoves something in my pocket and whispers, “Good luck, sweetheart.”
His breath smells of coffee, and his cologne is vile, and a faint memory rips through me, making me stumble. I know who this is.
With a hard shove, he pushes me to the ground.
I fall in a heap, panic now all I know. I close my eyes tightly. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. My throat closes up when I try to scream. Somehow I manage to raise my hands to defend myself, but nothing happens. Slowly, I open my eyes and look up, expecting to see him pointing a gun at me or holding a knife, but he’s gone.
Tears are stinging my eyes, making everything a blur. I stumble as I try to stand and end up crawling to the car and using it to make myself get up. I look around and see no one. I scream anyway. Scream and scream and scream.
My phone. I need my phone. My purse is on the ground and the contents have spilled. Searching, I spot it.
I’m breathing deeply, trying to slow my heart rate, to quell the panic still rising in my chest as I lurch for it.
But I can’t stop it. I can’t focus. I can’t seem to find my feet. I stumble as I bend to get it, land on my hands and knees, and then crawl to it.
Bleeding and crying, I sit on the ground and call 911. Once I’ve explained what happened, I find my wallet and keys and start moving. Running, I head toward the café for safety. My fingers tremble as I try to put the key in the lock. It won’t fit. The more I try to turn it, the more it keeps jamming.
Giving up, I hold my keys tightly in my hand. My tears are falling so hard I can barely see the blur through them. Sagging against the door, it’s then that I realize the door is unlocked or the lock is jammed because it swings in.
In early morning dawn, I can’t really see inside, but as soon as I step through the glass doors and turn the lights on, I can see there is no safety inside.
The place has been vandalized. Graffiti is strewn all over the walls. The paint and chemicals that were left behind have been opened and poured out all over the floors, and someone took a sledgehammer to the drywall. The place has been demolished.
Shaking beyond my control, I slide down the wall to the ground. I’ve felt alone many times in my life, but never more than right now. With my phone still in my hand, I call the only person I can.
She answers right away. “Tess, is everything okay?”
“No Fiona, no it isn’t,” I cry.
“What’s wrong?”
I do my best to tell her.
She stays on the phone with me until the police arrive. It takes them more than ten minutes to get to the café, and less than ten minutes to write up their report. I tell them what I know. That my attacker was wearing a black ski mask that covered his face, and his body was also covered in black. The entire time I can hear my phone ringing from inside my purse. I assume it is Fiona, but I can’t very well stop what I’m doing. I’ll call her back once I’m finished.
“Anything else about his appearance you can tell us?”
I shake my head. “He never let me turn around.”
In response they tell me there is not much they can do without more of a description. When I attempt to explain to them that his breath smelled, and that I’ve smelled that same vile coffee breath before, they stop me before I can say anymore. Facts, they only want facts, not hearsay or suspicions, they insist.
I’m holding a damp cloth to the side of my face when Ethan arrives. Since Fiona couldn’t leave Max alone, or very well bring him, sending her husband to bring me to her house was the best solution. He gasps when he sees me, and once he makes sure I’m okay, he turns to yell at the officers for not having already arranged to have me transported to the emergency room. While Ethan reads them the riot act, Ash comes flying through the door.
I blink several times, not understanding what he’s doing here. “Are you okay?” he asks. “Anything broken?”
I shake my head, no I’m not okay, and no nothing is broken, and then I can’t stop a low whimper from stuttering past my stiff, swollen lips.
Seeing that I am shaken up, Ash enfolds me in his arms.
Hoarsely, I whisper in his ear, “It was Mathias Bigelow.”
He pulls back and gently pushes the hair from my eyes. “How can you be sure?” he whispers.
“His breath.”
Ash looks at me for a long time. “Did he say or do anything else?”
I nod, remembering the paper he shoved in my pocket. Slowly, I pull it out. It’s the other help wanted sign that was taken from the café window on Friday. “He shoved this in my pocket, and said good luck, sweetheart.”
Looking at it, he says, “I don’t understand.”
Before I can explain, the officers turn to address me. “Miss Winters, is there anything else you can tell us?”
Ash shakes his head, signaling for me to stay quiet.
“No, I’ve told you everything I can remember right now.”
One of the officers hands me his card. “If you think of anything, please call me. Mr. Miller insists on transporting you to the emergency room, are you in agreement with this?”
I nod.
Once both officers are out the door and back in their car, Ash speaks up. “What am I missing, Tess?”
I walk over to the makeshift desk, which is oddly still standing, and pick up the other sign. I hand it to him, and then explain what happened on Friday.
His face goes white, and he pulls out his phone.
Ethan narrows his eyes at him. “What the hell is going on?”
Raising a finger in the air, Ash turns around to whisper into his phone.
“We need to get you to the hospital and get that cut stitched up,” Ethan says, lifting and patting the cloth that I was holding to my face.
I suck in a breath, knowing that crying will only make the cut on my cheek burn more. “How did Ash find out what happened?” I ask Ethan.
Ethan daps at my face lightly. “I called Nick on my way here.”
I wince from the pain spreading across the side of my face. “And he answered when you called?”
Ethan shakes his head. “I had to call Hayden and make him put the fucker on the phone.”
I take the cloth from Ethan and press it against my face. “Did he say why he hasn’t answered any of my calls?”
He nods. “He said he saw Ansel at your place Saturday night, down on one knee proposing to you.”
My eyelids flutter as I try to figure out how I hadn’t seen him.
“And the dumb fuck naturally thought you would say yes.”
“Why would he think that?”
“Because he’s a dumb fuck.”
I almost laugh, but the pain that spreads across my lips stops me instantly. “Did you tell him I sent Ansel away?”
“Yeah, I did, and a few more things too.”
“Did he believe you?”
Ethan motions toward Ash. I turn my head slowly and see he’s holding his hand over the speaker of his phone. “Nick wants to talk to you. Are you up to it?”
I hold out my hand, and Ash brings me his phone. I walk toward the corner of the café and slowly sit on one of the only upright paint cans. Then I suck in a breath and say, “Hey.”
“Tess,” he breathes.
I take a long moment to compose myself.
“Tess, are you there?”
“I’m here,” I whisper.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m at the airport now. I’ll be in Chicago as soon as I can. I need to see you.”
The agony in his voice can be heard so clearly that it makes me cry.
“Tess, listen to me, I shouldn’t have left without talking to you. I just couldn’t bear to lose you, and I thought I had. I really thought I had. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please tell me you forgive me.”
My heart seizes in my chest and my tears burn as they stream down my face. I remember our conversation weeks ago, and I remember promising him that I would stand by him, no matter what. “Nick,” I breathe.
“Tess, I love you.”
I don’t even hesitate. “I love you, too.”
His voice is so hoarse I can barely hear him. “Listen to me, baby, I want you to stay with Ash until I get there. You’re not to go anywhere without him. Do you understand me, Tess?”
I swipe at my tears and wince at the pain. “Yes, but Nick, what is going on?”
“I don’t know yet, but we’re going to figure everything out, I promise, but for now, I need to know that you’re safe. Ash will take you to the hospital, and then back to my place. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” I answer, and then I feel everything inside me erupt into belly-deep sobs.
“Baby, please don’t cry.”
“Tell him you’ll call him later,” Ethan demands.
Before I can say anything though, Ash takes the phone from me, and I can hear him speaking to Nick, and then I feel Ethan’s arms going around me and before I know it, he’s carrying me across the café and out the door, into Ash’s car.
Ash is behind the wheel, and he hangs up the phone. “I’ll call you and Fi as soon as we’re at Nick’s apartment.”
Ethan looks over at him. “I’d really rather you bring her to my house. Fiona is going to hit the roof.”
Ash seems torn. “Look man, I don’t think Tess is in any more danger, but I can’t be sure.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Ethan says, and then gently kisses my head. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
I look up at him. “I’ll call you and Fiona when I get settled.”
Ethan closes my door, and I watch Ash as he waits for Ethan to get in his car before he drives away.
“What’s going on?” I ask him.
Ash shakes his head.
“Please tell me. I think I have a right to know.”
He sighs, and then looks over at me. “After Nick underbid Bigelow on the property he rented you, Bigelow started pulling the rug out from under us. And things have only escalated from there. The deal down in Miami is bad. It looks like the sale of the property is going to be frozen until the legality of the funds used can be determined.”
“But Nick said he gave me a fair price for renting the property,” I insist.
“Fair is subjective. Bigelow didn’t see it that way, and so he took whatever deals he could from Nick. But Nick and Hayden didn’t like the rug being pulled out from under them, and they slung it right back at him, tricking Bigelow into a property in Englewood.”
Things are making more sense. “The one on Elizabeth Street?”
“Yes, the address that was written on your sign.”
“But why did he attack me this morning?”
Ash looks over at me again. “To make it personal. Because he could. Who the fuck knows.”
“Why didn’t you want me to tell the police?”
“Because we can’t be sure they’re not on his payroll. It’s better if Bigelow thinks you don’t know what is going on.”
“Better for me, you mean?”
He nods.
At that I turn and stare out the window, and only then to allow my eyes to close.
I’ve been a lot of things in my life, but I’ve never been this scared.