Rolling the book cart down the aisle, I slip the next novel in its correct spot along the wall before moving to the next section. Our town isn’t the largest around, but we have a steady library flow. Which is nice; it makes my days go faster. My favorite part about working here, aside from the fantastic employees, is Tuesday and Thursdays children’s corner when I get to read a book to all our little bookwormies. Afterward, they check out a book for the week and have a snack. They left an hour ago.

“Girl, you don’t need to put those books away. I thought you were going home to get ready for your date with Mr. Hot Principal tonight?” Rea, one of my favorite coworkers, asks from the aisle over.

Pushing the cart out of the way, I slip into her row, only to catch Rea readjusting her big jugs for the tenth time today. Rea’s wife, Laura, has an addiction to fancy lingerie, and from the sounds of it, she insisted Rea wear a new lace bra to work. However, the thing is not a boulder holder, which is precisely what busty girls like us need. She’s spilling out everywhere.

Finished digging in the top of her blouse, Rea notices me. Blushing fiercely, she drapes her long, black hair across her slender shoulders. “Sorry about that.” Her fumbling hands smooth down the front of her pencil skirt.

Unfazed, I wave her off. “That bra needs to be burned. Tell Laura to get you something that actually fits next time.”

Rea’s flush intensifies, skipping down her neck and into the top of her shirt. “She locked my others in the safe this morning so I was forced to wear this one.”

“Did you tell her she’s being unreasonable?” Placing my hand on my hip, I tilt my head to the side, drifting into mom-mode. “Did you?”

Meekly, Rea shakes her head, biting her thumbnail, eyes cast downward. “No. But I’ll give her a piece of my mind when I get home tonight.”

Hiking my best Rock brow, I counter, “You’d better, or I will.”

Head snapping up, mouth agape, she finally locks eyes with mine. “No,” she whisper screams, mortified by the idea. “Laura will be so angry and make me wear the… Never mind…” Shaking her head again, she dismisses the thought.

To cut off her freak-out at the pass, I raise my hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay. I’m not going to pretend to understand your relationship. But I do know, regardless if you’re into that Fifty Shades stuff or not, you still need to wear proper undergarments at work.”

“Deal.” She nods once, a grin tugging at the corner of her glossed lips. “But I’m not gonna talk to her unless you skedaddle, and go on your date with the hot principal.”

At the mere mention of what’s to come, my shoulders slump, and a frown mars my face. I really don’t want to go. Not anymore. The more I think about it, the less exciting it seems and the scarier it becomes. “Vice Principal,” I mumble, as if semantics matter.

Stepping closer, Rea spins me around by my shoulders and swats my butt. “Go get your man.”

Digging my heels in, I refuse to budge. “What would a teacher at my children’s school want with a pregnant woman, when he could date anyone?”

This question has been weighing on my mind since New Year’s morning when I gathered enough courage to call him. He was thrilled to hear from me, and that’s nice. Yet, here I am, about to go on my first date in ages, and I’m dreading it. There’s not a single wonky butterfly fluttering in my belly, sweaty palms, or happy nerves like I felt with Brent. There’s only this sinking depression that feels like I’m closing another door and opening a damned window. How many times do I have to do this before I finally get it right? Kissing frogs is not my specialty.

Hands perched on my shoulders from behind, Rea gives them a squeeze. “You’re beautiful. You’re a catch. Any man would be lucky to have you. There doesn’t have to be some motive here, Kat. Just eat dinner and try to enjoy the company. What could it hurt?”

Dammit. I know she’s right. I have to treat this as a friendly dinner. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m not sure why I’m so uptight. It’s not like he’s asking me to marry him. It’s one date at a steakhouse here in town. In public where he couldn’t molest me even if he tried. Not that he would. I’m pretty sure schools frown upon that kinda behavior.

Exhaling long and hard, I blow out all my bad thoughts. I can do this. I can be just a woman, going on a date with just a man—simple. He is nice after all, and I do like the way he looks, and his voice is yummy. Those all tick the positive column.

Confidence renewed, I hold my head high, mouth a quick goodbye to Rea, and find my winter coat in the office before ambling down the front steps. The icy wind whips the sides of my face as I hug myself for warmth, shuffling through the fresh, ankle-deep snow to my car. At least the roads are still plowed. It’s a beast out here. The girls are loving it, though—no school.

Reaching in my pocket, I beep my car unlocked as a black figure registers in my peripheral. Snapping my head to the side, a squeal erupts from my throat at the same moment three masked men attack, pinning me to the side of my vehicle. Feet slipping in the snow, I grab onto one of their leather jackets and attempt to headbutt him. I don’t get very far when another man shoves a cotton bag over my head, pulling a drawstring. Then, all hell breaks loose. Forgetting that I’m pregnant, I react on instinct, using my four senses left to guide me. There’s a pained “ooaf” when my fist connects with someone’s stomach. Followed by a “fuck,” as my foot lands on what feels like a thigh. Frantically, I try to drag the case over my head as I defend myself. It’s futile. The drawstring on the end is so tight it nearly cuts off my air supply.

“Get her under fuckin’ control!” one man barks, right before a set of hands grab at my biceps. Fighting like a wild dog, I unleash my fists, elbows, feet—everything that I can use to connect with scraps of flesh. Profanities clog the air as I control my surprisingly stealthy body, refusing to admit defeat to these goons.

Seconds slip by like hours as they come at me—hands trying to pin me down, seeking a firm grip. Idle threats are launched into the air like clay pigeons. Not once do I back down. No way are these fuckers taking me without a fight. I don’t give a shit who they are. I’m not gonna give up. If they didn’t want me alive, I’d be dead already.

Quickly running low on steam, my gut screams for me to defend or flee. I can barely do either at this point as the frigid air burns my lungs, on the verge of freezing. I’m screwed.

Pausing too long to catch my breath, something that feels like a high-speed school bus hits me square in the chest, slamming my back against the side of my car, knocking the wind out of me, and stealing what little footing I have left. There’s a deafening crack as my head collides with a windowpane. Warmth blooms on the back of my skull.

Shit! I’m bleeding.

Stars dance in my vision as I scramble to right myself. It’s weak at best. I reclaim my stance, shaky fists up, ready to take on the world.

“You aren’t gonna take me alive, motherfuckers!” I hiss, my sight nothing more than a wall of white and foggy lenses. The tension on my throat cuts deeper. I’m barely able to draw air. If this doesn’t end soon, I’m gonna faint, and I can’t let that happen.

Foolishly, I wave them forward in a last ditch effort to whip their asses, even if my odds are slim. “Come on. Let’s do this,” I growl, voice made of steel.

Warm blood soaks through the back of my hair, cooling rapidly in the subzero temperatures. A residual ache radiates across my chest, thanks to whatever they hit me with. Likely a shoulder—a massive one. Drops of ice cold sweat drips into my eyes. I blink the sting away. Let’s do this!

“We can’t stay out here any longer. The cops are gonna show. Get her in the van. She’s not gonna give up,” a man says, chuckling under his breath in what sounds vaguely like respect.

“No! You do it. I think she busted my rib,” another grouses.

“Pussies,” the first man retorts, his voice growing closer.

Prepared to strike, I tighten my fists, itching to sock him as hard as I can. If I’m going down, so is this dipshit. Bring it on.

His form stops close enough that I can feel the warmth of his exhales, and the scent of musky cologne carries on the wind. Unfortunately, there’s too much distance I’d have to travel in order to connect cleanly. I can’t risk falling. These fur boots were made for fashion. Not practicality. My toes are already starting to numb as the slushy snow seeps into the fabric. I’d planned on wearing them for my date tonight, which doesn’t look promising.

“Katrina, I know you’re a brave woman, and willing to fight ‘til we gotta hurt ya. But I don’t wanna do that. I don’t like hurting women. Especially pregnant ones,” the first goon reasons.

“Coulda fooled me, shithead,” I snarl, which comes out more like a painful wheeze. A fog of darkness seeps into the edge of my vision, and my feet sway. To keep from falling, I lean against the car for support, one hand wrapped around my door handle, the other prepared to brawl. This isn’t good. The tightness around my neck feels like a knife’s trying to sever my body from its head—a dull guillotine.

“Let me take the bag off, Katrina. This doesn’t have to be any harder than it already is. You don’t want to injure yourself, do ya?” The man’s voice is abnormally soothing—deceptive. I’m not buying his crap for a fucking minute.

Inhaling a difficult lungful of air, I force out what I gotta say, “Sir … no offense, but you can go suck a big bag of dicks if you think I’m gonna go quietly.”

“Suit yourself.”

Before I can ask what the hell he means by that, my head swims as if I’ve held my breath for over a minute. A dark veil drops over my eyes. Then, I’m falling down a well, blunt coldness shocking my system as a frightening blackness welcomes me to the abyss.