Read The Chase for Free Online Page A

chest, and he lowers his head, listening to the sound, making a small groan like he’s sliding inside of me.
    “Ah. You’re afraid. That’s very good.” He nuzzles me, the movement unexpectedly tender, and all the more terrifying for it. Then he slides back up my body, every press of his clearly excited flesh against mine loathsome.
    “My enemy like s it when women are afraid. He likes to make them scream.” Henry pulls back just enough to look into my face. “I want you to be afraid.”
    And then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a switchblade. It’s small, but gleams wickedly in the low light of the abandoned hall when he flicks it open.
    My heartbeat stops, stutters before it’s able to start back up.
    The grin on his face as he draws the flat of the blade over my cheek, his absolute glee at what he’s doing to me, snap something deep inside of me. I’ve been there, done that, with every drunken asshole who stumbled through Green Acres and thought that a fresh teen girl was ripe for the picking. I’ve left that behind, and I won’t go back again.
    Hell no. No amount of money is worth it.
    I move on instinct rather than with conscious thought, letting him slide his hand up my leg . Terror grips me in icy tentacles when he follows his hand with the knife. I don’t want to be cut, please God don’t let me get cut...
    But even if he slices through me like a Christmas ham, cut up is better than dead. So I force myself to hold still, let him explore the delicate skin of my inner thigh with the cold steel. He’s not using the tip, or the edge... this is important.
    It tells me he wants my fear more than he wants to actually hurt me.
    This means I might have a chance.
    While he gives himself over to his knife play, his focus on touching me roughly, cruelly, I use my newly freed hands to yank at my bracelet. The delicate gold chain breaks, and I pinch for the stone with fingers made clumsy by adrenaline.
    “I don’t think so, whore.” Henry catches the bracelet and tugs. The chain snaps yet again, and the piece with the stone—the piece I desperately need—goes flying.
    A sound I can’t even put a name to emanates from the depths of my throat—fear, rage, everything all pressed into one sound.
    And the fucking maniac laughs. He laughs . Because to him I’m just a hooker. I’m nothing. Just like I’ve always been.
    I won’t be that person anymore.
    My nails are short, but strong and sharp. I rake them over his eyes, as hard as I can. He shouts, and I smell the warm copper of blood. His hands are clapped to his eyes, and though he’s trying to press me in, to pin me against the wall, his attention is diverted.
    I stomp on his instep with the wickedly sharp stiletto heels of my shoes, savoring his howl. For good measure, I aim a kick at his privates with that same weapon. I miss, but manage to tear a good size rent in the expensive trouser fabric, and break the skin too, I think.
    And then I run. I can’t get back to the door we came through—a quick glance behind me tells me that he’s blocking it. But there’s another unmarked door at the other end of the hall, if I can just get there...
    I don’t know what it leads to, but the important thing is that it will put a barrier between us.
    I half run, half stumble, my ankle twisting painfully as I land wrong on the wobbly shoes. Henry’s shouts, his panting breath, the scent of blood draw closer, and I know he’s following me.
    Please God, don’t let this be a storage closet.
    I reach the door, relief a massive rush that makes me high as the knob turns in my hand. I start to push through, shrieking when I feel that hand tangle in my hair again, pinning me in place.
    Shoving back with my elbows, my feet, everything I’ve got, I make it through the door, right into the front lobby. People look at me, startled—some even disapproving, when they take in my outfit—and I look around wildly, wondering if I’m safe now.
    The piano is still being