Hey Jude (Lennox Valley Chronicles #1)

He raises his eyebrows and laughs an ugly laugh, then runs his tongue over his teeth, shrugging. His movements are jerky and jarring. “That’s rich. You’re the one who deserves to suffer, Olena.” He blinks a few times. “You’re the one who abandoned me and broke my heart.”

“Because you were high every single night!” I throw my hands out at my sides, infuriated. “And you wasted all our money on drugs, and got us fucking robbed… at knifepoint!” I take a breath, trying to steady myself—without much success. “Do you know what that did to me?” I hiss, jabbing a finger into my chest. “I couldn’t sleep or eat or go to work without having a panic attack.”

He rolls his eyes. “See, you’re being dramatic again.”

“No.” I straighten. “You destroyed my sense of safety,” I seethe, clenching my hands into fists. “My sanity. And now you’re doing it again!”

He scoffs.

“You won’t leave me alone, and now you’re following me? Threatening me?” I look at him with disgust, shaking my head. “You colossal, selfish asshole.”

His expression hardens at the insult. “I told you, baby,” Sean says, pulling his hands out of his pockets with eerie calm. “You need to stop talking to me like that.”

In the fading light, I catch a glint of metal. My heart lurches, my eyes laser focused on the knife. I can’t speak; my pulse is pounding in my ears.

“See, baby… the problem with you is you’re not showing me the respect I deserve.” He starts to walk toward me slowly. My gaze is locked on the hand holding the knife. He scratches his head. “I gave you everything. For three fucking years. Everything. And this is the thanks I get?”

I retreat a few steps on the porch until my back is against Jude’s front door. I try the handle behind me but it’s locked.

Some part of my brain goes into survival mode and I find my voice. Maybe I can talk my way out of this. “Sean, hey, look, we can talk this out. Please. Put the knife away.” My voice is thin and strained. The only thing keeping me from a panic attack right now is some primal instinct to stay alive.

He sneers at me with disgust. “Oh yeah? Now you’re suddenly willing to talk? Now you see you can’t just ignore me? Huh? Is that it?” He’s at the bottom of the porch steps.

I inhale, holding my breath. “Yes, I see that now.” I swallow hard. “Sean, just… please. Don’t do this. Don’t. You don’t have to.” I reach a shaking hand into my purse. “Look, I think there’s a spare set of keys somewhere in here…” I’m bluffing, stalling for time. “We could go inside and sit down, talk things out…”

My hand grasps around in the bottomless pit of my bag, my fingers frantically trying to identify what I’m touching while my eyes stay trained on the threat in front of me.

“Yeah?” Sean says warily, climbing the steps. He sniffs again and blinks hard. “Okay, let’s talk.” His eyes are wild and bloodshot. He keeps using his free hand to scratch at his jaw. Whatever he’s taken tonight has him in a bad way.

And then I feel it. My hand grasps the cool metal canister. I set my jaw. Praying for good aim, I extend my arm between us.

“Fuck no.” My voice is tight as I pull the trigger.

I unload a cloud of bear spray directly into Sean’s face, shielding my eyes with my other arm. I duck around him and run. Behind me, I hear the knife clatter against the wooden boards of the porch. A second later, Sean’s guttural cry of pain rips through the woods around us.

His shouting recedes behind me as I run to my car. I pull open the door and glance back to see him clawing at his face, screaming in agony. Good, I think to myself. That’ll make it worse—rubbing only spreads it around.

He stumbles, quickly losing his footing on the stairs. Flailing blindly and in incredible pain, he can do nothing to protect himself as he falls. The crack of his head against the hard steps makes me wince. Crumpled on the ground on his side, Sean’s jarring screams give way to groans, the blow to his head having made his movements slower, groggier.

I’m ready to make a break for it when I stop, my hand still on the door handle. I realize he could get away with this if I run. What if he recovers enough to make it back to his car before I can find a way to call the police?

I look down at my climbing bag on the front seat and snatch it toward me, ripping it open. My heart hammering, I pull out the rope and quickly untie the two ends from the coil.

You can still run, my survival-brain reminds me. I ignore all my instincts. Clutching the rope and bear spray tightly, I tentatively walk back to Sean. His eyes are squeezed shut, the lids red and swollen, his brow clenched in a painful-looking grimace. He coughs and sputters, gasping in wheezing, labored breaths, his lungs no doubt on fire. He seems disoriented—and maybe blinded. For now.

Carefully setting down the canister and rope in arm’s reach, my heartbeat whooshes in my ears. Adrenaline kicking through my veins, the fight part of fight-or-flight takes control. I dart forward, grasping tight onto one of Sean’s wrists, wrenching it away from his face and behind his back as he cries out in pain. He yanks back, shouting in agony and confusion, but I somehow hold on. Sean’s bigger than me—but not by a lot.

I think I might be able to pin him when he suddenly jerks his body and rips his wrist from my grip. He twists onto his back, clawing blindly, snagging my hair in a clenched fist. He kicks out hard, connecting with my right shin, and I cry out in pain, landing heavily on my knees in the gravel.

“Fuck you, you bitch!” Sean slurs in a rough wheeze, spittle flying from his mouth.

I bite down hard on his forearm and he screams, letting go of my hair just long enough for me to scramble out of reach. My shin throbs, no doubt already starting to swell.

“No, Sean, fuck you,” I seethe. I lunge for his hand again and crank it behind his back, using my body weight to force him down onto his stomach. He shouts when I kneel on his lower back and yank his arm up sharply. I snag the rope from the gravel beside us and shove one end between my teeth, tasting dirt. Scrambling, I manage to wrap a length of it around his wrist several times.

He wheezes out another groan and claws at my injured shin with his free hand, his fingers gouging into the tender flesh through my jeans. Despite the screaming pain from my leg, I stomp with everything I’ve got on his elbow, his guttural cry telling me I hit my mark. Jarring pain zings up my leg and I hiss out a curse. With his arm having gone limp, I grab hold of his free wrist, clawing to hold on as he tries to pull away. Pulling hard on the rope and hooking my leg around his, I roll him onto his side, pinning his free arm under his own weight. I quickly loop both his wrists together, keeping tension on the rope, and let the end drop from my teeth. With another few wraps of his wrists for good measure, I quickly tie it. Thank God for mastering those fucking climbing knots.

Shoving away from Sean, I scramble on my hands and knees to grab the bear spray, spinning around onto my ass and holding it out between us, heart hammering. Sean thrashes but it’s clear he’s not getting out of that rope anytime soon, so I slowly push myself to a stand. I’m still holding the canister in front of me with shaking arms when I hear the roar of a familiar engine tearing down the driveway toward us. I look up, wincing, as a set of blinding headlights lights us up.