Come Out Tonight - By Richard Laymon Page 0,21

be really sorry.”

“I told you…”

“I’ll hurt you a lot.”

“I thought you liked me.”

“I like you. I more than like you.”

“Then you shouldn’t hurt me. And you shouldn’t threaten me. That’s not stuff you do if you like a person.”

“But I have to.”

She almost asked “Why?” But she was afraid of the answer he might give. Instead, she told him, “No, you don’t. You don’t have to do any of this.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You could just stop it all right now.”

“Stop it?”

“Let me go.”

“I can’t. I’ve already…done stuff to you. It’s too late to stop.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yeah.”

“Everything so far can just be our secret. I don’t have to ever tell anyone what you did.”

“But you would, though.”

“I won’t. I promise. Just let me go. Nothing else has to happen.”

Toby turned his head and frowned at her. “I thought you wanted to go to bed with me.”

“I did. I really did, but that was before you started with all these threats.”

“So now you don’t wanta?”

“I don’t know. You’ve got me scared.”

“You don’t gotta be scared.”

“I don’t want to get hurt.”

“You won’t. Not if you don’t deserve it.”

“I already told you I won’t try to run away. Will you promise not to hurt me anymore?”

“Okay,” Toby said. “I promise.”

Sighing, he eased his car to a stop at a red light. There were no other cars nearby—except for a few in the parking lot on the other side of Venice Boulevard.

The parking lot of the Nacho Casa.

“How about another taco?” Sherry asked.

Toby turned his head for a look at the restaurant.

Sherry snapped open her seat-belt buckle, flung the straps aside and threw open her door.

“No!” Toby yelled.

As he reached for her, she dropped sideways and tumbled out of the car.

Chapter Eleven

Sherry flung up an arm. The street pounded her elbow and crashed her arm against her head. Still half inside the car, she felt as if she were being thrown upside down.

Toby grabbed her right ankle.

She kept falling.

Toby’s hand slipped. The shoe was jerked from her foot and he lost his hold.

Her legs came flying out of the car and slammed against the pavement. Grunting with the pain, Sherry flipped herself over. She rolled and rolled, then pushed herself to her hands and knees.

The passenger door stood wide open.

Toby, still behind the wheel, was twisted sideways, one arm stretched out as if frozen in the act of reaching for her. “Get back in here,” he said, his voice not loud but hard and clipped. “Right now!”

Sherry got to her feet.

Except for Toby’s car, the four eastbound lanes of Venice Boulevard were empty. She saw the headlights of three cars, but they were still far away.

On the other side of the divider, a car rushed by.

She saw the shapes of people inside the Nacho Casa. She’d probably be safe if she could get there. But the restaurant was on the other side of the boulevard.

Running across all those westbound lanes would be easy—no traffic to worry about for a while—but Toby’s car was in the way.

“Sherry!” he snapped. “Come back here!”

“Go away and leave me alone!” She broke into a dash for the area behind his car.

The back-up lights flashed on.

The car shot backward.

She wondered if she could beat it.

Then she saw that she had no choice. She might have time to dodge away and avoid the rear of the car—but the wide open passenger door would nail her for sure.

Go for it!

She sprinted for all she was worth.

Go-go-go!

Now she was directly behind the backward-rushing car.

Quick!

It roared toward her legs.

She pictured herself crumpled on the road, her legs shattered, Toby hurrying back and scooping her up and loading her into the car.

His tires screamed.

Nothing hit her.

I made it!

The driver’s door flew open and raced toward her.

No!

She dived for the center divider.

In midair, she felt something bump against the edge of her right foot. The door? It knocked her foot sideways. Her legs smacked together, turning her, flipping her over.

On the far side of the concrete divider, she hit the pavement of the westbound lanes. She skidded and rolled, then scurried up and ran.

Her right foot hurt, but not much.

Though most of her body seemed to be ringing with pain, it worked. She supposed she was no more injured than if she’d taken a bad spill with her bicycle.

A little battered and skinned.

I’ll live.

Dashing for the far side of the road, she swung her head around and saw Toby’s car speeding forward, racing for the intersection.

He’s gonna make a U!

But other cars, approaching from the east, were

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