to himself. I wince, huffing in a breath from the initial pain.
“We want the same thing,” Byron whispers, releasing the pressure on my arm by shoving me forward.
I stumble down the stairs, and when my feet hit the bottom, I glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, and as predictable as my period every month, Byron stands, looming down at me.
His expression darkens. He makes room for Dixon who’s walking onto the small platform. They lower their masks, intimidating grins plastered on their beautiful faces. Dixon moves in my direction.
Unwilling to be the brunt of whatever they have planned, I push through the crowd, ready to flee this place and get as far away from the Glass House Boys as I can. I cut between two of the buildings and mask myself in darkness. Snow falls, blanketing the grass and forcing a chill through my body.
Halfway to the opening, I glance up and freeze.
A large figure blocks my exit. Dark clothes and a hidden face seal my fate. It’s happening again. There’s no doubt now I’m being targeted.
“What do you want?” I scream, taking a small step back. Any distance I can put between me and this psycho will help me in the end.
The streetlamp shines above his head, illuminating his certifiable head tilt, the one that warns victims that whatever their attacker has planned is going to hurt. Even though I haven’t stopped moving, the gap between us is getting smaller. For each step I take, he takes three.
With my last step, the back of my legs hit something hard and sharp. Taking my eyes off this guy isn’t smart, but there’s a tug on my coat when I try to sidestep the old, rusted bench. The sound of ripping fabric echoes through the nighttime air. My eyes shift to him.
He’s closing in on me, grinning when he notices me struggling with my coat. It’s caught on a broken edge of the bench.
“I have money,” I cry, a sad plea to survive as I tug and jerk on the wool. If it’s money he wants, I have plenty. If it’s my body, then he’ll have a fight on his hands.
“It isn’t your money we’re after. You have something that’s worth far more,” the man says quietly.
We’re?
This isn’t a solo game. They’ve come here for something, and they won’t leave without it.
Me.
Stunned and afraid aren’t adequate descriptions of everything coursing through me. The blood rushes to my head, whooshing through my ears. This coat will be the one thing that allows this guy to get his hands around my throat. With no other choice, I pluck the buttons one at a time, until I’m nearly free. My trembling hands make the process much more difficult than it should be.
Whoever this is, they have access to our campus. What they don’t have is knowledge of every hiding place, every nook and cranny my sister showed me freshman year.
The tall man lurches forward, and as the last button snaps off and hits the snow, I make a choice.
Run.
The coat slips from my body, freeing me. I kick off my shoes, leaving them behind. My feet pound the ground, and my arms push back and forth, carrying me away from the threat. Loud thuds from his boots hitting the pavement, ring out behind me, but I don’t look back. Looking back will slow me down. Right now, I have one goal. Find safety in my dorm so I can call the police and convince them that this can’t possibly be a coincidence. I’m not a girl who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, twice within a couple of weeks.
I’m prey.
Turning the corner, I spot my dorm building. With every bit of energy and muscle in my body, I push harder. This is where I’ll die if his hands get on me. I’m certain of it.
The snow burns my soles, and my lungs beg for air. I rush to the pin pad and punch in my code. Nothing. No whirring lock. No click granting access. I’m locked out, and a frantic glance over my shoulder proves I don’t have time to try again.
I take off in a sprint, racing into the woods, and stoop down behind a huge tree. Each inhalation is a harsh wheeze, and I cup my hands over my mouth, hoping to muffle the sound. The sharp knife in my side eases to a dull throb. The hard thump in my chest slows enough for me to catch