Pleasure Extraordinaire 2 (PURSUIT) (23 page)

Suddenly, I feel a strong grip on my arm, and a hand covers my mouth. My senses haven’t
been wrong. Whoever is gripping me doesn’t have benign intentions and moves the hand
that was holding my arm toward my neck. Terror washes over me as I remember the killing
scenes in the movies and how easy it is to kill someone with just a twist of the neck.
However, he’s too strong for me to even move a hand, let alone break free from his
iron grip.

I inhale deeply and try to scream, although his salty hand is firmly covering my mouth.
My voice is too low, especially for the people in the lobby to hear. If the elevator
arrives, the doorman might hear me through its open doors. But, the fucking elevator
is more stubborn than the hands holding me caged and paralyzed.

The attacker now squeezes my throat and covers both my mouth and nose, leaving me
no chance to breathe. My lungs burn without air, and my stomach revolts at the disgusting
salty taste of his sweaty hand. If I can’t think of a way out, these will be my last
seconds.

I always imagined I’d welcome death, if it came, after Jack was gone. His absence
was too painful to even think of living a long life. But, it’s not that way. Even
though I wished I’d die and finally re-unite with Jack, now all I want is to dig my
fingers in and hold on to life with all my power.

In a matter of seconds, my already insignificant existence will cease. Will anyone
remember me after five years? Ten years? I won’t be able to leave a child behind,
someone who would come to my grave and beautify it with flowers, nor a piece of art
that would allow me to continue living in people’s minds. I will be a nothing. And
for a strange reason, the nothingness makes me think about my boots and their high
and heavy heels.

I lift my right foot and slam it directly on the attacker’s foot. He jerks back and
hauls me down to the floor. Taking advantage of my suddenly free airway, I inhale
a deep breath and begin screaming my ears deaf, earning me an excruciating punch in
my stomach.

“Shut the fuck up,” the attacker yells at me as he pulls me up. His face is scarier
than any man I’ve come close to. Deep scars and dark tattoos cover the majority of
his face. He slaps me with so much force that I fly back down onto the floor, and
he begins kicking me. I taste blood as I double over to protect myself from his kicks,
in vain.

Dying from a twist of the neck would have been much better than being beaten to death.
I whisper Jack’s name and beg him to help me.

All of a sudden, the elevator doors slide open, and I see a pair of black shoes jumping
out toward me.

“Taylor.” I hear a familiar voice screaming and the attacker collapses onto the floor
beside me.

“Adam,” I choke out his name together with blood and try to move away from the attacker.
As though Adam knew the attacker had kicked me in the stomach, he fires away violent
kicks into his, one after another. I see blood coming out of the attacker’s mouth,
but Adam doesn’t look like he’ll stop kicking anytime soon. “Adam, stop,” I beg with
my cracked voice. “You’ll kill him.”

He stops to look at me and shoots one more kick to the attacker’s back before he bents
down to help me up.

A sudden gunshot at the entrance of the parking lot startles me. “Leave him alone,”
a man yells and another deafening shot follows. The attacker on the ground uses the
distraction to spring to his feet and disappears toward the exit. Breathless, I turn
to Adam but go numb when I see him sprawled on the floor.

“Oh, my god, Adam! Are you shot?” Fisting his jacket, I shake him until he turns his
face to me.

“I think so.” He raises his hand and places it onto his chest, close to his heart.

Is he really shot? In the heart? I wipe open the jacket and rip the shirt apart to
examine his chest.

“They might come back.” Adam coughs. “Take me to the elevator and call the police.”

I put his arm around my neck and push myself hard to get onto my feet. Hell, he’s
heavy and my boots aren’t helping. We stump each step until we get to the elevator
and fall onto the floor once we’re inside. I reach up to push the lobby button and
go back to examining Adam’s chest, which is now covered with warm blood. Worse yet,
he’s passed out.

***

A
s soon as we arrive at the hospital, the doctors take Adam to surgery. While waiting
in the ICU waiting room, a police officer approaches me to take my statement regarding
the attack. I recite to him what little I remember. How much can one say about being
attacked by a tattooed and scarred man, while waiting for the elevator in the parking
lot?

“He grabbed me by my mouth, tried to twist off my neck, I smashed his foot with my
high heels—” The cop glances down at my feet. I don’t miss the arching of his eyebrows.
Yeah, we women like to torture ourselves, but every now and then we manage to torture
others, too, “I started screaming and then Adam showed up and rescued me. But, the
guy’s accomplice, who was waiting at the exit, shot Adam right in the chest. I don’t
remember anything else about them afterwards. I suppose the two ran away immediately.”

“Do you have any idea who they might be?”

When I shake my head no, he asks me to describe them. I try to give as many details
about the attacker as possible but can’t manage it beyond talking about the tattoos
and scars on his face. Afterwards, a nurse tends to my injuries. I have bruises all
over my stomach but nothing serious, like internal bleeding.

The thought of being seconds away from death still haunts me. However, that Adam may
die or be permanently injured because of me makes my stomach revolt with pain. I’m
so grateful to him, yet angry at him for risking his life for me.

The nurse gives me pain killers and releases me. I’m back in the waiting room, feeling
as though I’ll shuffle off this mortal coil if I have to wait longer, without hearing
whether Adam will make it or not. My hands and knees shake violently, and my stomach
is on the verge of emptying itself. I debate for a while whether I should call Valerie
or not, but knowing all too well how she’ll grill me about being reckless and irresponsible,
I decide against it. But, I need someone thoughtful beside me to calm me down and
take care of me and Adam, if I pass out. So, I text Bree, and explain to her briefly
about the attack, and ask her politely to accompany me.

She arrives before I know it and brings me green tea, clean clothes, and shoes. Wow,
talk about being thoughtful. I burst into tears as soon as I see her and thank her
for being there for me. I change into the blue t-shirt, jeans, and sandals she brought
and dump the boots into the nearest garbage bin. Although it was thanks to them that
I could injure the attacker to get a chance to scream, my feet can’t take any more
of their abuse.

“You’re the best,” I say and take the seat beside her in the waiting room.

“I can’t say no to that.” She tugs a strand of hair behind my ear. Since when is she
such a mother hen? I begin reciting the attack and Adam’s shooting, this time with
detail.

“What was Adam doing in your apartment building?” Her mouth is wide open with shock
and worry. I can see Valerie asking the same question with a whole different attitude.

I glance down at my hands. “I don’t know, but I can guess why.”

She doesn’t prompt me, so I take my time to speak. It’s more of an explanation for
me than for Bree. “I got a little emotional while Adam and I were dancing at the party.
I didn’t want people to see me crying.”

“Did you cry? I didn’t notice it. You both looked like you were enjoying the song.
Did you know it was Adam’s pick? He practically begged me for it.” A ghost of a smile
flickers across her lips.

I shake my head disapprovingly. I should have known Bree was Adam’s partner in crime.
“No, I didn’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway. When I started crying I didn’t want
others to see my outburst, so I left. I think Adam thought I was upset with him and
came after me to apologize. You know how stubborn he can be.”

“You’re lucky that he is.”

“You don’t need to tell me that. The guy attacked me with the intention of killing
me.” I hug myself as the images of his kicks to my stomach flash across my mind.

“Do you have any idea who the guy might be or who he’s working for?”

I shake my head no. “I don’t have the slightest idea.”

“I can’t imagine our competitors stooping so low,” Bree says. “Any relative who may
inherit money from you in the event of your death?”

“You know my sister. She wouldn’t attempt such a thing. Neither would my cousin or
aunt.”

Bree raises an eyebrow. “So, no relatives who can benefit from your death. There is
one other motivation...”

“Which?” I ask.

“You must have angered someone so much he’s taking his revenge,” Bree says apologetically.

I manage to elicit a snort. “That seems to me the most likely motivation. I have a
long list of dry cleaners, cashiers, and waiters who hate me enough to plot my end.”

“In any case, I don’t think it’s safe to return back home soon. They may attack you
again,” Bree points out and rightly so. But, I’m not worried about that.

“I wasn’t planning to. I’ll squat at the hospital until I’m sure Jack is fine,” I
say.

“You mean Adam, right?”

I review what I’ve just said and glance at Bree with embarrassment. “Just a slip of
the tongue.”

“It’s the first time you’ve made this mistake around me.”

“Well, it’s also the first time I’ve had a blood-thirsty criminal kicking my brains
out.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Bree looks miserable and I don’t want the night turn
to more miserable than it already is.

“I know you didn’t mean anything. You know what actually saved my ass? But don’t tell
it to Adam.” I tell her the part with my high-heels landing on the attacker’s feet.
This instantly puts us into a laugh attack, under the angry looks of the other visitors
in the waiting room. I deserve a little laughter, don’t I? But, my real laughter will
come when I hear from Adam’s doctor. My nerves are over the edge and the lack of sleep
isn’t helping either.

Finally, one of the doctors who took Adam to surgery shows up, and I jolt right up
to my feet and run to him.

“I have good news.” The doctor nods to Bree when she arrives. “We removed the bullet.
Fortunately, it didn’t hit his heart, but he lost a lot of blood and will need a transfusion.
We don’t have enough O negative blood reserves in the hospital. I’ve just got the
Cedar Sinai’s officer on the phone to request some from their reserves. They’ll be
sending it in a few hours.”

“Adam is O negative?” I ask, but without waiting for the doctor’s reply, I continue.
“I’m O negative, too. But, I drank alcohol a few hours ago.”

“Oh.” The doctor scratches his head. “How many hours ago was it?”

Bree tugs at my arm. “That champagne you drank was non-alcoholic. I arranged it so
you don’t get... you know.”

I scowl at her words, trying to decide whether I should be upset with her or thankful.
But I did feel light-headed as if I drank alcohol. Was it just an illusion?

“In that case,” the doctor interferes. “Would you like to donate for Mr. Garnett?”

“Nothing could stop me from donating my non-alcoholic blood,” I reply and follow the
doctor to a room where a nurse makes me lie down on a long chair and sticks a needle
into my arm. Bree sits by my side, cringing and hardly looking at my direction.

“Man up,” I joke but still can’t make her look at me. Instead, she gets up and excuses
herself. Perhaps, I shouldn’t have made fun of her. Donating blood sucks, particularly
when I’m tired and agitated.

After an hour of struggling in a half-sleeping, half-awake state, the nurse finally
pulls the needle out and offers me a bottle of orange juice. I find Bree in the waiting
room with a bowl of take-out fettucini alfredo with chicken. I couldn’t have been
happier with her.

***

F
ifteen hours past surgery and Adam is still in a coma. Bree and I took turns trying
to sleep, but we’re both drained of our resources. I go to the vending machine to
get coffee for us and when I return I find Bree talking to a nurse.

“Adam is awake.” Bree jumps up and down and drags me by my arm behind the nurse. I
manage to drop the coffee cups into a trash can on our way and straighten my hair
before I enter Adam’s room.

I don’t know what I expect to see after his surgery, but finding him so pale, broken,
and beside himself, and his chest wrapped up in bandages sends panic through my veins.
I was beaten down for several minutes, but compared to me, Adam looks like he was
trampled by a gang. I swallow the large lump of guilt in my throat and put on my calmest
face as I move toward his bed.

“Hi,” he whispers without moving his cracked lips. His eyes are only half-way open.
Why does he even want to see us? He should go back to sleep and recover.

Before I know it, Bree leaps the distance between the door and Adam, springs to his
bed, and tightly hugs him, all the while letting out loud sobs. “Oh, Adam. I thought
you would die. Thank God you’re alive.”

Crap, I’m a cold-hearted witch compared to Bree.

Adam closes his eyes and gives out an exhausted smile. “I’m not easy to get rid of.”
Then he opens his eyes and shoots one long, flirtatious look at me. Even a bullet
in the chest isn’t able to stop him from being the playboy he is. I’ll give him that.

“Bree, please be gentle,” I say. My voice comes out more edgy than I’ve intended.

“I’m okay, Bree. She’s just jealous.” Adam turns down to Bree and winks at her. “I
have enough space here for both of you.” He eyes me as he tries to raise his bandaged
arm but can’t move it beyond lifting his fingers. It breaks my heart, seeing him this
vulnerable. I wish I could change places with him. But one thing is sure; if Adam
hadn’t shown up in time I’d be in a morgue rather than a hospital bed.