Trainwreck 2 (Trainwreck #2) (16 page)

He gave me a man hug. “Awesome speech, Ari.”

“Thanks,” I said hurriedly, not wanting to be rude.

“I saw my head of boys’ toys talking to you and one of my protégés earlier.”

My heart leapt into my throat. What was he talking about? “You mean…”

“Catherine Sinclair. You know her?”

All air left my lungs as my muscles clenched. Sarah had once mentioned that her demanding boss’s name was Catherine—that first time I was at her apartment. I was putting two and two together faster than any Einstein. Holy shit.

“We just met,” I stammered.

“She must have gone over to your table to say hello to her assistant, Sarah. That girl’s a little dynamo.” He paused, putting his own two and two together. “Hey, Ari, don’t tell me you’re dating her?”

My mind was racing at the speed of a runaway train, and my heart thudded. Fuck. Sarah’s life was in danger. Every buzzing nerve in my body confirmed it. I had to get to her before Cassandra did.

“Listen, Ike, I’ve got to run. We’ll have a drink and catch up soon.”

“Sounds like a plan. And by the way, you’ve picked a good one.” He winked at me. “Sarah Greene’s a winner.”

And I was going to be the world’s biggest loser if I didn’t find her. Panic gripped me by the balls as I sprinted back to the ballroom. Where the hell could she have gone? And then it hit me. Where she always ended up after some kind of misunderstanding or crisis. Her apartment. Jesus. Why didn’t I think of that before? The Waldorf wasn’t that far from it either by foot or by cab so she should be there by now. I yanked out my phone from my breast pocket and immediately speed dialed her home number. I held my breath waiting for her to pick up.
Come on, my princess. Pick up.
The phone rang five times and went straight to her voicemail. I left an urgent message.

“Sarah, as soon as you get this message, call me. Keep your door locked and don’t open it for anyone except me.” I ended the call.

Five minutes later, I was racing through the streets of Manhattan in my tux. There was no faster way to get there—not even Andre could work miracles with the insane Friday night traffic. Adrenaline pumped through my veins while dread filled my heart.
Tonight, tonight…
Were we going to have our own tragic
West Side Story
?

Sarah

T
he bullets of rain pelted me. I was a shivering wet mess. Frantically, desperately, I buzzed Mrs. Blumberg’s apartment. Thank goodness, I had given her a spare set of keys in case of an emergency. No answer. The rain kept coming down in buckets. I buzzed again and again and again. Still no answer. I was beginning to fear that Mrs. Blumberg slept with earplugs. Falling to my knees, I sank to a new level of despair. Everything was so, so wrong in my life—the uncertain future of Ari and his beloved son, my ailing mother, and that of my career. I was a total trainwreck. A fucking disaster. As the rain fell harder, I began to sob. Loud, ugly sobs that wracked my body. Finally, a voice filtered through the intercom.

“Who’s there?”

Staggering to my feet, I rasped, “It’s me, Sarah. I lost my keys.” My voice was raw, almost inaudible.

“Hold on.”

I choked out a sigh of relief when she buzzed me in. My relief instantly gave way to more uncontrollable sobs as I trudged up the stairs in my soaking wet gown, which felt like it weighed a ton. I tried hard not to bend my aching right knee. My nose was running, and tears kept pouring down my face. I stopped at the second floor and knocked on Mrs. Blumberg’s door. After peering through the peephole, she unbolted the door and opened it. Wearing a fuzzy bathrobe and a headful of pink curlers, she glared at me with a mixture of shock and compassion.

“Oy!
Would you like me to make you some nice chicken soup?”

Chicken Soup for the Soul
. My mother had made me read that book in high school when I was going through a rough time, but there was nothing that could comfort my soul right now. Nothing.

“Thanks, Mrs. Blumberg,” I sniffed, “but I really just want to take a hot shower and call it a night.”

“Okay. But if you change your mind, you know where I am.”

She handed me the spare set of keys, and after bidding her goodnight, I trekked up the last flight of stairs to my apartment. Every step was an effort. Breathing heavily and blinded by my tears, I jammed the key into my lock and jiggled it. With my bandaged hand, soaked and sore, it wasn’t easy. My hand was shaking. The damn door wouldn’t open. I tried again, using my other hand. No luck. Moreover, my phone was ringing. Ari? Oh, God. Did Cassandra get to him? Let him know of her intent to take his precious Ben away from him? Then another horrific thought crossed my mind. Maybe something had happened to my mother. Shivering with cold fear and hopelessness, I kicked the door. How could this night get any worse? Finally, the lock gave way, and I stumbled into my pitch-black apartment. Before I could get to it, the phone stopped ringing. A meowing Jo-Jo brushed up against my ankles. Then, on my next labored breath, something gripped me tight around my neck and—
POW!
—a gut-wrenching punch to my stomach sent a rush of bile to my throat. I doubled over in agony and winced.

“Did you like that, bitch?”

A deep shudder ran through me. I knew that voice. Oh God! It was my assailant from the afternoon. How did he get into my apartment?

“What do you want?” I whimpered.

A different voice, female, responded. “Sarah, you know what
I
want.”

I gasped. I was putting two and two together. My bag…my keys…left behind in the Waldorf restroom. She had somehow gotten here before me.

The lights flicked on. She was seated on the couch, one long leg folded over the other and holding a cigarette. Catherine!

“Give it to her again, Spike. And this time I’m going to watch.”

Panic gripped me. Before I could scream, Spike rammed his fist into my gut again, this time with even more force. Clutching my twisted stomach, I coughed up blood and thought I might faint. Catherine laughed diabolically and then took a long drag of her cigarette before blowing out a cloud of smoke.

“Is that what it feels like when he rams his dick up your pussy?”

The psycho bitch was making me sick. I heaved with pain.

“And does he pay you for your services?” She reached into her clutch and pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill. Ari’s—the one on which he had written his cell phone number. Crumpling it in her hand, she flung it at me. It hit me in the eye and stung.

“Should I call him and ask?” Slipping out my cell phone, which Spike had stolen, she hurled it at me, but I ducked just in time before it hit me in the head. She smiled wickedly. “Or, Sarah, perhaps you would like to.”

I glanced down at it. Fuck. It was dead. Of no use to me.

“Why are you doing this to me, Catherine?” I choked out the words.

“Nobody steals from me. NOBODY! And, FYI, my name is Cassandra. Cassandra Golden.”

She was sick. Sick, sick, sick.

Smugly, she reapplied her blood-red lipstick and then took another puff of her cigarette. “Show the little cunt what you’re really made of, Spikey.”

I was frozen with fear, unable to move. But this time instead of socking me, he tightly wrapped an arm around my aching middle and began to squeeze the life out of me.

I gasped for air, fighting for consciousness.
Think, Sarah, think
. Without thinking, I dug the sharp heel of my stiletto into his foot as hard as I could.

“OW! Damn it! You fucking bitch!” He loosened his grip around me, and I fled toward the door. Panting, I curled my fingers around the knob, but before I could turn it, Spike grabbed me from behind and flung me across the room. An excruciating pain shot up my calf as I tumbled onto the hardwood floor, landing with a thud and a groan. Chances are I’d done something bad to my ankle. Battling tears, I tried to stand up but couldn’t bear any weight on my right foot. Maybe I could crawl back to the door.

But before I even had a chance, Spike loped up to me and gave my ribcage a hard, loud kick with his boot.

“Like that?” he sneered.

I moaned in pain, positive that he had broken at least one of my ribs. Clutching my stomach, I fought back waves of nausea but couldn’t stop the tears. I hurt so much everywhere and I could hardly breathe.

“You’re so pathetic,” snickered Catherine, who was clearly enjoying every minute of this spectacle.

“Please, Catherine. Don’t do this,” I wept out loud.

Puffing on her cigarette, she rolled her demonic eyes. “Sarah, can I assume you’re just begging for more?” Her eyes flitted to her accomplice and her voice rose an octave. “You moron, what the fuck are you waiting for?”

Without wasting a second, Spike slammed his body onto mine, knocking my head onto the floor. As I thrashed my arms and legs with the little bit of strength I had left, his wretched eyes held me prisoner while his fetid breath heated my cheeks. I tried to scream, but before I could find my voice, he cupped his calloused palm over my mouth so that I couldn’t.

Oh, God! There had to be something I could do to fend him off. While whimpers clogged my throat, desperation filled every crevice of my being. In the background, I could hear the phone ringing again and poor frightened Jo-Jo meowing.
Think, Sarah, think!
And then it came to me. This warrior princess had a weapon! My tiara!

On my next harsh breath, I tore it out of my hair and, with a muffled grunt, raked my assailant’s ugly face with its sharp edges.

He screamed out in pain. Blood oozed from the deep gashes. With his free hand, he swiped at the bloody streaks. “You fucking, fucking bitch!” he shrieked as I did it again.

“You idiot!” screamed Cassandra. “Don’t let her get away with this shit. Punish her!”

Sarah, Warrior Princess, don’t give up!
With Spike on the defense, I kept at it with the bloodied tiara, slashing him everywhere I could. He winced and cursed again. Terror gave way to courage. My life was at stake. Whatever the consequences, I was determined to not let Catherine win at her own sick deadly game. I only prayed that God was on my team and could help me beat the spawn of Satan and her accomplice.

Sarah, Warrior Princess. Hang in there!

Ari

D
espite the pouring rain, I’d never run so fast in my whole life. My lungs were burning as were my legs, and my heart was slamming against my chest with every painful step. I called Sarah’s home phone again, not letting it slow me down. Again, she didn’t answer and the goddamn voicemail box was now full. I also called Andre to let him know what was going on. Fear filled every crevice of my being as I sprinted through the soaked streets of the city, dodging spiky umbrellas, rainy-night strollers, and honking cabs.

It took me only five New York minutes to get to Sarah’s apartment. Dripping wet and chilled to the bone, I ran up the steps of the brownstone taking two at a time and, then panting, pressed my thumb to her buzzer. Pressing it again and again, I gazed up and saw that her lights were on. I took that as a sign she was home. But why wasn’t she answering her intercom? Was she simply ignoring it—or should I say me—or was she in harm’s way? My gut told me the latter. Panic set in.

“Sarah, fucking let me in!” I shouted out at the top of my lungs in desperation, the rain still coming down hard. “Please, let me in!
Saaaa-rah
!”

My eyes stayed focused on her window as I continued to shout her name. Finally a window opened. But it wasn’t hers—rather that of the apartment below. A head filled with pink curlers poked out.

“What’s going on down there?” the elderly woman yelled down at me. “I’m trying to get some sleep.”

“Let me in!” I yelled back.

“Wait.” Scrunching her face, she pointed a finger at me. “Didn’t I see you the other day with Sarah?”

Jesus. The last thing I needed was a conversation with the hag.

“I’m her boyfriend and she’s in terrible danger! Please let me in! Hurry!”

“Why should I believe you?”

“As God is my witness.” A desperate line.

“Oy!”

The woman disappeared from sight, and a few ragged breaths later, a buzzer sounded, allowing me to enter the building. Without wasting a second, I swung open the door and charged into the dimly lit building. With my heart in my throat, I raced up the three flights of stairs to Sarah’s apartment, passing her neighbor, who’d let me in, on the second floor landing.