Her head whipped back, the skin beside her mouth tearing from his ring. Her head spun from the new horrible pain.

“Where’s your phone, poutana?”

Her phone. It would show the call to Dennison. She stared at him, too terrified to speak.

He set a big hand around her throat and squeezed. “Where?”

Red streaks shot through her vision as she struggled for air. Her fingers scrabbled uselessly against him. Lifting her by her neck, he stood her up. Her feet touched the carpet; her legs took her weight…

Yanking her knee up as fast as she could, she smashed his balls so violently she could feel cells bursting.

He choked, wheezed, and struck out, punching her in the cheek, before his legs buckled. He hit the floor, wavering on his knees.

Half-blinded, she fumbled for the nightstand lamp. Her fingers brushed cold glass. She grabbed the crystal vase and, with a terrified howl, swung with all her strength.

The heavy glass struck his head—and shattered.

“Aaaah!”

Terrified at the tortured yell, she scrambled to the other side of the bed and stood. Looked.

He was on his side, hands pressed to his face. Shards of glass covered the carpet and pincushioned his cheek. Blood poured from between his fingers. Gut-wrenching moans filled the room.

Backing up, she thumped into the wall.

His head turned, and she gasped.

A huge glass shard had penetrated his right eye.

Bile rose into her throat. She couldn’t move.

“I’ll kill you…kill you, kill you, cunt.” At the guttural cursing, fresh terror gripped her.

Run, oh God, run. She banged into the dresser and grabbed her phone, purse, and keys. Don’t use the door. The other man would be coming back.

Opening the bedroom window, she shoved out the screen. Crying at the pain, she crawled through.

The back of the building was dark, the only illumination from the windows above.

Arms wrapped around herself, she staggered toward building D. Each footstep sent pain stabbing into her ribs. Keeping to the blackest shadows behind the buildings, she splashed through puddles. Icy rain plastered her skimpy clothes and hair to her skin.

Stopping at the corner of building E, she heard a car and froze. A black van drove past.

Her heart hammered so loudly it drowned out the sound of the rain, of anything. The New Yorker would find Spyros. Would come after her.

“Move, Audrey. Move.”

The night blurred around her as she lurched forward. Building F.

There was her car. Hot tears spilled over.

The engine started. Oh thank God. Grabbing a stocking cap from the glove compartment, she pulled it on, bunching her hair under it. She put on her driving glasses.

Taking painful shallow breaths, she drove slowly out of the parking lot.

No black van. No cars at all.