Page 54 of Ruthless Salvation
A tear fell from mine as I nodded.
She gave a single nod in return, her face sobering before she urged me to follow her. I was wary to follow but felt I had little choice. Maybe my mama had been listening because this brave young nurse became my savior. She took me back to the nurses’ locker room and gave me clothes to wear, helping me change when I couldn’t bear to lift my arms over my head. She opened her phone and showed me a picture of a bus station, to which I nodded as vigorously as possible.
Two hours later, I was boarding the early morning bus to St. Petersburg with my plastic sack loaded to the brim with all sorts of provisions. The woman, who’d told me her name was Ulyana, drove me to the station, bought me a bus ticket, then gave me every bit of cash she had left.
I genuinely believed I met an angel in the middle of Moscow that night.
She understood. I could see it in the knowing depths of her eyes. She knew what it was like to be in desperate need of help. To have your life hanging in the balance. She knew, which was why her help didn’t end there. The last thing she did for me before we parted was hand me a small piece of paper with what looked to be an address. I knew innately that she was sending me to someone who would keep me safe. Someone who would help me get home.
I didn’t care how much it hurt; I hugged her with every ounce of my strength. Her courage and generosity were unmatched. I wanted her to know the endless depths of my gratitude.
Again, in the moment of my darkest despair, the pendulum shifted to send my life down a new path. It was a reminder to never give up—one I wouldn’t soon forget.
Present
I wokeon Thanksgiving morning soaked in sweat with my hand over my belly and tears still wetting my face.
You’re okay, Stormy girl. You’re safe.
I took several slow breaths and grounded myself.
It had been over a year since I’d had a nightmare. My concerns over what to do about Torin must have triggered it. I hated that I couldn’t scrape that night from my memories.
I’d only been back in the US for about six months when I promised myself that I wouldn’t live in fear of Damyon. Running from him was enough of a concession. I refused to surrender any more by allowing fear to rule my thoughts and actions.
“Not today, Satan.” I threw back the covers and went straight to the shower. I scrubbed away the sticky bits of memory clinging to me and extinguished the scent of fear with a heavily lathered layer of strawberry-kiwi bodywash.
I felt like a new woman as I met Luke at the door an hour later.
“Ready?” he asked, his eyes glinting with green specks accentuated by a beautiful olive scarf over his jacket.
“I am, thanks. I didn’t have time to make anything, so I’m hoping this bottle of wine will suffice.” Southern hospitality dictated that I could never, not EVER, show up at a dinner party without bringing something to contribute.
“Alcohol is always a welcome offering. You know I don’t cook, so I jumped on the cranberry sauce before anyone else could claim it.” He held up a plastic grocery sack. “Two cans of jellied and a carton of the weird lumpy stuff, in case anyone likes that kind.” His nose crinkled as though he’d been forced to take a big whiff of an old gym sock.
“Hey, I love the weird lumpy stuff! It’s not truly cranberry sauce unless it has the little bits of cranberry in it.” Honey made the absolute best Thanksgiving meal. Her cranberries were to die for.
His head tilted to the side, and his eyebrows rose to a peak in the middle of his forehead. “I believe this is where you’d saybless your heart.”
My jaw dropped in mock outrage. “Oh no, you didn’t.”
He burst out laughing and scurried toward the stairs. “Come on, weirdo, before we’re late.”
“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” I muttered after him with a smirk.
He winked at me over his shoulder, and so began one of the best Thanksgivings I could remember, pre and post Damyon. His friends were fabulous. We laughed, teased, and encouraged one another. As promised, I fit right in and looked forward to hanging out with them again.
Between the glinting possibilities with Torin, my Moxy work family, and now Luke with his friends, I found myself wanting to stay in the city more than ever. Instead of dreading telling Torin the truth, I almost looked forward to it. I wanted him to understand. I wanted him to be the man my heart swore he was.
Luke and I spent all day at the gathering, only leaving after two rounds of hugs and professions of love by more than one tipsy individual. My stomach was full to bursting, as was my heart. I was so wistfully content that I almost didn’t notice the feeling of eyes watching me.
We exited the subway, my arm hooked around Luke’s, when I homed in on the sensation of being followed. I rolled my eyes to myself, knowing Torin was probably fuming about me being with Luke, especially when I had told him I would be home alone for the day.
Had he sat outside the building all day waiting for me to leave? If not, how else could he have known where I was?
I took a slow, disappointed breath.
He’d eased off his stalker tendencies now that we’d begun to form an understanding. His behavior hadn’t caused me any unease. I’d even enjoyed his little show of power with the blow job the night before. The first threads of trust spanned delicately between us, but this was a huge setback. Stalking me all day was a big problem. Granted, our relationship was far from textbook, but this was unacceptable.