I stop in front of room nine, raising my hand in front of me ready to knock. Before I can do so the door is pulled open from the other side and I’m face to face with a sober Ali.

“Linds! You’re here. Finally.” Ali squeals and jumps onto me, hugging me like she hasn’t seen me in years.

I wrap my arms around her, appreciating not only her excitement to see me but the fact she also looks happy. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by yet. I’m a terrible sister. I’ve been so caught up with work. I never stopped worrying about you though.”

She pulls back and waves nonchalantly in front of herself. “It’s all good. It’s not like you haven’t called or anything. I’m just glad to see you. Let’s go out to the courtyard and chat. It’s nice out there.” She grabs a jacket off the hook beside her and shuts the door behind us. Ali then leads us out to a gorgeous little courtyard with a few table settings and a vertical vegetable garden attached to the back wall of the fence.

“How are you doing?” I ask, rubbing my hands together for warmth. It may be cute and comfortable out here, but it’s still winter. My hands are ice cold.

“Actually, I’m good I think. It’s not easy. I still feel sick. But after the first few days, it started to get better. Don’t get me wrong, every day is a struggle. It always will be. But if I stay on track, I think I’ll be okay.”

A weight lifts from my chest just hearing those words and as I look at Ali now, I see hope staring back at me. Finally, there’s light at the end of the tunnel.

I smile. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that. I’m so proud of you for doing this.”

Ali shrugs, looking down to the ground. “I needed to. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to accept that.” She goes quiet, and I don’t know how to respond. She did need this; she’s right. She wasn’t just pushing herself to the edge of no return. She was dragging me along with her, which eventually, I decided I was not okay with.

“And sorry for being a giant pain in the ass,” she adds with a hint of humor.

I chuckle. She’ll always find a way to lighten a serious conversation. “It’s okay, babe. We all make mistakes. What matters is what we learn from them, to be better next time.”

A young man in the clinic’s uniform passes by our table and his blond hair and toned body remind me of another blond man who’s taken to visiting Ali.

“So I’m a little concerned about why the staff are overly excited about the recent male attention you’re getting here.” Crossing my legs, I lean back into the chair. “And I hear he visits almost daily. Care to share?”

Ali shakes her head, averting her gaze. “It’s nothing really. Roamyn checks in with the cops on shift to protect me. He brings me chocolate and stays awhile. We talk and then he leaves.”

“I didn’t realize you two knew each other well,” I state, my tone questioning.

“We didn’t really, not until he started visiting me.” She picks at her nails, a telltale trait of hers. She’s nervous.

“I met him years ago. Saw him on and off. Before a few weeks ago, I don’t think I’d seen him for about two years.” She waves her arm around, gesturing to the clinic. “Last week he just showed up and he’s been by nearly every day since.”

“That’s kinda weird.” I rub my chin, uneasy about the motive behind these visits of Roamyn’s, not that I’d tell Ali that.

She responds, a gleam in her eye recognizable in any girl crushing on a boy. “It’s also kinda nice.”

Ali gets us both a cup of hot tea and as we sip our drinks we talk and laugh. Catching up like we haven’t done in years. My heart’s still heavy with concern about the blowback we have yet to receive, but our saving grace is the round-the-clock security that Ali is getting from the NYPD. She’s being protected. I just hope their armor is strong enough to fight the impending assault, and win.

***

The number five illuminates on the elevator wall and I step out onto my level, digging around in my purse for the keys. A chill ripples over my skin. Something feels off. I halt my step. I creep around the corner as quietly as I can but my heart is thumping so hard I’m sure it can be heard. I grab my phone out of my bag when I notice my door open. Not by much, but still slightly ajar. Someone’s inside.

I flick off my heels to be discreet and head for my loft, at the same time dialing the one person I know will get here the fastest.

“Mason. Somebody’s broken into my place, I’m in–”

Whoosh.

I’m airborne, floating for a fraction of time without a moment to breathe, to think. I land on the polished tiles with a loud thud. Pain illuminates the side of my face. The swelling is instant; along with what I’m positive will be a nasty bruise. I scramble to my feet and turn around, bracing my arms in front of me, fists ready. My gun’s inside. If I can just get to my room. My attacker runs toward me, broad and muscular, hiding behind a balaclava and top-to-toe black clothing.

Oomph.

I double over in agony, bile threatens to rise from the searing pain of a punch to my stomach. “Motherfucker.”  I recover quickly, refusing to let this asshole win because of a few cheap shots. He may be stronger, but I’m fast. Adrenaline courses through my veins, flight or fight instincts kick in. I run using every ounce of strength I can find to attack him with.

Crunch.

A kick to his chest throws him back and he lands on the ground after my counter attack. I round to his other side and kick him in the ribs. Once, twice, three times. He stumbles up, groaning in pain but he isn’t quick enough. I kick him again, right in the sternum, pushing him backwards, and out the door. I shut my door swiftly, locking it straight away. I glance around and grab the first makeshift weapon in reach. The lamp on my side table is heavy in my hands but I know it will do some damage. I raise my arms preparing to bring it down on the asshole’s head when he comes through the door.

I wait, chest heaving from exertion, body shaking, hair sweaty and sticking to my skin. Nothing, he doesn’t come back. My racing heart slows and after five full minutes of nothing but silence, I creep to the door, and turn the handle without making a sound. Lamp in hand, I open the door ready for him. A vacant hall greets me. I check the rest of the floor and the elevator, but he’s nowhere in sight. A disturbing silence coats my skin with ice and I shiver.

My neighbors mustn’t be home because no one’s opened their doors to find where the pounding of flesh was coming from. Clear from my attacker, I rush back into the safety of my home, shutting the door behind me and shoving a chair under the door to act as a lock. I dump the lamp on the island counter and search the freezer for something cold to use on my body.

The frozen bag of vegetables on my cheek dulls the swelling as I hobble to the couch. I just sit down when a pounding thumps loudly on the door, startling me into another frenzied state. Is he back? The thought causes me to jump from my seat and bolt for the lamp still sitting on the counter top. My body screams in agony but I prepare for the worst.

“Lindsey!”

The knocking continues but I stop in my tracks when I hear my name.

“Shit.” I mutter, exhaling a breath of relief I didn’t realize I was holding.

Mason.

I put down the lamp and grab the frozen bag from where it sits on the couch. My ribs protest, throbbing with every step I take. Sucking up the pain, I wince when I lift my top, applying the coldness to my bruised ribs.

Thumping sounds again at the door, but this time louder.

I yell out while hobbling to let Mason in. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t break down my freaking door.”

I turn the handle and Mason’s on me, his large hands cupping my face as he gently turns my head to the side, inspecting the damage from my attack. “Jesus. Look at you.” His eyes narrow and fire rages behind his stony expression. “Go lay down. Why did you get up? You’re in fucking pain.”