Protect & Serve(101)

I still couldn’t force myself to look back, but it didn’t matter. There was no mistaking where the steps were coming from.

Whoever was chasing me had abandoned all pretense of trying to hide their intentions. He was running just like I was, but his feet were hitting the ground faster.

Up ahead, I could see the corner where I’d catch the bus when my car was in the shop. And just around the bend was the small daycare center where my sister used to take my nephew. But at this time of night, it might as well have been the dark side of the moon. There wouldn’t be anyone around to help me.

If I could just make it within shouting distance of my building, maybe someone would come out. One of my neighbors would recognize my voice and want to know what was going on.

My legs fired like pistons and I ran with the stride of an athlete, although I hadn’t been one. It wasn’t going to be enough. The footsteps were louder than ever and closing fast. I tried to yell for help, but nothing came out. My voice caught in my throat and stayed there no matter how hard I willed it.

He couldn’t have been more than twenty feet behind me when I remembered my cell phone. The puff-puff-puff of his outgoing breaths now coincided with his heavy footfalls.

I yanked the phone out of my back pocket without losing much speed. It unlocked with one quick swipe. Thank God I had removed the passcode when Kevin and I broke up. My thumb found its way over the phone app and I was almost there. If this bastard was going to grab me, it was all going to be recorded by the police.

9-1-…

It all happened so quickly. My foot came down, but not where I expected. Though only an extra eighteen inches, the step off that curb felt like it lasted an eternity. In my haste to get the call out, I’d lost my bearing.

The unexpected dip caused me to land with a jolt, and my phone flew from my hand. It hit the ground and bounced a few feet to my right.

I turned and bent to scoop it up.

His body hit mine like a train shot off the tracks. The full brunt of his weight sent me tumbling head over heels. My shirt tore at the seam and pulled down off my shoulder. The right side of my jeans shredded down the hip to the knee.

From my back, I had an inverted view of my cozy little condo. The light was on at the front porch, the way I always left it. It was so close.

A rough hand cupped my mouth and the weight of a large body pressed down on mine. The smell of cheap tobacco was overwhelming.





2





Luke





I like running when it’s dark. Sometimes, I go in the morning while all the men without discipline sleep. Other times I go late at night, long after the nine-to-fivers have kissed their kids and gone to bed. I don’t train for the sport of it. I don’t do it for fun. I do it because it’s how I get what I want.

Money isn’t free and neither are fame or beautiful women. You have to earn whatever you desire in this life, and I’ve been earning for a long time.

I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon, either.

Here comes the climb.

The boys at my training facility call it heart rate hill. Stretching out at a thirty-degree angle, it’s steep enough to drop most fighters to their knees by the midway point. Not me. I love the burn it puts in my lungs. Just like when I get in the cage, I thrive on pushing past the thresholds that others can’t.

A quarter mile in is where the men separate from the boys. It breaks a lot of athletes when they look for the horizon and realize they’re not even close. They’ll suck in huge breaths and fall off the pace.

At a mile, the attrition rate is fierce. Even some of the top guys can’t maintain their rhythm.

By the time you hit the mile and a half marker, you know you’re in good company. Fighters who can run -and I mean run- at this point are serious. They’ve likely trained for years and have the discipline to go places in life.

And that’s where I separate myself from the pack. Because I have another gear. Because I know how to push. Because I’m the alpha.

The blood flows hot in my veins as I scope the crest. My breaths are deep but measured. This is always the point when the adrenaline hits. Some people call it as a runner’s high, but not me. I don’t care what it’s called. I just know it’s the point where cheap fucking foreign cars start to lag and I run faster.

When the hill plateaus you can see for miles. The bright lights of Atlas City give way to the outskirts of Washington Heights to the west and Cardale to the east. Most nights I have to force myself to stop here just so I can look out at the city. And why wouldn’t I? I fucking own it.





3





Bria





I struggled for air. All of my wind was spent from running, and trying to breathe with his hand clamped over my nose gave me a claustrophobic feeling.