The Christmas Present. Tracy Wolff
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Court had run over by nearly an hour, which meant that she was hugely late for her appointment with Diego. She hated being late to anything, let alone a client meeting. It was particularly hard to swallow tonight, as her lateness was what had put her in the unenviable position of being hassled by this teenager in the street.
A part of her couldn’t help wondering if Diego got his jollies the same way this boy seemed to, though she did her best to ignore the thought.
Maintaining her air of confidence was getting more difficult by the second, but Vivian was determined not to let anyone around her know just how uncomfortable she was walking in this particular area—filled with prostitutes, drug dealers, gang members—as day slowly drifted into twilight. But as the short kid who had spoken to her was joined by a couple of friends and the trio began to trail her down the street, she grew increasingly alarmed.
Taking a deep, bracing breath, she straightened her shoulders a little more and sped up—a task that was more than a little difficult in her skyscraper heels. At another time, this tableau might have been funny, especially since she stood about three inches taller than the tallest boy. But here, now, it wasn’t the least bit amusing. It was frightening and disconcerting, and she wanted nothing more than for them to give up and leave her alone.
Not that she thought there was a chance in hell of that happening.
Her hand clenched more tightly around the pepper spray. It was a weak weapon when faced with three drunk or high teenage boys bent on God only knew what, but it was better than nothing.
Besides, it was her own fault. She’d known better than to come down here in her court clothes. The Tenderloin area of San Francisco was famous—or should she say notorious—for the danger lurking on the streets any time of day. Like anywhere, though, night was when the predators came out and the streets were at their most dangerous—so dangerous, in fact, that even the police rarely showed up here after nine o’clock.
She’d planned on going home to change before the meeting, had hoped to wear something a little less conspicuous. Of course, she’d also hoped to take a taxi, which would have delivered her straight to the door of Helping Hands. Instead she’d taken the BART train to a station three blocks from the shelter and then trusted in human goodness that she would make it to the door unharmed.
Trust wasn’t her strong suit at the best of times, and tonight was a perfect example of why.
Glancing at the building to her right, she tried to decipher the address through the grime without slowing her pace…1097, thank God! Only a little farther and she’d be at 1055 Ellis Street. Hopefully the community center would be a lot safer than the dilapidated neighborhood it existed in.
Though she’d grown up in San Francisco, she’d never been to this area before—her parents would have quiet heart attacks if they knew she was here now.
“Hey, lady. Whatcha need? I can show you where to get whatever you want.” The dark-haired kid reached out and grabbed her elbow, spinning her to face him before she could make a move to stop him.
His words bounced around her brain as Vivian struggled to make sense of them. “Nothing.” Her voice came out as a croak. “I don’t need anything.”
He gestured down the street. “My cousin’s got whatever you’re looking for. He’ll even cut you a good deal, since you’re so hot and all.” His friends laughed as he leered at her, his rancid breath invading her air space.
She struggled not to gag as the overwhelming smell of booze hit her head-on and his meaning finally sank in. Drugs. He thought she wanted drugs.
Pushing away the sympathy that welled instinctively, Vivian twisted her arm, struggling to break his grasp. “Really, I’m fine. I don’t need anything. I’m just trying to get—”
His leer grew more pronounced at her denial. “Well, if you’re not looking for smack, what are you looking for? There’s only a couple reasons women like you come down here. If it’s not to get high…” He let the implication dangle as he crowded her, pushing her against the front of the abandoned building as his lower body—his very hard, very aroused lower body—bumped into her own.
His friends moved in behind him, flanking him on either side and cutting off any viable means for escape.
Anger exploded inside of her, a wild animal raking her with sharp claws, making her heart pound faster and her breathing spiral out of control. Any sympathy she’d had for them evaporated as she vowed not to go down without a fight.
She tried to break away, to bring her arms up between the two of them and push the kid back, but he was stronger than he looked. And she was hampered by the tight skirt of her suit and her total lack of experience with physical brawling. She’d never been in a fight in her life and she had no idea what to do to get out of this one.
She couldn’t even use the pepper spray, as he was holding on to both her arms, the weight of his body pressing against hers until she was all but immobile, and completely vulnerable.
“Look,” she said, her voice trembling so badly she could barely understand herself. Determined not to show him how afraid she was, she cleared her throat and tried for a steadier tone. “I’m sorry. I just want to get to the community center. I’m supposed to—”
He reached up, grabbed her breast and began to squeeze. “The community center, huh? You’ll get there. Eventually.” His laugh was low and mean, and his two companions joined in.
Vivian twisted against him, preparing to scream as she looked around frantically for help. But violence was a way of life down here, and the few people near her either didn’t notice her plight or didn’t care enough to risk their own lives by interceding.
She continued to struggle against her attacker, trying to get her hand free so she could actually use the stupid pepper spray. Her movements only excited him more—she could see it in his eyes, hear it in his suddenly ragged breathing. Feel it in the hardness pressed between her thighs.
Nausea overwhelmed her, burning away the anger and leaving terror in its place. So much for those stupid self-defense classes she’d taken. Nothing they’d taught her was working, and she was suddenly very afraid that she wasn’t going to be able to find a way out of this.
His hand moved from her breast to her skirt, and he started to push the raw silk up and out of his way. Fear cut through the fury and tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them, trembling on her lashes before spilling down her cheeks.
“Please.” She looked him straight in the eye, struggled to reach the lost kid inside the street tough. Struggled for her own safety and sanity. “Please don’t do this. I beg you, please. Stop.”
For a second she thought she’d reached him, thought she saw his eyes soften as his hand stilled. But then his friends laughed and one commented, “You were right, Nacho. The rich ones don’t mind begging at all.”
She glanced at the third boy. He looked scared, nervous, as though he wanted to be anywhere but where he was, though he never opened his mouth, never said a word.
Nacho’s eyes hardened, the brief look of compassion dying out as if it had never been there. “That’s right. Didn’t I tell you I know how to treat a woman? By the time I’m done she’ll be beggin’…on her knees.”
He gave a sharp tug and Vivian felt her panty hose rip. She did scream then, one long, thin burst of sound as she struggled violently. When she finally got her left hand free, she brought it to Nacho’s face and scratched long furrows down his cheek even as she continued to buck against him. Trying desperately to get to the pepper spray, to dislodge his grip on her skirt. To get away.
Nacho swore as her nails raked his face, and brought his hand back to slap her. His friends crowded in and Vivian closed her eyes, bracing for the blow she knew was coming.
But it never landed. Suddenly she was free, and Nacho and his friends were simply gone. “What do you think you’re doing?” It was a new voice, deep and husky and so authoritative it got her attention instantly.