The sun set, plunging New York City into a freezing, gray twilight.
Elinor stood in the bathroom of a campus library, looking in the mirror. She had changed into an old, faded olive-green winter coat. It was bulky and shapeless, perfect for blending into the shadows. She couldn't afford a taxi, and she didn't want to call Boyd's driver. She had to walk to the subway station and take the train to Midtown.
She checked her watch. 7:00 PM. She had a full hour to get to The Pinnacle.
She left the library and took a shortcut down a narrow, poorly lit alleyway between two brick buildings to reach the subway entrance faster. The alley smelled of rotting garbage and damp concrete.
Halfway down the alley, three figures stepped out from behind a large dumpster, blocking her path.
Elinor stopped dead in her tracks.
The streetlamp at the end of the alley illuminated the smirking face of Preston Vance. Flanking him were two massive guys from his fraternity. One of them was Rocco Gallo, a guy known for his violent temper.
"I told you," Preston said, his voice echoing off the brick walls. "You'd regret it."
Elinor saw the faint scratch mark on Preston's cheek from where she had pushed past him yesterday. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she didn't step back.
She turned around to run back the way she came.
Rocco lunged. He was terrifyingly fast. His heavy hand clamped down on the strap of her backpack. He yanked backward with brutal force.
Elinor flew backward. Her shoulder slammed hard against the rough brick wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her. She gasped, pain shooting down her spine.
Preston slowly walked up to her. He reached out and slapped her cheek lightly, a degrading, stinging tap. "What's wrong? Your rich old sugar daddy didn't send his bodyguards to walk you to the train?"
"What do you want?" Elinor spat, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and boiling anger.
"Nothing much," Preston smiled, his eyes cold. "I just want to teach you some manners. Get on your knees right now, and apologize for embarrassing me."
Elinor stared at his arrogant, twisted face. She thought of the billion dollars. She thought of Deshaun's shattered leg. She had been pushed, beaten, and starved by billionaires. She was not going to kneel for this spoiled frat boy.
She gathered the saliva in her mouth and spat directly into Preston's face.
Preston recoiled, wiping his cheek in disgust. His eyes widened in pure fury. "You bitch! Hold her down!"
Rocco and the other guy lunged at her.
Elinor's survival instincts, honed on the rough streets of Queens, exploded. She didn't cower. As Rocco reached for her arms, she planted her left foot, swung her right leg, and kicked Rocco directly in the side of his knee with the heavy heel of her boot.
Rocco roared in pain and buckled forward.
The moment his head dropped, Elinor brought her elbow down in a vicious, sweeping arc, smashing it into the back of his neck. Rocco crashed to the concrete.
The second guy froze in shock. He didn't expect the quiet girl to fight like a street brawler.
But Preston recovered. He lunged forward, his hands tangling in Elinor's hair. He yanked her head back violently and slammed her against the brick wall.
Elinor's vision flashed white. A sharp, ringing sound filled her ears. She felt the skin on her arm tear as it scraped against a jagged piece of metal protruding from the wall. Warm blood instantly soaked her sleeve.
Preston raised his fist to hit her.
Elinor dropped her weight, slipping out of her coat slightly. Her hand hit the ground, her fingers wrapping around a loose, heavy half-brick lying in the dirt.
With a scream of pure adrenaline, she swung the brick upward with all her remaining strength.
The rough stone smashed directly into Preston's shin bone.
Preston let out a high-pitched shriek. He dropped her hair and hopped backward, clutching his leg in agony.
Elinor didn't wait to see if he fell. She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the tearing pain in her arm and the dizziness in her head. She sprinted out of the alley, her boots pounding against the pavement.
She ran for four blocks without looking back, weaving through the evening crowds until her lungs burned and her legs felt like lead.
She finally collapsed against the glass window of a closed boutique. She gasped for air, her chest heaving.
She looked at her reflection in the dark glass.
Her hair was a wild, tangled mess. The corner of her lip was split and bleeding. Her old coat was torn at the shoulder, and a long, jagged cut on her forearm was actively bleeding, the crimson stain spreading rapidly down her sleeve.
She looked at her watch. 7:50 PM.
A wave of absolute terror washed over her, colder than the winter wind.
She was going to be late. And she was covered in blood and dirt.
She pictured Boyd's face. She pictured his cold, black eyes. If he saw her like this, if he found out she was fighting in an alley... the punishment would be unimaginable.
But she had no choice. She couldn't run from him.
Elinor wiped the blood from her lip with the back of her trembling hand. She pulled her torn coat tighter around her bleeding arm, and limped toward The Pinnacle.
