Better Late, But Never His Again novel Chapter 50

The sun had completely set, and the streetlights along the back path hadn't kicked on yet. The narrow alleyway was pitch black, the sycamore leaves rustling ominously in the night wind.

Hazel pulled out her phone and clicked on the flashlight. The harsh beam swept through the darkness, blindingly bright against the shadows. Frowning deeply, she pressed forward.

When she reached the agreed-upon spot, she stopped and scanned the area. The alley was completely deserted. Where was Evelyn?

Leaning against the cold brick wall, Hazel pulled up her messages and texted Evelyn: "I'm here."

She hit send. Several minutes dragged by with absolutely no response. She waited another two minutes and was just about to dial her number when a massive, suffocating hand suddenly clamped over her mouth from the darkness behind her!

Hazel's pupils dilated in pure horror as a muffled gasp died in her throat.

The hand was terrifyingly rough, reeking of cheap liquor and stale sweat, pressing brutally against her face. Before her brain could even register the need to fight, a sheer physical force dragged her violently backward, deep into the suffocating pitch-black of the alley.

She thrashed wildly. Her phone slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the pavement, its flashlight beam spinning crazily across the brick walls before settling on the dirty ground. Her spine collided violently with the brick, knocking the wind out of her with a painful grunt.

"Finally caught you, you little bitch," a raspy, venomous voice hissed. It sounded like it had crawled straight out of hell, dripping with sadistic triumph.

Hazel's heart plunged straight into her stomach. She knew that voice. Sean Sutton. Evelyn's absolute monster of an ex-husband. She would recognize that vile tone anywhere.

Her pulse turned into a deafening roar in her ears, her breathing hitching into a frantic panic. Fighting a tidal wave of adrenaline, she forced her vocal cords to work, her voice a fragile sliver of ice. "Let me go."

Instead of backing off, Sean slammed his body weight against hers, pinning her tighter. He lowered his face, his alcohol-soaked breath ghosting over her skin. It was stomach-churning. His sinister whisper grated against her ear.

"Julian Hayes loved playing with my wife. So, how about I play with his? Let's see what makes you so damn special."

He yanked her further into the lightless depths of the alley.

"I'm not letting you go; I'm going to get a taste of you."

"What?" Sean leaned his weight over her, his dirty fingers hooking into the collar of her blouse. "Think sleeping with me is a downgrade? Stick with me, and I'll make sure you never have to worry about money again. Just look at Evelyn. I treated that bitch like a queen, and she threw it all away."

He moved his other hand down, preparing to rip the buttons off her shirt.

"Wait," Hazel suddenly commanded, her voice pitching slightly higher, her heart feeling like it was going to explode out of her throat.

Sean froze, staring down at her with paranoid, bloodshot eyes. "What? Got some last words?"

Hazel gritted her teeth. She intentionally softened her tone, layering it with a pathetic, submissive weakness, desperate to stall for even a fraction of a second to find a blind spot. "Be gentle. It's... it's been a long time for me."

Sean let out a disgusting, triumphant laugh. Visibly pleased with his total domination, he patted her cheek—a sickeningly possessive gesture that made Hazel's stomach violently churn.

"Save your breath," he sneered. "You'll be doing plenty of begging in a minute."