He Ditched Me 52 Times Novels & Stories

I said, gesturing for him to sit. I was ready to get down to business, Jett had already wired this guy a damn $20,000 down payment and I was hardly running a charity. He produced a small item that looked like … a pack of gum? Duncan took it and went to his computer. “This guy Digger is a sick fuck. He’s wanted in several human cities for kidnapping and more if they can ever get ahold of him and prove anything. He’s been in a lot of bar fights too, he’s got several warrants for fighting and even beating a guy almost to death. He’s been arrested a dozen times but somehow he always escapes. Always a friendly shifter somewhere in the station is most likely. Or he bribed someone,” he said, and I

EUGENE Pain ripped through my shoulder as I stumbled into the dark alley, blood seeping between my fingers where I clutched my wound. My breaths were shallow and ragged, and every step felt like dragging a mountain. Liam’s voice echoed in my mind. “You don’t escape when the trap is wide open.” “Well, congratulations, Liam,” I muttered under my breath, collapsing against a dumpster. “You were right. Happy now?”

Just a few more seconds. I braked hard, swung into the left lane, and ducked through the barricades. We bumped hard over the torn-up pavement—then out the other side and into a narrow service road behind an abandoned strip mall. The SUV didn’t follow. They’d lost sight of us for a moment. It was all I needed. “Okay,” I said, breathing harder now. “Now we ditch the car.” She looked at me like I’d just told her to jump into a volcano. “Are you serious?”

Someone ready for more. We took the 1:30 ferry under bright lights, Jeep parked below with dirty trucks. I stood on the top deck, wind pulling my hoodie, Long Island shrinking behind. My real phone—inside R’s signal-blocking pouch—buzzed once. I took it out, screen cracked from the fall. Damian: $425,000 final bid. You’re famous on three continents. Come home, Lena. The set needs its star. We’ll forget the drama. Attached: a green night-vision video of me sliding down the chute, legs kicking, landing hard. Music, slow motion of my scared face. Caption: Subject L.M. – Escape Attempt (Failed). Comments flying: $450K, $475K, $500K – SOLD.

wanted me to replace a man who wasn’t even on the ground yet. and I snapped. drove out. too fast. too reckless. trying to ditch the security team tailing me like fucking bloodhounds I hit black ice. or maybe i just hit rock bottom , whatever the hell it was, it flipped the car off the road and into a ditch. I would've died. should’ve.but Festu’s men were there. like they always were. they pulled me out, bones screaming, ribs cracked, mind gone, and when they asked if I wanted to call anyone—

The raw panic in his voice kept me moving. I reached the top and threw my weight against the hatch. It didn’t budge. “Damien! It’s stuck!” He squeezed past me and slammed his shoulder into it. Once. Twice The hatch burst open, letting a rush of cold night air flood the tunnel. Damien helped me out, then slammed the hatch closed. We stumbled into the open, chest heaving, lungs burning. We were behind an abandoned warehouse near the edge of the city. It was dark, quiet too quiet.

It's Grandpa's birthday banquet, and yet my fiancee is working late again, missing her one chance to meet the family. My brother and his wife, still bitter about me taking the project from them, don't waste the opening. "What good is all his money when his fiancee can't even show up on a day this important? She clearly doesn't take him seriously." "That's why Archer's the smart one. He landed himself Claire Donovan, of all people. Even her throwaway gifts start at seven figures." I'm about to fire back when the familiar name stops me cold. My eyes lock onto the bracelet of dark wooden beads the butler carries in. It's identical to the one my fiancee just spent a fortune on a few days ago.

Arrested me. Reboot. Again. Downed champagne. To his room. Waited. Ripped heart. Reboot. I did it over and over. No words. No hesitation. Just his heart in my hand every time. Fifth time. Tenth. Fifteenth. Twentieth. Twenty-third. Each reboot the same. Champagne down. March to room. Rip heart. Wait for arrest. On the twenty-fourth, I downed the champagne, marched to his room, waited.

Once, twice… I made over 90 calls, each one met with that cold, busy tone. Sofia finally fell asleep in my arms, tear tracks still streaking her little face. I walked to the window, watching the rain grow even more brutal, and dialed that number one more time. This time, the call finally connected. I opened my mouth, ready to say, "Henson, we're trapped. The floodwaters could hit any second." However, I never got the chance. A woman's breathy moans came through the line, sweet and obscene. "Henson...slower... You're hurting me..."

Marissa Jones, my fiancee, and William Chase, her childhood friend, disappeared into the ensuite bathroom. Everyone else in the room was thoroughly amused by the situation. They aimed their phones at the frosted glass of the bathroom to record what was happening. We were at a luxury clubhouse, but the soundproofing wasn't all that great. Despite being separated by a door, I could still hear William's moans loud and clear.