The lights in Olivia’s shop should have been off, but were lit up instead. From where he stood, he couldn’t see her inside, and he didn’t like not knowing if Olivia was safe or not. The minute she’d said the names of the football players, he’d known he had to get to Olivia. Though he hadn’t been able to prove it yet, there’d been plenty of rumors going around that Olivia wasn’t the first girl the two had tried to rape. He was afraid of them being anywhere near her. The night of the jazz festival had changed the driving anger he’d felt toward her. He’d known that night that he didn’t hate Olivia. Had never really hated her. He thrust a handful of bills at the cab driver and hurried toward the front entrance. Olivia had her back pressed against the wall behind the counter, her eyes huge in her beautiful face. In her hand, she held a silver letter opener extended, and though she looked afraid, she also looked determined. “Back off,”
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