A Chicago story
Photo by Tony Mucci on Unsplash. Edited by Jenna Malin on Wix.
She waited long after the windows went dark, watching from a fire escape across the street. There wouldn’t be fights that night. He never held them two nights in a row. She’d snuck into the one last night to tape the latch on a door so she could get in tonight without detection. It shouldn’t have been so easy, but she tried not to dwell on it. She only needed someplace private to practice.
And to shower. It had been too long since her last. She scrunched her nose, trying not to acknowledge her own stench. Plus, it would be nice to sleep on something with a cushion, even if it was only for one night. She’d spotted an old couch in the office, or she could scrounge up some sparring mats. The options were endless, and she liked having options. She didn’t get them often.
Finally, he walked out. She gulped and pushed herself farther into the wall. Not that he could see her from up there, but he was a Shadow, after all. Better safe than sorry. He dropped his gym bag on the sidewalk with a huff. Then he reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She grimaced with disgust. Of course, he was a smoker. Add that to the list of reasons to hate him. No concern for his own well-being, or to the people he’d leave behind if he died from cancer.
Oh, what did she know? She only ran into him – literally – only once. From what little she’d learned about the Shade, they seemed like a dysfunctional crime family. Since he was one of them, he didn’t have a family of his own to care about him.
Like her. She gulped. Don’t judge a person by their first impressions, her mother’s voice whispered. People don’t show their true nature until they feel safe. She hugged her worn-out backpack and bit her lip. Her mother was always right. She might know his name and who he works for, but it doesn’t mean she knows him. She knew his routine, not him.
Diesel lit his cigarette, the glow from the flame illuminating his face. Her heart flipped as she watched him: that chiseled jaw, his crooked nose, his thick, dark hair—
Oh, cut it out. She’d slap herself if it wouldn’t draw attention to her location. You’re about to break into his gym. You can’t be forming emotional attachments. But… she was still a teenage girl. She could crush, right?
His cigarette caught light and he shoved the lighter and pack of cigarettes back in his pocket. He took a few quick puffs of the cancer stick, then took one long drag before exhaling a puff of smoke. He looked both ways down the empty street, the cloud blowing past him in a haze. He lifted his face to the sky like he could see straight through the smog to the stars above.
She wondered what could be plaguing his mind. Maybe cops were onto his little Fight Club side-hustle and were breathing down his neck. Maybe that Blaze guy was threatening him to bring in more money. Or he had a bitchy, thieving girlfriend.
She scoffed. A guy like that didn’t have girlfriends. Not with his body, his looks, and his bad-boy attitude. He was a notches-in-his-bedpost guy, guaranteed. She’d met dozens of guys like him in her last two years on the streets. She could smell them a mile away.
He stuck the cigarette back in his mouth and ran his hand through his hair. She resisted the urge to tap her foot. He’d spend hours at that bar downtown, leave with some girl, and not come back to the gym until the morning. Once he left, she’d be home free, but tonight of all nights, he dragged his feet. He finally grabbed his bag off the sidewalk, slung it over his shoulder, and walked away towards K Street. Once he was out of sight, she grinned.
She stood up from her spot on the fire escape and stretched. Her muscles creaked as she cracked her neck. She couldn’t wait to get a thorough stretch in. She lifted her hood, grabbed her backpack, and climbed down the ladder. Her shredded Converse hit the pavement at a run. She darted across the abandoned street and into the alley by the gym. She approached the side door she snuck out of last night and slipped inside.
She ripped the tape off the latch, shut the door, and froze on the spot. Holding her breath, she focused on the silence, ready to bolt at the slightest sound: a pin drop, a footstep, an echo. But she heard nothing. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The shadows looked empty and she could make out the outlines of the doors all down the hall. Still, no sound. She exhaled slowly through her nose. She locked the door behind her, then tiptoed through the abandoned gym.
She lowered her hood and pulled out the mini flashlight she swiped from some guy on the subway last week. She shined it on the tiled floor, which was stained and chipped. She pointed her flashlight up at the water and mold spots scattered across the ceiling. With a disgusted frown, she muttered a quiet “ew” before shining the flashlight around. The stench of stale blood and sweat grew stronger, but she willed herself to breathe through her nose. She’d rather not taste it, too.
She stepped over a bag of trash, checking over her shoulder as she went. There was no way she’d been followed, but she couldn’t be too careful. She approached what looked like the locker room with a relieved smile. She’d check it out later. There was one other thing on her mind… something more important than showering.
She picked up the pace and turned the corner away from the main sparring area in front. She knew where the real fun happened: downstairs. Small roaches and other insects scattered as she shined her light on them. She resisted the urge to squeal and run. She tiptoed around them, trying to balance without touching the water-damaged walls. She hadn’t paid close enough attention to her surroundings last night. And now, her stomach churned with regret. This place was disgusting.
Finally, at the bottom of the stairs, she turned the corner and approached his office. It had a desk, a chair, and a torn-up couch, which were all covered in crumpled paper, clothes, and junk. She rolled her eyes. Were all men such slobs? Her eyes caught the safe “hidden” in the corner like a side table, haphazardly covered with a dirty blanket. Too easy, the warning bells in her head told her, but she shrugged. She deserved too easy. Hardly anything came easy since she left home… she’d risk “too easy” if it meant a big payday.
Something else ate at her. Stealing a wallet from a stranger was one thing, but they weren’t exactly strangers. A pang of unfamiliar guilt over casing his place made her stomach flip. Granted, he was some kind of criminal, but he didn’t seem cold and heartless like others she crossed. She scolded herself: if that's how she felt, she'd tailed him for too long.
Oh, well. Diesel wouldn’t be back until 7:00 at the earliest. She had time to kill. She backed out of the room and aimed her flashlight at the double doors at the end of the hall. Heart pounding, she threw the doors open and flashed her light around. The large, underground space reeked of sweat, body odor, and blood, but she grinned.
The doors creaked shut behind her and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She turned off the flashlight and spun around. She expected someone to jump out at her, but the doorway was empty. She stayed still, letting her eyes readjust to the dark. Ignoring her heart beating in her ears, she focused on any other noises that tell her she’s not alone. Footsteps, breathing, talking, anything, but all she could hear was her ears ringing.
Oh, for crying out loud, she grumbled. Take a deep breath, kid. She turned the flashlight back on and swept it around the room. She was alone. She had to be. There’s no way someone else followed her in without her noticing. She caught her reflection in a row of cracked mirrors leaning against a wall and she jumped out of her skin. She huffed in frustration. Guess paranoia’s what I get for breaking rule number one and picking a place with one way in and out.
She bit her lip. She had rules for a reason, and she didn’t break them often. But she learned to trust her instincts about people, even if that meant breaking her own rules once in a while. She hoped tonight it would pay off. She spotted a makeshift bar in one corner and a breaker box on the wall behind it. She took another cautious look around for any danger. Then, she tiptoed towards the bar, keeping her flashlight aimed at the ground.
There was something about Diesel. Ever since that night she snuck out of Blaze’s house, their last conversation played on a loop in her head:
Backpack slung over her shoulder, she tiptoed towards the living room. No way their offer to let her stay would come without a price, and she wasn’t looking to pay it. Yeah, the comfy bed, unlimited access to a shower and food was tempting, but also too good to be true. Checking over her shoulder for Blaze or his wife, she pulled her hood up. The wife seemed pretty genuine, but Blaze seemed like a guy you’d align yourself with so he wouldn’t break your neck. A real “bow to me or off with your head” type. Truth be told, she’d been waiting for him to turn on her since he caught her red-handed with his buddy’s wallet.
She resisted the urge to groan with disgust. She’d forgotten all about that cocky bastard. She’d picked him clean without him even noticing, but somehow, she was the naïve one. She rolled her eyes as she approached the window and opened it. She wondered what Blaze saw in that cheeky, self-proclaimed panty-melter. If she saw either of them again, it’d be too soon. She slipped out the window and dropped to the ground.
“Got somewhere better to be?” a voice came from her left.
She crouched, ready to pounce or bolt, then huffed. Speak of the blue-eyed devil.
“Don’t you?” she snapped, glaring down at him. Diesel sat in the grass against the house, skinning an apple with his knife. She stood up straight, hands on her hips. “What are you? The guard dog?”
He chuckled. “Nah, I don’t bite.” His knife gleamed in the moonlight as he tossed a peel to the ground. He looked up at winked at her. “Unless you ask nicely.”
“Perv,” she muttered and turned to leave.
“You walk away now, you’re on your own,” he warned.
“That’s kinda the point,” she called back over her shoulder. “Your ominous warnings don’t scare me.”
“They should.”
She stopped in her tracks, shaking her head. What was his ploy? He didn’t really want her to join their little “family”, did he? She turned to face him again, crossing her arms. “I’ve survived every city I’ve passed through without anyone’s help. What makes Chicago any different?”
He licked the juice off the blade before pointing at her. “You’d be surprised.”
“Nothing surprises me anymore.”
He cupped a hand by his ear and tilted his head. “Is that a challenge I hear?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re a child.”
“And outside of the Shadows, you’re dead meat.”
“What do you care?”
“I don’t.” His eye twitched. He sliced off a piece and chucked it in his mouth. “But Blaze seems to like you,” he said through a crunchy mouthful. “That’s not something I’d take for granted.”
She chuckled. “Well, my mother once told me I shouldn’t talk to strangers, let alone live with them. So, if you don’t mind…” she trailed off, turning around once again to leave.
“Maybe you should go back to your mother, then,” he suggested. She froze on the spot, long-forgotten grief squeezing her heart. Her eyes burned, so she shut them. “You’d be safer with her.”
She gulped. He had no idea how true that was. “I’m not looking for safety.”
“Well, then—” he sliced off another piece of apple and ate it, “—guess Chicago’s the place for you after all.”
She took one last look at the house. It wasn’t much, a simple three bedroom with a decent porch. The attached garage was a nice touch. Maybe he was right. She’d been traveling for a while… maybe it was time to stop running, to put down some roots. It’d be nice to stop looking over her shoulder all the time.
She shook her head. She knew nothing about them other than they were some sketchy crime syndicate. Her mother would roll over in her grave if she got involved with them, even if they could protect her. She took off towards the gate.
“You change your mind…” With her hand on the latch, she looked over her shoulder at him. He stared at her with solemn eyes and nodded, “…I’m sure you’ll be able to find us again.”
She opened the breaker door, watching the double doors from the corner of her eye. He was right. She caught up to him within the week and had followed him ever since. She wasn’t sure why, so she chalked it up to curious boredom. Anyone who’d offered to “help” her only did because there was something in it for themselves. Diesel? He looked at her different that night. Almost worried about her. Her dark eyes skimmed over the labels. Why should he worry about a total stranger? And one who’d stolen from him?
She flipped a switch and the dim lights flickered to life above her. She turned her flashlight off and looked around. Blood stained the littered concrete floor, but stacks of mats lined the wall next to the row of mirrors. She broke out into a smile.
Looks like this was paying off.
She tossed her bag on top of the bar. It had been too long since she’d had a private space to dance in. She didn’t care that it reeked. It had actual mirrors. She’d deal with the smell. She shed her jacket, discarded it on the floor, and started pulling mats off the stack to spread around the floor. Childlike excitement coursed through her, paranoia forgotten.
It’s not like she didn’t deserve this after everything she’d been through. But breaking in and stealing from him left a bad taste in her mouth. Even with his whore-like bad-boy behavior and self-righteous attitude. Like her mother always said, there was likely something bigger underneath it. Regardless, she’d cut off her left foot before she’d ask the likes of him for help. She pushed the mats together and went back for more. After all these years, she knew better. Asking for help was a sign of weakness. It made you easy to take advantage of, especially to some gangbanger like Diesel. Everything came at a price.
Of course, nothing good ever came for free. But paying the price didn’t always mean she’d get something good, and she didn’t care for the risk. She’d rather save up her pain and suffering for something worth it.
Well, she pushed the last mat against the rest, this is worth it. She stood up straight and brushed her hands together, spinning around to admire her work. She smiled and marched over to her backpack, pulling out a wireless speaker and her old mp3 player.
But does he deserve it? a voice in the back of her mind asked. She bit her lip and shook her head. Why did she care if he did deserve it or not? She’d never see him again, anyway. Plus, she’d been careful. He’ll never notice she’d been there.
She turned the mp3 on to search for a song. She was getting ahead of herself. It was time to dance, not to contemplate life’s meaning. Some might argue the two go hand-in-hand, but not tonight. She pushed her dilemma to the back of her mind, plugged the device into the speaker, and hit play.
The dueling violin intro to Ne-Yo’s “Champagne Life” blasted from the little speaker. She rolled her neck out and backed up to the center of the mats. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath through her nose and stretched her arms up towards the sky. Then she exhaled, reaching for her toes. She straightened up, rolling her shoulders to the beat, and she smiled. She deserved this. The music reverberated off the concrete walls, and the bass bounced against her chest.
The beat dropped, and she let her body move to the music, oblivious to the curious blue eyes watching her from the closet across the room.
xXxXx
She trudged towards the couch, dropped her bag on one end, and plopped down on the other with a sigh. A long, hot shower after a dance session always left her relaxed. The clean and meticulous locker room surprised her. Considering the gym was abandoned, she expected it to be like the rest of the place: nauseating. But he kept up with that of all things. This guy was full of surprises.
Her stomach growled, so she dug around her bag for the Cliff Bar she swiped from a gas station that morning. She ripped open the package and took a bite, surveying the room. The safe in the corner called out to her, but she’d decided to leave it alone. Whatever he had tucked away in that safe couldn’t be better than what she’d experienced downstairs. She found freedom in dance, as her mom had. Now, she felt lighter and, in a way, more connected to her. His valuables weighed nothing compared to that.
But, she wondered, eyeing his desk, snooping could answer the “does he deserve it” question. She got up and approached the desk, littered with piles of paper. She rolled her eyes. He was nothing if not disorganized. She pulled the swivel chair over and sat down, taking another bite of the protein bar.
She crinkled her nose. Almost every sheet of paper she crossed had rings of coffee or booze stains on it. She thumbed through one of the piles but couldn’t find anything interesting. She couldn’t read his handwriting. Was that due to booze consumption or was “broken-fingered-serial-killer” his natural font? She pushed the pile aside and turned her attention to the desk drawers. She pulled open the bottom one and the sound of clanking glass met her ears. She rolled her eyes at the bottle of whiskey and three empty mason jars inside. Classy. She shut the drawer and moved up to the next one.
She paused her chewing as her eyes caught a leather-bound book of some kind. That looked important. She swallowed her bite and put the bar down on the tabletop before pulling it out. She brought her legs up and crossed them, setting the book in her lap and opening it.
Her eyes widened upon reading the first page. This was his ledger. She turned around to the safe with a raised eyebrow. If he left something so important unlocked in his desk, what could be in the safe? Was this not the real one, or was he stupid?
Who was she kidding? He might be a dick, but he was anything but stupid. She looked back down at the book with a scoff. It was likely the safe was empty, left out in the open to tempt grifters like herself. She wasn’t gonna touch that bait with a ten-foot pole. She continued flipping through the pages, deciphering the numbers and initials.
The farther in she read, the deeper she frowned. There were a lot of recurring initials, which she assumed were names. Not that she had any experience with gambling, but she was good enough with numbers to see that they didn’t add up right. She could only assume he’d conned a lot of people out of money. She saw a lot of green exchanging hands the other night, and she knew there had to be more money than the book claimed.
Her eyebrows furrowed. He should have plenty of money. She sat back in the chair and spun around, taking in her surroundings again with a sharp eye. Plenty of extra to fix this place up, but the building was falling apart. So, why wouldn’t he? Image? The IRS or the cops? Was the profit going straight to Blaze for hush money? She pursed her lips and looked back down at the book in her hands.
She slapped it shut and stuck it back in the drawer. She’d seen too much. It wasn’t her problem. It’s not like she was sticking around. She stood up and stretched with a satisfied groan. The couch reached out to her, beckoning her closer, so she switched off the lamp and walked over. She kicked off her shoes, tossed them to the side, and set the alarm on her watch. The earliest he came to the was 7:00, so she set it for 6:00. She would be long gone by the time he showed up. That gave her six hours to sleep and forget about it.
She balled up her jacket to use as a pillow and laid down with a heavy sigh. Six hours of peaceful, uninterrupted, much-needed sleep. She hadn’t had that since she left home. On the streets, she couldn’t sleep longer than an hour at a time. It was too risky even if she’d found shelter, but she knew she’d be safe here.
Once again, she recalled her and Diesel’s last conversation and scoffed. If he knew she was here, she’d never live it down. She could hear him now: “Look what the cat dragged in, Miss ‘I’m Not Looking for Safe’.” She rolled her eyes and yawned, letting herself sink into the lumpy cushions.
At least she was the better person for leaving the safe untouched and everything how she found it. She could’ve robbed him blind, but she didn’t. Pride burst through her, but she stifled it. No one deserved anything for choosing not to hurt somebody. She’d learned the hard way. Karma worked in mysterious ways, and she wouldn’t let herself fall victim to it again so soon. So, she closed her eyes and succumbed to sleep.
xXxXx
Her muscles ached as she stirred from her slumber. When she napped on her mother's office couch after dance practice, she would wake up to the same ache. Her eyes welled up and she sighed. She’d never wake up to the underwhelming notes of her mother's floral perfume again. She turned to bury her face in the back of the musty couch. Despite needing Febreezed, it was surprisingly comfortable. She curled in on herself, sinking into the cushions.
“Comfortable?” came a voice from her right.
She shot up, eyes wide and heart pounding. The desk lamp switched on and she gaped at the source of the voice: Diesel. With one leg crossed over the other, he leaned against the arm of his desk chair with a smug half-grin. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”
She swore. How did he sneak in on me? How did he know I was here? He never shows up here in the middle of the night. How long has he been watching me? Panic coursed through her, but she knew one thing for certain: she needed to get out. He might be charming and witty, but he was also dangerous. She had a knife somewhere, maybe she could threaten her way out. She doubted it, but what did she have to lose? She reached for her backpack, but something whizzed in front of her nose and landed in the wall with a thunk.
She jumped back with a shout, her heart jumping into her throat. Was that… her knife? She watched the hilt wobble in the air, realizing Diesel hadn’t gotten up from his chair. He threw that?
“Looking for that?” he asked.
She gulped – shit, don’t show him weakness – then glared at him. “You went through my stuff?” she snarled.
Diesel’s crooked smile widened, and he shrugged. “You went through my stuff.” She eyeballed the safe in the corner and thought, not all of it. “It’s only fair.”
Her glare hardened. The one time she chose to be a “better person” and not steal from him, he stole from her. She wouldn’t be making that mistake again. “At least I didn’t take anything.”
“Not yet.” Her stomach lurched, but she let it go. He wouldn’t believe her even if she did tell the truth about changing her thieving mind. “You weren’t expecting me for at least another, what?” He looked at his watch. “Two hours?”
Her breath caught and she swallowed the cotton coating her mouth. He’d made her. How? She’d been so careful. No one’s ever made her before. Had he known the whole time? Her face burned as her eyes darted between him and the knife sticking out of the wall.
She was in some deep shit. She needed a way out, and fast.
He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “You really think I didn’t notice you following me this whole time?”
She scoffed in disbelief. No, she didn’t. She was good, damn good. But not good enough. Although, the panic began wearing off as she watched him watch her. The fury she received upon capture was nonexistent in his handsome features. He watched her with genuine interest, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in curiosity. How could he not be angry? She fought the false sense of security welling up inside of her. He might not be threatening her now, but she needed to stop pushing her luck.
Although, it seemed her ruse was up. Perhaps she could weasel her way out with some truth. “Well,” she started, shifting on the spot, “your head’s been between so many legs lately, I kinda counted on it.”
He laughed and a genuine smile stretched across his face. Her heart skipped a beat. For an asshole, he had a nice smile. She swore his eyes sparkled. She bit down on the tip of her tongue. Diesel licked his lips and wiggled his eyebrows. “Excellent point.”
She rolled her eyes in disgust. Just like that, the attraction was gone. “You’re a pig.”
“With a heart of gold.”
She scoffed. “A heart of gold? How so?”
He nodded at the knife in the wall. “That’s not sticking out of your head.” Her lips formed a straight line. He got her there. He stuck his hand in a brown paper sack on the floor – how long had that been there? – and tossed something at her. She jumped, fearing it was another knife, but it was a breakfast sandwich. Her eyebrows wrinkled. He made a big deal of her sneaking around but brought her food. What’s this guy’s game, she wondered. He pulled one out for himself and ripped open the paper.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“An Egg McMuffin.” He took a bite. “Never seen one before?”
She resisted the urge to stick up her nose. He had a terrible habit of talking with his mouth full. “I mean, why are you giving this to me?” He shrugged and continued chewing. She raised an eyebrow. “You almost take my nose off for breaking in, then feed me?”
He swallowed. “I’d rather give you what you need so you don’t feel the need to steal it.”
She glared at him. So, that’s what this was about: he saw her as some helpless little girl to take care of. “I don’t need your charity.”
He chuckled through a mouthful. “Really?” He gestured to the messy room around them. “And sleeping in this dump isn’t charity?
She smirked, crossed her arms, and leaned back into the couch. “Not when I let myself in.”
He stopped his chewing, a hidden smile in his eyes. He gulped down his bite. “What makes you think that? The tape you stuck on the latch?” Her smile faded. How had he noticed that? “Crafty, I’ll give you that.” He rocked back in his chair, spreading his arms as wide as his grin. “But who do you think left the deadbolt unlocked for you?”
She huffed in disbelief. She underestimated him. She shrank smaller and smaller as the conversation went on. He chuckled at her dismay and shoved the last of his sandwich in his mouth. She snarled at his smugness. He enjoyed getting under her skin too much. “So, what?” she snapped. “You get off on taking credit for other people’s resourcefulness?”
“I told you,” he said, patting his chest. “Heart of gold. You need help?” His smirk faded, and his eyes grew somber. “I wanna help.”
She glared at him. How bold of him to assume she needed his help. “Who said I needed your help?”
“Your stomach. It growled in your sleep.”
Frustration pulsed through her. God, he was infuriating. She chucked the still-wrapped sandwich back at him, which hit him in the chest with a satisfying thump. “Wow,” he said, hand over his chest, “you’re grouchy first thing in the morning.”
She rolled her eyes, stood up, and grabbed her jacket. “Bite me.”
“Pretty sure that’s illegal in most states, considering you’re, what? Fifteen?”
She glared at him, even though her heartrate picked up. “I’m eighteen, asshole.”
He raised a disbelieving brow. “Eighteen-year-old’s have their shit together by now. They don’t need to break into condemned gyms for a place to sleep.”
She shrugged her jacket on. “Not all of us.”
“Oh, please. You don’t even have a license.”
She stifled the urge to scream at him. She wasn’t sure if she was insulted because he was right, or that he assumed he was right. Either way, she swallowed her fury. She didn’t want him to see how much was ringing true. “I know how to drive,” she claimed, busying herself by slipping on her shoes. She could drive, but not legally.
“Knowing how to drive and having a license to drive are two different things,” he pointed out. “I’ve been driving since I was ten, and that definitely isn’t old enough for a license.”
She exhaled in frustration. How did he have an answer for everything? It’s like he saw right through her. She zipped up her backpack and glared at her knife sticking out of the wall. Her urge to disappear climbed with every second he stared at her.
“So, how old are you?” he repeated.
She shouldn’t tell him. Her secrets kept her safe. Revealing them to someone like him was risky, but the truth was the only way she’d be getting out of here. “Sixteen,” she finally admitted. She yanked the knife, but it didn’t budge.
“Was that so hard?” he asked. She could hear the cocky smile on his face. She rolled her eyes but kept her focus on the knife. “What’s your name?”
“I told you last time.” She tried pulling the knife out again with a grunt but to no avail. “It’s Sarah.”
“Your real name.”
She gulped. Was he some kind of walking lie detector? “That is my real name,” she lied, gripping the hilt with both hands. Regret seeped into every fiber of her being. Out of all the bad ideas she’s had in the past, choosing him to mooch off was quickly becoming her worst yet.
“You don’t look like a Sarah.”
She groaned with effort and exasperation. “And you don’t look like a knife-throwing, self-righteous asshole," she snapped. He chuckled. "But you don’t see me making assumptions.” She tried to wiggle and pull the blade out, but it stayed stuck. The urge to leave without it was almost greater than the reality she couldn’t go back to the street without a weapon. Almost.
His large hand covered hers and she gasped in surprise, her heart dropping into her stomach. She jumped backward in fright straight into his hard chest. She hadn’t even heard him stand up. He gripped the knife and jerked it out with ease. She spun around to push him out of her personal space, but the urge died as he twirled the blade up into the air. Her eyes darted between the flying knife and his daring eyes that never left hers. He caught the blade between two fingertips, his blue eyes bright with mischief.
“Your real name, please,” he whispered down to her, his breath hot on her face.
She gulped. Her heart skipped in her chest, a mixture of adrenaline and holy-shit-that-was-scary-hot. She wasn’t sure what was the right thing to be feeling at the moment, but she understood how he got so many women into his bed. He was good. And he wasn’t even trying.
Which was just as infuriating.
“That’s none of your business,” she managed to say, though she couldn’t speak above a whisper. Not with the grip his intimidating charm had on her throat.
“Actually, it is, considering you broke into my gym.”
She glared at him, finding her voice again. She snatched her knife out of his hand and finally pushed him away. He smirked at how much effort it took her. “What’s it to you?” She flicked the knife shut and shoved it in her pocket before turning to grab her bag.
“I like to know who I’m dealing with.”
“Trust me, you’re not dealing with anyone,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I’m gone.”
“Aw,” he pouted, “so soon?”
She pulled her hood over her head, avoiding his gaze as she pushed past him towards the door. “The sooner, the better.”
“Hey.” She spun around to bite his head off, but the string of obscenities died on her lips as he tossed the sandwich back to her. She barely caught it before it hit her square in the face. “Don’t forget your breakfast, Princess. Most important meal of the day.”
A righteous fury boiled in her chest at that nickname. She considered punching him square in that annoyingly chiseled jaw of his, but he fought for a living. He could take her down before she could step to him. “Don’t call me that,” she growled, crushing the sandwich in her hands.
“You won’t tell me your real name,” he said with a shrug. His expression softened. “Gotta call you something.”
She eyed him up and down. He was giving her whiplash. He threw a knife at her head, tried to feed her, scared her with his little knife trick, then cared he hurt her feelings? Who was this guy?
And why did she want to tell him the truth?
“Shiloh,” she blurted.
Silence hung in the air. Her heart pounded in her ears as he watched for a tell. A twitch, a flinch, anything. She tried to keep her breath steady, and to keep from bolting. Then, he smirked. “Shiloh,” he repeated with a nod. “I like that.”
She blinked, struggling with what to do next. Say thank you, or something witty? Should she stay and let him help her? Could she even trust him? He hadn’t called in his Shadow buddies, hadn’t held her against her will, or tried to hurt her. Yeah, he tried to intimidate her, but she guessed that was the least she deserved. She told him the truth, even though she’s lied to survive since she left home. That counted for something, didn’t it?
Before she could do something stupid, like convince herself to stay, she turned and left.
Stay tuned for Part Two, coming... someday.
While you wait, check out Beer and Chinese for some sweet, friendshippy Shiloh and Diesel goodness.
Or, you can read Hilt Deep if you're looking for some good, old-fashioned wit and crime stuff. Spoiler alert: Shiloh can blow stuff up in a pinch.
Or, if you just want to see them hook up already, try Pulse Point. That's the closet you're gonna get. (Yes, that was an intentional typo. You'll see what I mean when you read it.)
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