Chapter 3 #3
The girl straightened. She had her bag in front of her now, both arms looped through the strap like a harness. Her voice was rough when she finally spoke. “I’m good.”
I wanted to say more. I wanted to tell her she was safe, but even I knew how false that would sound.
Instead I said, “He won’t bother you again.”
She looked at me, eyes narrowed, reading the space between us. Then she turned and walked away, not fast, not slow, just steady, like she knew exactly how to not be followed.
I watched her go.
Then I looked down at the man, still on the floor, blood running from his nose.
I took out my phone, took a picture, and texted it to Marco: your kitchen’s leaking scum again.
Then I stepped over him and went after her, because even now, every muscle in my body said she was still in danger, and it was my job, my life, my fucking reason for being, to keep her safe.
I followed.
She didn’t go to the front door. She didn’t go to the main exit. She moved through the side corridor, past the fire doors, so sure of her route it was like she’d already run it in her head a hundred times.
I trailed her, far enough back not to spook her but close enough that if anything happened I’d see it.
The corridor was painted matte black, the overhead lights a headache strobe that flickered just enough to make you doubt your own feet.
Past the restrooms, past a stack of empty liquor crates, past the cleaner’s closet where the staff went to cry or fuck or do lines.
I heard the scuffle before I saw it.
Another man with a kitchen badge. Stockier than the last—dark eyes, darker intent. He was waiting at the turn in the corridor, trying to blend into the dark, his head tipped like a dog about to bite. The woman passed him, and he lunged.
She dropped her bag. She did not scream.
She drove her heel into his foot, then jerked her head backwards so it cracked into his nose.
There was a sharp wet sound, then a curse, then the two of them hit the wall and bounced off it.
She twisted in his grip, but he had both arms on her now and was dragging her toward the emergency exit.
I hit them at full speed.
He barely saw me. I wrapped an arm around his throat and squeezed, just enough to cut the air, not enough to kill him.
He let go of her and scrabbled at my forearm with both hands.
I wrenched him sideways and slammed him up against the wall, hard.
He tried to fight but he was weak, not used to resistance.
I felt the panic in him. The kind that comes from knowing you’d fucked up and there was no backup coming.
He went limp. I let go.
He slumped to the ground, both hands clutching his throat, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out.
The girl was in the corner, breathing fast, both hands pressed to her chest. Her eyes were huge, raw, black around the edges. She didn’t thank me. She didn’t move toward me. She just watched, like a wolf in a trap, waiting for the next angle.
I knelt in front of the man, made sure he was breathing. He was. Then I fished his fake badge from his pocket, memorized the serial, and dropped it on the floor next to his shoe.
“Next time,” I said to him, low. “Try someone softer.”
He looked up at me, eyes glassy. I could see the hate. I could see the fear under it. He spat on the floor, missed my shoe by two inches.
I straightened, turned to her.
She was gone.
Fuck.
I ran to the end of the corridor. She was already pushing through the heavy metal door at the end, into the alley. I followed, but she was faster than she looked. By the time I made it out, she was halfway up the block, coat tight around her and bag pressed to her ribs.
I jogged after her. “Hey!” I shouted. The word felt wrong in my mouth. Too loud, too needy.
She didn’t stop. She didn’t even speed up. She just kept walking, head down, hands jammed in her pockets.
The alley was slick with old snow and grease. My shoes slid on the ice. I caught up with her at the corner, blocked her path with my body, not close enough to touch but enough to make her stop.
She did.
She looked at me, just once, and I felt the shock of it all the way down to my knees. She had the coldest, most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. Grey-green, wide open, and absolutely fucking empty.
I tried again. Softer this time. “Are you okay?”
She stared at me.
I could see the moment she decided.
She took a step in, got close enough to kiss or kill, then grabbed my right hand with both of hers. I let her. She jammed my thumb into her mouth and bit, hard. The pain was white, blinding, bright enough to make my eyes water. She let go, wiped her mouth, and looked me dead in the face.
Then she said, “Don’t touch me.”
The bite throbbed. I didn’t say anything, didn’t even move. I just watched her turn and walk away.
She disappeared into the dark.
I stood in the alley, hand pounding, taste of her still in my mouth.
I watched until I couldn’t see her anymore, and then I waited a long time.
I was still smiling when the first snowflake landed on my nose.