Chapter 2
The last-minute flight was not cheap and included only carry-on luggage, which had riled Abigail until about fifteen minutes before. How can they consciously sell an airline ticket but expect people to need nothing other than a freak in’ tiny backpack?
Fifteen minutes ago, though, they had not been face to face with seemingly never-ending stairs at a subway station that appeared to have half the population of New York’s partygoers powering up or down them.
After being knocked into for what felt like the hundredth time, Abigail tugged on Byron’s shirt sleeve to get his attention.
“How much further?”
“One change, ten minutes, then a short walk,” Byron said over his shoulder.
She groaned, then as another drunken sports fan jostled her, she exclaimed, “Oh seriously?”
Byron turned to look at her, his concern for her evident in his face. His frustration reflected in the clench of his jaw.
“Yep, I don’t know what’s going on but this is busy even for a Saturday night in New York,” he said, reaching back for her hand.
Begrudgingly, she took it and let him pull her alongside him as he stepped sideways and made room for her between him and the wall. The small amount of shelter it offered meant that he was the one getting buffeted every few steps. By the time they reached the top of the steps, she was more glad than ever not to have a heavy suitcase with her.
“You all right?” Byron asked as he stepped them to one side and allowed the complaining teenagers behind them to storm past
“Yeah,” she said, “It’s kind of horrible... and I don’t remember smelling anything quite like that subway car in a very long time.”
A snort of laughter made her glare at him playfully; dammit, why was it so hard to stay mad at him?
“That’s only one side of New York,” he said, “wherever those folks are going, I guarantee you it’ll be the best party—with the best pizza.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those New York pizza snobs?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at him.
His mouth fell open, and he stared at her, “Don’t tell me you’re a Chicago-style girl?”
She let herself laugh properly this time. He had tried several things to get her to loosen up since she had given him the silent treatment the entire way to the airport. Maybe it was time to cut him some slack.
“No, not particularly… I’ve just never seen what was so great about any pizza, apart from the innate miracle that is pizza’s existence,” she said, “but honestly—unless it’s undercooked, burned, or had weird toppings, every pizza I’ve ever had has been pretty much great. Oh shoot, hang on...”
Her shoelace laying on the ground next to her shoe drew her attention and she pointed to it, then to a narrow bench against the tiled wall. The station had become eerily quiet now that the rush had moved either up the stairs to the street or down the tunnel to the other platform. Abigail made her way towards it, and Byron followed her. However, as she rested on the narrow bench and leaned down to get her shoe, he swooped in and started to tie it.
“Oh…”
Byron smiled up at her, “Well, I like a woman who’s easily pleased so you’ve got that going for you.”
He was only teasing her, so why did his words send a flicker of electricity bouncing around her ribcage? It had something to do with how he looked up at her from his position by her feet. Warmth spread out to every corner of her body and she swallowed hard.
“Ha...” she tried to laugh but something caught her eye in the curved mirror.
Byron’s smile flickered a little, and his eyebrows came together, “what is it?”
“Nothing... I’m just tired,” she said, looking back down at him.
The movement in the mirror was faster this time and before she could say anything, a man dressed in black sweatpants and a grey hooded jumper was rushing at them. A very different electric thrill ran through her then as fear flooded her system.
“Byron!” she called out just as the figure extended a foot and kicked Byron sideways.
He toppled over with a gasp of pain.
“Shut up!” the man yelled through the cotton bandanna he had pulled up over his face. “Give me your wallet and phone now!”
Byron had found his feet under him, but was still crouched on the ground. He held his hands up as he tried to rise to his feet.
“Stay there, don’t move, hurry up! Cash!”
The guy held one hand out in front of him and the other stuffed into the front pocket of his hoodie. As he yelled, he pointed at Byron with the hand concealed in that pocket.
He had something. A gun? Knife? A syringe? Whatever he had, it was more than she had ever experienced before and the thought made her blood run cold.
“W-we… I mean… I d-don’t…” Abigail stuttered.
“I said shut up!!”
She didn’t carry cash anymore—she might have ten bucks in change but what if this guy wasn’t happy with that!? Her heart raced as every horrific possibility ran through her head.
What if he killed them? What if she never spoke to her girls again? They hadn’t picked up the night before... What if she died and left them wondering why she was even in New York to start with?
“I’m s-sorry…” her voice was breaking and she felt hot tears rolling down her face.
Somewhere in her mind, it registered that she was crying and should be doing something useful instead, but all she could focus on was whatever he had hidden away.
“Stop crying, Jesus! Just give me the cash now, hurry up!” the guy yelled, following the instruction with a string of expletives.
Abigail glanced over his shoulder, praying that a guard or a cop would come but the curved mirror that had proven so useless in warning her of his arrival showed a completely empty corridor.
“Okay, I gotta stand though,” Byron said, “Back pocket...”
“No, her first.”
“Okay, she’s scared—let me…”
“No!” he yelled, pulling his hand out of the hoodie.
Suddenly, it was like the world went dark, with the biggest handgun she had ever seen the only thing being lit up by ugly and flickering fluorescent bulbs—and it was pointed directly at her face. Terror seeped through her bones, but even through that, she felt Byron change beside her. He stiffened and his voice dropped into a calm and cool tone she had never heard before.
“Okay, we’ll hand over everything we have,” he said. “Just don’t let her get hurt, all right, boss?”
He was looking frantically over his shoulder now, like he was waiting for something, but he swung the gun out of her face and pointed it at Byron.
“All right, go!”
Byron nodded and slowly reached for the purse that swung from the loop around her wrist. He never took his eyes off the mugger, but as he carefully placed his hand over hers and unlatched the swivel clasp that attached it, he pressed his hand closed tightly around her.
Every inch where he touched her felt like it was on fire and pulsed. Her brain hadn’t caught up to what was going on. Comfort, he was trying to comfort her while she stared and silently sobbed while this jerk mugged them! Anger started to boil in her stomach but, infuriatingly, the tears came harder and faster.
“Here,” Byron said, holding out the purse that the guy snatched.
“Phone too, jewelry!”
She was only wearing a cheap pair of studs she had bought at the market a few weeks prior, but she wasn’t going to tell him they were only worth about five bucks—maybe if he thought they were expensive, he’d just leave them alone?
They’re clear, sparkly crystals—but surely no one would think they’re diamonds? she thought. Byron moved to take the earrings off her, but she realized he would have to turn his back to the guy.
What the hell was everyone doing right now—how had every single person just disappeared the second they actually needed someone around!?
“I can,” she said, raising a shaking hand to her ear.
Even as she fumbled with the post at the back of her earlobe, she could see the mugger getting angrier and more nervous—if there was one thing she didn’t need to be told was that angry and nervous were two things you did not want someone with a gun to be feeling.
“I’m going to get my wallet now, okay?”
“Fine! Just move!”
Still holding one hand up in supplication, Byron slowly reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet and phone.
The guy snatched them out of his hand and shoved them into his own pocket, where Abigail assumed her purse had also been stashed. She could barely make her fingers work and she saw his eyes travel down to the pocket of her jeans where her phone was protruding.
The phone… give him the phone!! Her mind shouted at her and finally her hands obeyed. She reached for the phone and handed it over, her hands still shaking but at least doing what they were being told to.
“Gimmie the damn jewelry!”
Abigail gasped as the guy launched himself towards her, recoiling as she was jostled to the side as something solid collided with her knees.
“No!” Byron barked as he stepped in front of her.
A yelp of pain followed by a rambling yell filled with expletives rang out as she pulled her legs up and tried to scoot along the bench to get away. A sharp pain in her shoulder was all she registered as she was yanked sideways. Before she could hit the hard bench, she felt strong arms wrap around her, hurting her shoulder but saving her from slipping off and hitting the floor.
“Abby! Abby, you’re all right, I’ve got you.”
Reality was pushing back into existence as she realized that the guy had run past them, grabbing her backpack on his way through, and that Byron had caught her.
“What… how can that have... what happened?” she managed to stutter as her heart began to race.
“He’s gone. You’re all right,” he said, squeezing her tightly.
Sound rushed in her ears as a hoard of people emerged from the hallway, and the stamping of feet echoed around the tiles as people began to climb the stairs. An announcement rang loudly in Abigail’s ears.
“The nine-oh-two train is arriving now. Please stand clear.”
9:02… She thought in wonder, this whole ordeal barely took two minutes?
Byron had sat next to her on the bench, his arm squeezing her shoulders as he looked around them. She barely registered what was happening when he called out to someone in the crowd, or as they made their way to the police station. She really only came back to reality when a clipboard with paperwork was shoved roughly into her hands.