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The dark-haired cashier’s eyebrows shot upward. The corners of his mouth turned down as if he was considering it. A few seconds later, he shook his head. “My boss will know.”
Gunner nodded once. “Fuck it. If a guy named Damon calls here asking about this, just tell him it’s exactly who he thinks it is.”
Gunner yanked the door open and told Hallie to, “Stay put.”
She did not stay put. She followed him right out toward the truck. Humans had terrible survival instincts sometimes.
Well, whatever.
“What are you doing?” the man in the truck asked as Gunner rounded the front end. He was still holding the phone, and it was the first good look Gunner got of his face. The man had brown hair that hung down to his clean-shaven jawline, dark eyes, and a scar from his lip to his jaw. He was wearing a flannel. He wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, so Gunner didn’t bother with opening the door. He reached in, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and yanked that man out through the open window.
Fuckface screamed loud enough to make Gunner’s sensitive ears ring, and once again he was glad for the helmet. That could’ve been way worse.
“You know him?” Gunner asked Hallie, who was standing up on the sidewalk, hunched in on herself like she was trying to make herself small. “Stand up straight,” he barked, and with a whimper, she did. “Who is he?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Okay, he was talking to someone on the phone about your clothes. Who would hate those shorts you’re wearin’?”
Her eyes went wide and her face went blank, and that right there said she knew who he was talking about.
“Why is this man tracking you?”
The man struggled in his arms, so Gunner threw him on the ground, balled his fist, and cracked him twice against the jaw. He went limp, and groaned. “Another one will kill you, asshole. I’ll put my fist right through your skull. Don’t tempt me.”
Gunner stood back up. “Who’s tracking you?”
“My ex,” Hallie whispered. “He hated if I wore my shorts in public.”
The booming of a gun deafened Gunner, and a high-pitched whining sounded in his ears as pain shredded through his arm.
That dumb-fuck had a handgun.
Gunner huffed a laugh and ducked the next discharged bullet. There was a screeching sound in the background, but all he could see was red. Gunner grabbed the man’s wrist and snapped it. The gun clattered to the ground as the man yelled in pain, but Gunner wasn’t done. He picked up the weapon, took it apart completely, and let the pieces clatter to the ground. He picked the man up and held him in the air, then flipped his helmet visor open so this asshole could see his glowing eyes before he died. The man was babbling in fear. Gunner bunched his muscles to throw him into the brick wall hard enough to take his life.
Just as he moved to throw him, Gunner’s body froze as electricity zinged through him, and he staggered backward stiffly. His hand wouldn’t hold the man anymore.
Hallie was tasing him. She was tasing him and yelling something he couldn’t understand.
“Stop,” he gritted out.
The man dropped to the ground, stunned as well, and Gunner tried to break away from the electric charge.
She yanked the Taser back, and Gunner stumbled back a few steps.
He felt betrayed.
“You have to go,” she murmured, panic infusing her words.
“Why?” he gritted out. “Why did you do that?”
“Because I heard what you said in there! You said Damon’s name, and your eyes say you aren’t human. Robby!” she yelled.
“Yeah?” the cashier asked from the open doorway.
“Delete that footage.”
“But my boss—”
