Page 86 of Don’t Say Mafia

“It’s called interval training,” I said. “It’s all the rage.”

The waiter sprinted across the next block, nearly clipping a couple tourists who shrieked as he blew past them. He glanced back, his panic growing when he saw how close I was getting again.

“You’re chasing someone,” Jace said with growing confidence. “I can hear it in your breathing.”

“Did you need something, little brother?” I replied. “Because . . . this is kind of an inconvenient time.”

I made a mental note to actually pick up jogging. While I was mostly into weights and boxing . . . it was clear after this experience that I actually needed to up my cardio.

Sex is cardio, though. I could have Eden help me with that.

“Yep, definitely chasing someone,” Jace said. “I can hear asphalt and fear now.”

“That’s dramatic,” I replied, vaulting a low chain barrier as the guy nearly ate pavement trying to clear it.

“You just grunted.”

“I did not grunt.”

“You definitely grunted.”

The guy veered hard left, trying to lose me between a row of dumpsters and a stack of crates. Cute. I adjusted my angle and closed the gap another three feet.

“You’re gaining on him,” Jace said confidently.

“I’m not gaining on anyone.”

“Your breath changed. Now you’re doing your predator breathing thing.”

“What the hell is that? I do not do that!”

“You absolutely have predator breathing,” he argued.

“I’m hanging up,” I warned.

“One more thing!” he said loudly.

“What?” I growled.

The man burst back into sunlight ahead of me, barely missing a valet stand.

“This is really important,” he continued.

“Spit it out,” I huffed.

“I just want to make sure you haven’t started drinking iced milk during your jogs . . .” Jace said.

I ended the call without ceremony and shoved the phone into my pocket in disgust, right as the man finally made his mistake and cut hard right into an alley without another exit.

It was narrow and half shadowed, a place tourists never noticed or ventured into unless they were incredibly lost. Dumpsters lined one wall, and graffiti climbed the faded, dirty brick of the buildings like vines.

His shoes slipped slightly as he tried to launch himself over the ten-foot chain-link fence. I stopped running and watched him attempt to be Spider-Man for a second.

My silence may have been less to seem scary and more because I didn’t want to gasp when I spoke to him, but I’d never admit that to anyone.

He finally stopped trying to climb the impossible fence and slowly turned to face me. I watched as the defiance drained from his features and real fear settled in. His chest rose and fell in uneven pulls, and he clutched his phone like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Want to tell me why you took that picture?” I asked pleasantly as I prowled toward him.