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My heart stuttered. Shivers ran up my arms despite the sticky heat. His attention settled on me like an extra coating of trash water.
My first clear thought was, only idiots wear full-length black trench coats in August. He’s probably so sweaty.
My second thought was, run.
That wasn’t my magic talking. That was evolutionary instinct trying to keep me alive because, clearly, this man was dangerous. I could see it in his focus, his posture, his obvious disregard for my comfort.
He didn’t care that I saw him.
He didn’t mind that I was nervous.
Rattled, I warred with myself. The boy had paid me to save his turtle. I had a duty to complete that task.
One creepy dude shouldn’t change that, especially since I was so close to victory.
Unless said creepy dude has other plans for me.
I fought the tangle of thoughts, trying to come up with a plan. Living in this city, full of magic and creatures with power far surpassing mine, caution was a lifestyle. Fear was a necessity.
It’s kept me breathing so far. I had to be very, very careful with how I handled this.
The stranger tilted his head, almost as if noticing my mental battle.
Stop dramatizing shit, Gray. He can’t read your mind.
And then the bastard smiled.
Fucking smiled.
A hot flash of panic flooded me. I was afraid, and now he didn’t just not care. My fear made him happy.
Screw the turtle.
To hell with the kid.
Getting out of here was the only thing I wanted now. It wasn’t worth waiting for the psycho to make a move.
Only prey runs from a predator, Gray. Never give into the chase.
I shut my eyes and forced air into my lungs. My mother’s words cut through the tangle of emotions and plans, settling me onto a clearer path.
She’d been right. I would have to run, but I just had to make it look like I wasn’t.
Besides, my stupid, soft heart reminded me that the turtle would die if it was left here. I couldn’t have her little soul on my conscience.
The key was pretending like I didn’t care about the stranger. Fear only excited the crazies. Lifting your head up high and making direct eye contact did more than running ever would.
You can’t lift your head up when you’re laying down, stupid. And he’s wearing glasses.
I ignored my particularly unhelpful internal dialogue, the one clearly intent on trying to get me killed.
With gritted teeth and hand outstretched, I shoved my arm as far beneath the bin as possible. When my fingers brushed over the cool, textured shell of the turtle, I grunted, “Found you.”
I worked my fingers beneath her little turtle belly and carried her out from under the bin. Her belly was damp and filthy. She hid in her shell.
“Good job,” I commended. “Use that built-in armor. Us girls gotta stick together. It’ll be okay. Okay?”
Without giving the stranger another second of my notice, I got to my feet and took my time to straighten my filthy clothing. The turtle didn’t react to her new lodgings in my backpack, cushioned by a cozy sweater and decorated with various leaves in case she got hungry.
