“Hurry up! Now!”
“Okay. All right.”
I raise my arms, letting him see my open hand and my stump. Letting him know I’m not a threat. My body tenses as I reach slowly for my wallet, my legs preparing to run.
But as my fingertips brush my back pocket, a new noise catches my attention. Before I have a chance to process what I heard, three figures step out of the shadows behind me, making me jump. They take my mugger by surprise too, and he doesn’t even have a chance to react before they’re on top of him.
One man steps forward and grabs his wrist, easily sidestepping the wild slash of the knife before tightening his grip and twisting. The meth-head screams, and the knife clatters to the ground, where one of the other men kicks it away.
I stare in stupefied shock as the man who disarmed my attacker throws him down and begins kicking him in the stomach. Each brutal kick is met with a cry, and my breath catches as a spray of blood spills from the man’s mouth and onto black concrete.
The meth-head must not be able to feel everything they’re doing, or drugs must be charging up his system despite the brutal attack, because he tries to fight back. He flails and swings, scrambling to his feet as he punches and kicks.
But he doesn’t stand a fucking chance.
The three men finally stop their assault, but not before the tallest one delivers one final blow to the man’s face. The meth-head crumples to the ground, and the sound of his skull hitting the concrete turns my stomach. He doesn’t move again.
Oh god, did they just kill him?
One of the dark, mysterious men grabs the unconscious mugger, lifting him by his shirt before dragging him out of sight. Within seconds, another of the three shadows vanishes down the alley, leaving just one man alone with me.
He stands with his back to me, and I watch with wide eyes as his broad shoulders rise and fall, his breath visible on the air in the chilly fall night. He lingers at the mouth of the alley, as if he can’t quite bring himself to leave—to follow his two friends. As if he’s waiting for me to say something.
My voice fails me as I open my mouth, words thick on my tongue. What the hell do I say?
Thank you? Who are you?
But when the shadowed man finally turns to leave, stepping toward the alley to follow his friends, it’s only a single word that falls from my lips.
“Wait!”
He hesitates, glancing back at me over his shoulder. It’s brief, so brief I barely catch a glimpse of his features. But in the dim light of the streetlamps overhead, I see a flash of brown and blue.
Those eyes.
I know those eyes.
I could never, ever forget those eyes. I stared into their churning depths two and a half years ago as my lifeblood poured from my body.
It’s the man from the club.
But in the split second I realize that, he turns away from me and stalks into the alley, swallowed up by the shadows again.
Chapter 2
My body lurches forward automatically, and I step toward the mouth of the alley as if I’m about to follow the man who disappeared into its depths.
Then I freeze.
No. Why the fuck would I do that?
My gaze drops to the dirty pavement where the mugger went down, and my stomach churns at the sight of the fresh blood that spatters the ground, glinting almost black in the dim light.
Latent adrenaline and fear surge through my body as I realize how easily that could’ve been my blood. I remember the brutal sounds of the men attacking the meth-head. None of them made a noise. There were no shouts or jeers or taunts.
Just ruthless efficiency and cold violence.
A shiver wracks me, and I turn away from the alley suddenly, sprinting down the street toward a busier road a few blocks over. I need to get out of here. I need to get home.