Trent’s gaze darted briefly to the napkin before it returned to the woman who had stolen his attention.
Follow her, his tiger demanded, she’s mine.
Trent rose without hesitation. “Sorry, not interested.”
He left without so much as a backward glance.
The hot Manhattan sun began unmercifully beating down the moment he stepped onto the sidewalk. It was late July, which in New York, was the height of the summer. It had been unseasonably hot lately, and quite humid. However, Trent wasn’t bothered by it at all. He had spent three tours in the Middle East during his commission with the Air Force, so the heat was like second nature now. He had been discharged about a month ago and returned to New York, temporarily crashing at his mom’s house. But now that he had found himself an apartment, he would be moving out of his mom’s by the end of the week.
The sidewalk outside the coffee shop bustled with people. A few gave him a once over, mostly women. Trent was used to that. He and his brothers were blessed with good looks, gifted from their parents. Sometimes he felt like his looks were more of a nuisance than anything. Girls wouldn’t leave him alone and guys hated him because he attracted too much attention.
Now, he searched through the crowd for the mystery woman from the café, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. She couldn’t have gotten too far on foot. Then, he locked in on her scent: strawberry and peach. But on this hot day, her scent mingled with other people’s sweat, steam from the subway grates, and all the other various smells of the city baking under a summer sun; the result was confusing. He sniffed again and gambled.
Left. She went left.
Trent headed in her direction. There were a few shops that lined the sidewalk before the building cut off into an alley. Dumpsters were filled to the brim. Junk was strewn all over the pavement. And a homeless person was sprawled in the corner, completely passed out.
Then he saw her.
With two guys.
Christ.
She was being mugged.
“Hey! What the fuck are you doing?” Trent yelled as he ran in her direction.
The woman was clearly rattled. She clutched her purse while her attaché case lay ripped on the asphalt. Papers fluttered everywhere and yellow manila folders were smashed in alley muck.
Upon hearing his shouts, the muggers directed their attention to Trent. The bigger guy rushed toward Trent, cursing profanities as he swung a blade rather clumsily. Trent avoided the knife easily and disarmed him. Trent had been training in Krav Maga, a close combat martial art, since he was a teenager. With lightning-quick movement, he grabbed the guy’s arm and quickly wrenched it behind his back. Bones creaked. The man shouted. Trent applied more pressure to render the mugger helpless and the guy yelped in pain.
His friend, a smallish man in a flannel shirt and sporting a douchebag goatee, retaliated. He pointed his gun at Trent but didn’t fire. It was then that Trent realized the guy’s gun was fake. Without hesitation, Trent punched the douchebag goatee guy straight in the face. He dropped like a stone, out cold.
The big guy got to his feet and started to flee. Trent blocked his path and grabbed his arm again. He twisted the big guy’s wrist until he heard an audible crack. The big guy howled in pain. Trent wasn’t even fighting to his full capabilities, but he used more force than he should have. In the presence of his mysterious lady in the black suit, his alter beast had become excited and demanded to be let free.
Trent turned to the distressed woman. “Are you all right?”
“You broke my wrist, dude!” the big guy screeched.
“I wasn’t asking you.” Trent looked back at his dame-in-distress. “You okay?”
The woman nodded furiously. She started gathering her scattered belongings.
“Did they take anything from you?”
“J-just my wallet.”
“Give the lady her wallet back, you scum,” Trent barked at the big guy.
“All right. All right. Don’t hurt me.”
“That’s funny coming from you. Guess it isn’t fun when the tables are turned, is it?” Trent let the big guy’s arm go.
The big guy whined some more before producing a woman’s wallet from his pocket. He handed it timidly to the lady in black.
“Are we cool now, bro?” he asked Trent. “We’re cool, right? We gave the lady her stuff back. Can we go now?”
“I’m not your bro.” Trent helped the lady with the papers. “Did you call 911?”